Dragon Age: The Crown of Thorns
by Karmic Acumen
Summary: Bhelen had all bases covered, but didn't consider that his older brother would get himself framed on purpose just to fake one measly death... or two. AU Fanfiction including all Origins as characters. The preface contains an extended summary.
1. Preface

**Preface**

As of April, 2012, this story has surpassed 800,000 words. Since this mark is way beyond anything I expected when I started writing this, I decided it was appropriate to put in a nice preface to tell new readers what they can expect.

Basically, **Dragon Age: The Crown of Thorns **is what happens when you take the plot of Dragon Age: Origins and make sure it has equal measures of epic battles, character development, character interaction, convoluted plotting and what reviewers have confirmed to be sheer badassery, all of it seasoned with some romance and the signature snarky humor that Thedas is known for.

One can also choose to imagine what can happen when you take all six origin stories and have just as many protagonists, with a gambit-using dwarven noble at the helm.

**Heads Up:** The protagonist may seem a bit too awesome to some, at least during the origin story. This is intentional. **I am just working with what Bioware gave me**, or said it was giving me but really didn't. The opening of the Dwarf Noble origin blatantly says the DN is supposed to have the highest prestige in his family, which essentially means the whole city too. In other words, he has to be both a good fighter and a very smart man. Alas, the game subsequently feeds the Warden idiot balls one after another while throwing plot holes at him.

What I did here was actually follow through on the idea of an, admittedly highly, **competent** dwarf prince, one who is kind-hearted **and** smart enough to find ways to stay that way while actually being useful. In other words, this isn't a story for people who feel that it is impossible to relate to characters who aren't totally ordinary, or at least more flawed than sane/morally viable (You may think I am broadcasting some underhanded insult here. I am not. I've just seen it happen far too often so I figured I may as well say in advance that this isn't that type of writing).

In other words, if you think that a morally upright character who is also competent/successful is a Mary Sue, then this is not your type of reading material. I would even advise against employing the words Mary Sue altogether, since that term has become so misused that everyone now chooses it to name any characters they dislike. I am not trying to be condescending or anything, but I've seen this happen very often so I am just laying out what you can expect so no one has to feel their time was wasted half-way into the plot.

A Mary Sue is a character that somehow _warps reality_ enough (and I mean that literally, or borderline at least) that he or she becomes the center of the universe. This definitely does not happen here. The first few chapters were used to explain just why the opening cinematic of the dwarven noble origin says the DN is so worshipped. That and it brings about the first of major changes to the plotline.

Grey Wardens are supposed to be the elite of the elite in fighting, and there are very few people, even specialized, who don't actually have other talents too. Think the antiquity: Philosophers, yes the wisest people, also won Olympiads on a regular basis. Mind, emotion, the body, all were at their apex.

So know this: it is perfectly possible for people to actually prepare for multiple outcomes, or adapt to shit hitting the fan. Remember that this isn't the XXI century. There are no TVs and computers for people to waste their brains on. There are no video games for the masses to cry foul over. People do two things mainly: _live_ and _think_, simply because there isn't much else for them to do most of the time, especially during cross-country marching (that lasts for _weeks_) or while living in a society that kills the weak and foolish just because it can.

In other words, for a protagonist who doesn't need to imagine what his enemies might do **-because his people's history already provides him with an example of every possible law violation-** it isn't all that hard to prepare. And honestly, If **_I_**, some guy, can think up viable courses of action for all the contrived crap in DAO (although the right to disagree on whether or not they are viable is still fully yours), then a political animal that doesn't have anything to do but train his body and mind can definitely do the same, and much, _much_ more.

Of course, they have their issues, they make their share of mistakes, some bigger than others, but, nevertheless, all main characters will be exceptional, in multiple fields. Their favorite skills will exceed those of the protagonist too, from the start or eventually, by a massive margin in some cases. As I said, Grey Wardens are, by definition, elite in at least one area. I may be said to have given the entire setting take a level in badass, so you'll find plenty of smart and/or powerful/skilled characters, with a plot and subplots to match the scope. The point of view will keep changing between all wardens and everyone will get attention. This is, after all, why this story is so long while still being just half-done.

**A relevant list of things you should keep in mind before you fall prey to the bias of others:**

- "Crown of Thorns" is not a Jesus reference. You can, of course, believe the contrary if you are a supporter of "the death of the author."

- I do not consider Bhelen a complete monster in the game and I do not turn him into one here. I do, however, treat what the game gives me with a gloves-off approach. If you want an elaboration, you'll eventually find it.

- I'd appreciate it if you don't immediately assume i don't "get" that the setting is built to be a **dark** fantasy (I've seen it said, in those exact words, because, apparently, having one character with morals automatically means this is not the Dragon Age setting. Somehow.). If you did actually read everything and still think so, I'll disagree while being willing to fight to protect the freedom of your point of view.

**And a final warning, since some people don't seem to have expected it. Somehow**: Politics and subterfuge are a MAJOR part of this fiction. The Orzammar events are going to go _very _differently, and there is a huge word count invested in them, both at first and later, during the succession mess. So if you dislike the Orzammar/Deep Roads portion of the game, for some reason or other (and even though I enjoyed that portion, I don't blame you, since it kind of drags on in the game and is too railroaded), know from the start that the story spends a lot of time there at the beginning and later on.

You can, of course, skim through those tens of thousands of words, like others have done. Just don't be surprised if you can't empathize with the characters afterwards.

And now, the obligatory disclaimer: Bioware owns all rights to Dragon Age: Origins, not me.

Do try to enjoy yourselves ;)

**P.S. **Before you actually start, you MIGHT want to read "Premeditated." It's my one and only one-shot and will give you an idea of what to expect. Check it out and see if you can stomach my writing style before engaging in this huge beast. It's part of the back story for this story too, so it will help you understand why some characters do what they do.


	2. Prelude 1: The Prince and the Castless

**Dragon Age: The Crown of Thorns**

**Chapter 1: ****Prince**

"Thieves and assassins that put on the appearance of honor just to advance their own status. These are the so-called nobles, those entrusted with the fate of our people and those whose greed and pointless pride have always been a greater threat to our city than the Darkspawn that have hounded our steps for centuries. Theirs is the treachery that may destroy us even sooner than the mindless beasts that lurk in the shadows.

I am Aeducan, Shield of Orzammar, and though I may be cast out and reviled by my own, I shall protect my people even from their own folly."

The grand day had finally come. His armor donned, his shield ready and his blade sharpened, the Prince was ready to go out and receive his responsibilities as Orzammar's new commander. Yet even dressed in his great grandfather's garb and aware of the favor that he had with the Assembly and, verily, his own father, there was still an aching feeling that gnawed at his heart. The feeling that a good dream is just about to turn into a nightmare and that even the smallest mistake might set off a chain of events that would ultimately culminate in his undoing. "The day of greatest glory is always the best opportunity for the ultimate downfall," his late mother warned him once. Truer words were never spoken.

"Greetings My Lord! You are dressed and ready! Excellent!" a voice was heard from the door. The Prince turned around and saw a familiar face that almost chased away all the concern, even for a brief moment. For there stood Gorim, the only dwarf he knew whose heart was in the right place.

"Ah, Gorim, my friend! I did say that you don't need to call me that. Raonar is fine."

"Well, you know what they say about old habits dying hard. Hopefully I'll die even harder (chuckle). Anyway, moving on to the business at hand. You father will want you to make an appearance at your feast, but the day is young. As part of the celebrations, trading permits were auctioned off to members of the Merchant Guild who wish to sell wares in the Diamond Quarter. Also, the Grand Provings have opened in order to allow young fighters to test their mettle in your honor. Perhaps we should go teach them what single combat is all about, and by we, I mean you (chuckle). I'll practice my cheering this time."

"Ah, I see you're still concerned about those six hours it took my father's smiths to remove your helmet last year. Haha! no need to blush, you'll do as you wish of course. And in the meantime, I assume the Lords and Deshyrs will bore my father with petitions and petty grievances. I can see them now, 'this lord had my cousin killed', 'this lord seduced my wife', 'this lord did the exact same thing I planned to do to him but he did it first'," Raonar sighed deeply and looked as though a great deal of sadness combined with disappointment washed across his face for just a moment.

"Always the same, they all act as though they are the only honorable ones even though they are just a bunch of thieves and assassins dressed up in pretty garments. Bah! At this rate we'll bring our own deaths upon us from the inside even before the Darkspawn have a chance to gnaw on our bones! But enough, it's not like I expected anything more. Let's just see what these merchants are about and then we'll check out the Provings if we have time."

"As you will, My Lord!" Gorim replied, "the day is ours until the feast."

Raonar walked across the corridor somewhat lost in thought, when the door to his little brother's room suddenly opened and a young, red-haired lass walked out and called out Bhelen's name. Needless to say she was immediately startled when she saw the Prince and ran back into the room.

"Now who could that be?" Raonar asked himself as he followed her.

The girl got all nervous as she saw lord Aeducan approach but maintained her composure.

"I am sorry, My Lord. I thought that was Prince Bhelen coming down the hall and..." her words broke mid sentence. "I... forgive me."

"Who are you?" Raonar asked quite interested. The lass was very beautiful, two graceful strands of red hair fell in front of her radiant face as the rest of her curls were gathered up in a single braid at the back of her head. Her clothes were not of the finest make but they were well taken care of. All signs pointed towards someone of respectable station, except for the brand on her face which immediately struck a cord: Noble Hunter, castless woman who seeks to bare a noble lord's son to increase her caste status.

"It seems..." Gorim begun " that she's one of your brother Bhelen's newest... umm.. companions..." He then replied to the girl." Prince Bhelen is attending the feast being held in Lord Aeducan's Honor."

"Of-of course. It was presumptuous of me to assume he'd return to... I am sorry. I will show myself out, with your leave My Lord."

"Not yet," Raonar suddenly said. "Just how long have you been seeing my brother? How many times have you met that you are already allowed to wait for him in his quarters? I do remember seeing you around the halls a few times..."

"I... well..." She was obviously nervous and struggled with her words. "My name is Rica. I have only met your brother a few times but... Forgive me if I caused you any inconvenience."

Raonar looked at her at length, it became quite obvious to him that there was more to the girl than she would say. She grew increasingly impatient and started fidgeting under his penetrating eyes. Their clear white 'glow' seemed to go straight through her. After a while, she could find no more words and could only keep her head bowed, though she still stared at him, at his silver-white hair and long, graceful beard gathered in multiple braids that almost made him look like an old sage if not for his very soft facial skin that betrayed his young age. She remembered Bhelen saying he had just turned 22.

"I'm wondering..." he suddenly continued, almost startling Rica. "Do you know my brother at all? What do you think of him?"

Rica was obviously surprised by this question and, predictably, tripped on her own words as she tried to find an answer.

"I ... well, he's been very kind to me and, he knows how to treat.. I mean he..."

She was at once cut off by the Prince who suddenly drew near, placed his right hand on her cheek and slowly drew her face closer to his. She froze underneath his eyes when they got so close that there was nothing but them in her field of vision, but her gaze got a tint of anger mixed with a great deal of fear as he caressed her right shoulder with his left hand. "Of course he would treat you well," he said in a shrewd whisper." A beautiful lass like you, with such fire in your eyes and a demeanor that says you would do anything to please him. That's what all men like to see in a woman: submission, especially from someone like you." Raonar slowly let his left hand slide lower across her back, all the way down to her waist, while her eyes got all the more filled with hopeless rage and horror, until she finally closed them in resignation. All this time, Gorim stood back, silent but obviously flushed.

Raonar stood still, his lips almost upon hers as she shut her eyes tight. What was going to happen next was obvious, she thought, when suddenly the Prince drew away and backed off a couple of steps, looking at her until she opened her eyes once more and stood there, unsure of what to expect. What followed was definitely not her first guess.

Raonar bowed deeply before her.

"Please accept my humblest apologies," he said as he straightened up.

"I... But... well..." Rica stuttered. "I was sure you were going to... I mean I know you're his elder and probably would have gotten away with... I mean..."

"You are a very strong woman,' Raonar blurted out.

Rica was stunned when she heard him say that. She looked at him and saw no sign of sarcasm in his facial expression, his warm smile held none of the scorn she was used to getting from the crime lord under whose thumb she lived. A minute ago she was cursing the Prince in her mind, hoping that the stone would see him dead for how freely he abused those he saw as his lessers, but now she did not know what to feel.

"You hated me just now," he continued. "You were angry that I was going to take advantage of your position, and of mine, but in the end you closed your eyes not out of cowardice, but to restrain yourself from hitting my head with that rather rough cup you had grasped," he pointed to the ceramic vase on the table next to her. " When I drew close to you, your eyes clearly showed off the dignity you are willing to sacrifice in order to secure a better life, likely not just for yourself but also your family. You really were going to sacrifice yourself. You're more than just another noble hunter, aren't you?"

Rica was completely shaken up. In just a moment he had seen through her completely. He had risked being hated in order to perceive her heart, her life. She now realized that what the Prince had done was just an act, though she still could not fully understand his reasons. Suddenly she felt a bit lightheaded and as she grew dizzy, she felt her falling body being gently caught and held by a pair of soft, strong arms. By the time her senses returned, she sat on the bed, with Raonar next to her, holding her up, though his hold of her was in no way as invasive as before.

"F-forgive me, M-my Lord... I don't know what caused me to..."

"It's alright. It's my fault after all," Raonar replied as he carefully let go of her and walked away.

"Your family is very lucky to have you, even though I can see from the way you carry yourself that they aren't the only party involved in your being here," he said as he looked sternly at her. "Someone's trying to exploit your situation, aren't they? I imagine that the castless don't easily get a hold of the garments and education that noble hunters clearly have."

Unexpectedly, Rica felt a feeling of gratitude wash over her. This was the first person who ever praised her, besides her little brother. The Prince had known her for but a few minutes and already knew more about her than she would have ever told. But then, she grew fearful when he started questioning her about whose hand was in her being there. She kept trying to evade the questions, but Raonar always managed to pry information from her. Her life in Dust Town, how they were forced to live, how she became a noble hunter out of necessity. Eventually, only the details that her life hanged upon remained unsaid.

"So you have a brother. Where is he now? Why doesn't he do something instead of letting you do this to yourself?" Raonar finally asked her up front.

"I.. well.. I mean... Please, My Lord, don't ask me anything else. And don't think ill of my brother, he's sacrificed more than I have trying to keep me safe and now he's... I mean... no, please My Lord, if you're truly not heartless, don't torture me with these questions anymore." Rica turned away quickly, but not before Raonar noticed the tears welling up in her eyes. He made a short gesture to Gorim, who then left the chamber in a hurry, after which the Prince approached the girl who had started sobbing softly, trying to hold back her tears. Then she suddenly felt a soft touch on her shoulder as Raonar slowly turned her around. The face she met was stern, but had an air of fatherly affection about it, definitely not what she had expected.

"You've only met me, but it's alright. You can tell me everything," the Prince said softly as the lass gave in and surrendered herself to his embrace. "What happened? I'm guessing that the fact that you tripped on your own words meant that you were trying to keep up an act. What was it you really wanted from Bhelen that you were waiting for him so impatiently? That look in your eyes right now speaks of fear, fear for someone other than yourself."

"Oh my lord!" she said between sobs. "I did want to ask something of your brother, even though it's far too early and presumptuous of me to think my problems are of any note to someone like him. " Raonar said nothing, letting her take her time. "I'm scared my lord, my brother, he's..." She stopped suddenly, and Raonar realized that this was the point where she may reveal something critical that may end up worse for her in the long run. But he had heard enough and already had an idea of what she was getting to.

"You speak as though you rely on him greatly. He must be a very strong man to warrant your respect, especially if he's your younger sibling. But he lives in Dust Town, so I suppose he got by doing the only thing he could." Rica stopped sobbing and was instead completely surprised to see just how easily he Prince deduced her situation. " So, am I right to assume that he did something to anger his boss and is now in trouble of some kind?" he asked.

Rica seemed to calm down and drew away. "You truly are as the rumors say, your highness. But what you guessed is not completely on the mark. My brother, he's a very strong person. A strong fighter, quick-witted and agile, but he's also always had a knack for knowing what to do and when to do it. That caught the eye of the local crime lord."

"From what I've heard, the Carta is currently run by a man named Beraht," noted Gorim, who had meanwhile returned with a basin of water and a towel. "Shrewd fellow, made deals with surfacers and smuggles lyrium and other goods. He's made a lot of gold, bribed a lot of guards and preyed only on the dusters, which is why he got away with it long enough to buy off half the authorities in the commons,"

"Yes, sounds a lot like a certain other very subtle person I know, someone deemed too irrelevant until it's too late," Raonar responded with a sigh. "But this is not the point." he turned to Rica and wiped away her tears with the towel that Gorim had brought. "What happened to your brother, child?"

"I... I don't know your highness. That's why I'm so scared! He's missing, he's been missing since yesterday. All I heard was that he got into some trouble on the proving grounds, something about impersonating some fighter. Next thing I knew was that he somehow got captured and now.. I don't know where he is!" Rica was obviously desperate, her hands clutching on the towel Raonar had given her.

_"At the Provings? This should be interesting,"_ Raonar thought to himself. "Are castless even allowed on the grounds? Wait, I suppose this Beraht did something to let him in, wanted to rig some fights to win some bets no doubt. So you don't know where he is?" Rica shook her head, then the Prince turned to Gorim. "Well, you did want to see the Provings anyway, didn't you Gorim?" he asked with a sly grin.

"I suppose I did say that, My Lord," Gorim answered with a smile of his own.

"You may stay here for now," Raonar told the lass. "Though I would suggest you not be too quick to reveal this story to too many people. Few will look past your castless brother's role as a criminal."

"So... then... I know it's too much to ask, especially for someone like me but... Is there anything you can do? I'll do anything you want, please, at least try to find my brother! You're the Prince, you can send someone, I don't know, just... I couldn't live with myself if anything happened to him because of me! He always said he would do something to make our life better, he hated working for that scum Beraht but he did it for me and mother anyway. I can only imagine the horrible things he had to do."

"I know that you like to see the world shaken up, My Lord, but if it's really as she says..." Gorim begun, "Isn't her brother a criminal? Is it truly wise to get involved in this business on your day of celebration?"

"Can we really pass judgement on others? Just how are the nobles in the assembly any different?" the Prince blurted out. "It's almost disgusting to think that the higher castes have less honor than there is among the beggars and thieves. At least they look after their own. Can the Desyrs say the same?"

The Prince turned around and left the room, followed closely by Gorim, leaving a confused but hopeful Rica behind to wait and see what the ancestors had in store for her next.

Before long, the two had exited the palace and now looked down upon their proud city, once the seat of a major empire and, now, one of the only two known remaining dwarven cities. There Raonar stood and gazed upon his home. The Diamond Quarter, home to the Royal Palace, the Shaperate and the homes of the nobles, is situated at the very highest level of Orzammar and has a perfect view of the lower levels. Below are the commons and, in the very middle, above the lake of molten rock, stand the Proving Grounds, where matters of honor would be settled through strength of arm. Around it fell the lava flows, carefully guided by the city's impregnable construction to flow in such a way as to deliver warmth and light to the entire city. That view the Prince had witnessed many times over, but this time it looked as though the stone itself was more somber, as if there was a new air of finality about it. Unfortunately, Raonar didn't exactly have time to decide whether he was imagining it, because his attention was drawn to an argument between a Noble and a Scholar.

"My lord, please. My work is accredited by the Shaper," the scholar pleaded to a very disgruntled man that frowned at him with a mixture of scorn and anger. No doubt yet another lesser noble that felt his 'honor' had been violated in some way, Raonar reasoned.

"These books are lies, written by the enemies of House Vollney!" the other protested as the Prince and Gorim drew near. Raonar immediately recognized the angry man as Bruntin Vollney.

"Your highness, I beg you to help settle this matter!" the scholar pleaded to the approaching Prince. "Your father loved my book 'History of Aeducan: Paragon, King, Peacemaker'."

"Ah, I greatly enjoyed that book as well!" Raonar replied slightly intrigued. "What seems to be the problem?" he asked the two.

"This worm has written a book that slanders my House!" Bruntin immediately said.

"Oh, is that so?" Raonar replied. "How exactly is it slander? What does it say?"

"It doesn't matter, it's all lies!" Bruntin lashed back, waving angrily in the process.

"I asked what it said, but if you're not going to tell me, the scholar will have to. What does it say scholar?"

The scholar proceeded to explain how the book he was writing dealt with the history of the Paragon Vollney and how the latter had not been unanimously supported by the Assembly. Apparently, one noble voted against the motion, a vote mired in intrigue and intimidation. Needless to say, Bruntin wanted this fact to never reach the ears of anyone and demanded that the shaper cease and desist. Raonar then remembered that a similar scene almost occurred at the naming of Aeducan as Paragon, though the one who objected ended up savagely hacked to death instead. This actually enabled Aeducan, despite the odds, to get a unanimous vote.

"Not liking history doesn't make it any less true!" the scholar told Bruntin, who was obviously enraged at hearing him say that.

"The scholar is right," the new commander bluntly stated as he gave Bruntin a direct look.

"You're taking his side? Vollney was more than a man! Aren't we supposed to protect the reputations of the Paragons? What would you say if he wrote such a think about your Paragon Aeducan?" the noble asked in spite.

"Hmpf!" Raonar scoffed as his patience was being tested. "Aeducan was a great man, but he was still a man. He was melancholic and his fervor to protect his people bordered on obsession. Why would we even want to consider our Paragons as more than men? If they were really such untouchable figures, how then could we even look up to them and strive to be as useful for Orzammar as they were?"

Bruntin was somewhat taken aback by this bold statement and was obviously stunned to see the Prince himself state such a seemingly outrageous thing about his own house.

"Fine! I shall respect your wishes... for now," the angry noble sneered as he walked away.

"Bah!" Gorim begun after the Vollney was out of sight. "That fool has no idea how weak his house is or how low he sits in it! To think he would have the nerve to threaten you! Shall I have him killed My Lord?"

"You're saying that it would be prudent to eliminate a smaller threat before it becomes larger are you?" Raonar replied to him with a scolding look that made Gorim a bit uncomfortable. "I know you're a practical man, my friend, but don't be so quick to pass death sentences onto others. Those fools and their politics may think it wise and justified to have each other killed, but this is the exact same thinking that led to our downfall all those centuries ago. No doubt those Deshyrs even now keep blaming the Darkspawn for all their misfortune, but that's just their way of running away from their responsibility and the realization that the blame for our people's sad state, and their blood, is on their hands."

"I... yes My Lord, forgive me," Gorim apologized with a humble bow. Meanwhile the shaper had been observing the situation and, once the Prince finished speaking and turned to him, he thanked him for his help and went on his way.

"You have proven yourself a friend to truth and the glory of our people, My Lord," the scholar said as he left.

The Prince was left with a sour taste in his mouth after meeting that fool Vollney but, as he always did, he got over it quickly and went back to enjoying his day. Or he thought he would until he saw two familiar faces just down the road. For there stood his two brothers, Trian, his elder and Heir to the throne of Orzammar, and Bhelen, the youngest and seemingly less noteworthy. Unsurprisingly, Trian immediately lashed out at Raonar for being irresponsible and showing disrespect to their father by wandering about on a day set aside for his own feast. Raonar had heard it all before, his older brother gloating and shouting at him, trying to 'help' his sibling 'get over his stubbornness'. After that, of course, came the obligatory reprimanding of the lower castes, in this case Gorim, which irked Raonar more than anything else.

"Lord Harrowmont told us we wouldn't be needed at the feast for hours at least," Gorim tried to explain.

"Silence!" Trian lashed out. "If I want the opinion of my sibling's second, I will ask for it!"

Raonar scoffed. "This is where you speak to lower houses and castes 'how they should be spoken to', I take it?" He snapped back at Trian but in a calm and lightly ironic tone. "And I suppose you're not going to jump in either, eh Bhelen?"

"You're on your own, I've been dealing with him all afternoon," the youngest answered, but immediately followed up with a witty one-liner in order to avert Trian's gaze.

"What exactly is that supposed to mean, little brother?" the heir queried in annoyance.

"N-nothing Trian, I've been having a great time! That speech you gave to the legless boy about standing up and making something of himself was fantastic!" Bhelen answered in the most honest tone he could muster, though everyone present, except Trian himself, noticed the sarcastic tone of the remark.

"As heir to the throne, it is my duty to impart wisdom and judgement upon those who need it," Trian proudly affirmed, remarkably oblivious to the fact that he had just been ridiculed. Then he turned back to Raonar "Now you! Get to the feast!"

"Yes yes! I'll go when I'm ready. Honestly, the way you glare and pout, it's a wonder you haven't gotten a sore throat yet."

"Stubborn are you?" Trian sneered as he passed Raonar by and briefly stopped in his tracks. "When I'm King, I will help you get over that. Come Bhelen!"

Raonar was unimpressed with that warning. For a moment, instead of anger or disdain, he felt pity for his older sibling and how vulnerable he really was to all the intrigue and strife in the assembly. All his life, Trian had been protected by his title as Heir from the worst of the nobles' sinister plots, even as Raonar had to constantly keep an ear to the stone and thwart the various attempts on his life or his honor that various upstarts had set up over the years. And they were always there, since his prestige, that even Trian could not match, made him a ripe target at all times. This, of course, came in addition to all the plots against Trian himself that the second son had prevented without demanding any sort of reward or recognition or, indeed, ever making known.

It did not matter, of course. They were all who they chose to be in the end, and Raonar knew that all he could choose was who he himself could be, nothing else. Everyone else will live, and die, according to their own willingness to see the truth from the lie. Yet even knowing this, his heart ached at the knowledge that all men have the same unlimited potential for greatness, and that Trian was wasting his own trying to impose his authority in all the wrong ways.

"Well, that was exciting..." Gorim finally broke the silence. "Nothing like being talked down to by the next king."

"Ignore him. He will do what he wills, as will I," the Prince replied.

Raonar and his second proceeded to browsing the goods of the merchants that had gained permits to sell their wares in the diamond quarter. There were fine silks from the surface lands, fine armor and weapons that, though of high quality, couldn't exactly match the royal armor the second son himself was wearing, and many other items. Eventually, as the two made their way to the gates that separated the Diamond Quarter from the commons, passing by a pair of Noble Hunters on the way, they reached the stall of a weapon merchant who had the look of someone who wanted to say something but didn't know how. Raonar approached the stand and waited for the merchant to gather enough courage to speak.

"My Lord! You honor me by visiting my humble booth! I actually have a proposition, but I dared not approach."

"Yet you dare now?" Gorim cut him off.

"It's fine, I'll hear him out," Raonar calmly answered. The merchant immediately grew hopeful but, either because of enthusiasm or nervousness, he could barely even manage to tie two words together.

"Just so... Here's the thing... What I mean to say is... uuh..."

"It's alright," the Prince said with warm tone.

The merchant finally calmed down and explained how he had ordered a dagger made for the second child of King Endrin, as Raonar was more commonly known among the merchants and lower castes. Apparently, he had sent the dagger to the palace through a messenger but, because of some offence or another, he was thrown out by Prince Trian. Eventually, the merchant brought the dagger out, at which point both Raonar and Gorim conceded that it was a remarkable piece. A sharp, sturdy and shining blade made of pure silverite which had obvious lyrium enchantments woven into it. Raonar could sense a tingle as he passed his fingers across the blade and identified the enchantment as elemental. Ever since he was a child, he had been fascinated by the art of enchantment and read books on it, and the magic of the surface world, whenever he found the time. He mostly regretted that there wasn't much of this time to be found between training and learning the business of politics, but he was lucky that at least his mother, now dead for several years, always supported him.

"Hmmm... Not bad. No doubt it will send a jolt into the blood of anyone unlucky enough to taste it," the Prince remarked.

"You do me great honor Your Highness," the merchant continued. " I wish to give this to you as a gift for your first command, and hope that one day, when you rule, you will wear it."

"Trian is Heir,' intervened Gorim. "He will rule when King Endrin returns to the stone."

"If the Assembly wills it,' the merchant coyly responded. "Forgive me ser, but whispers say that the second son of Endrin will be chosen."

Raonar already knew of this, of course, and it made perfect sense as well. Trian was not exactly popular, and Bhelen was not exactly seen as worthy of note by the nobles, though Raonar knew otherwise. It was logical that he himself would be preferred. The Prince was, after all, the most popular person in the entire city by then and his prestige was only boosted by being named the youngest Commander in Orzammar's History. Only one thing was amiss in this entire painting, and that was that Raonar himself did not want the throne in the slightest. 'Fools and their politics' he always thought. If it were up to him, he would much rather stay as commander of the armies and protect his city without having to deal with the assembly's squabbles. On the other hand, Trian may not have enough backing in the assembly to actually be chosen as king after their father's death. The worst case scenario would be a succession crisis, and that was the last thing anyone wanted.

"I'll take the dagger..." Raonar eventually decided, much to the merchant's bliss and gratitude.

As he finally walked away, Raonar noticed the one stall he had not visited and, at the same time, was most interested in. There, near the gates, was a dwarf selling magical wares from the Circle of Magi of the surface. The Prince did not try to restrain his delight in the least as he approached the man. Unfortunately, and against all odds, the merchant was even worse at controlling his emotions, promptly passing out from excitement as soon as the Prince got close. There was a moment of silence.

"Wow..." Gorim said in amazement. "He's fainted... You make quite the impression these days."

Raonar sighed. "This is silly. Now where are those things...?"

The Prince seemed to ignore the passed out vendor and started going through his wares without any sort of restraint, even as Gorim uncomfortably noticed the other nobles staring. What caught the second's attention, however, was that the man he had pledged to live and die for looked as though he was actually looking for something specific. Eventually, the warrior decided to ask if he could assist, even if only to end that slightly embarrassing scene more quickly. There was no need, as Raonar had just spotted what he wanted.

"Ah! Here they are!" he exclaimed as he took a pouch of strange dust, took a sniff and recoiled. He coughed. "Yes... (cough).. These are the ones."

Gorim watched with great interest as the Prince leaned over the merchant, who had been lying unconscious on the stone street during the entire time, and placed the pouch right under his nose. Immediately, the merchant stirred and was amazed and startled to wake up to the man of the hour leaning over him. Eventually, he managed to come to his senses and struggled back to his feet, apologizing for making a fool of himself in such a way. Meanwhile, Gorim and all the other onlookers chuckled in approval as they realized that what Raonar had been looking for was a pouch of smelling salts meant to rouse the ridiculous man. In the end, the merchant offered something special to His Highness as an apology for wasting his time.

"You are familiar with the so-called magical poultices that the surfacer mages create, are you not my lord? I have here something even more special. It is a substance that, when placed upon the wound, solidifies and completely stops any sort of bleeding or other type of complication, whether festering or infections. Please, take it as a apology."

Raonar did not accept it until the merchant agreed to be paid for it, after which the Prince and Gorim left with their escort towards the proving grounds.

The escorts were a funny bunch. They were obviously honored to guard the Prince and were, thus, excessively careful to brusquely move everyone out of their way as they headed towards the Provings. Raonar noticed that the stone slabs that the street was made of were uncharacteristically lustrous compared to several days before, no doubt because they were polished the day prior to the celebration. The Prince couldn't help but feel it was silly of his father to cut off an entire section of the commons just to ensure that his son's boots didn't gather dust as he walked them, though he did appreciate the thought behind it all. Eventually, the concern that the Prince would be harassed on the way to the Provings was proven to be unfounded as the group entered the arena's antechamber.

The second son had been in those halls many times. It was there that, at his Father's urging, he honed his skills by participating in many tournaments, despite not being especially interested in glory. On the other hand, he had always found a certain thrill in battle and felt especially accomplished when he was able to defeat his opponents without even making them bleed. Not exactly a useful ability when fighting Darkspawn, of course, but he still felt good about it. Now had come the point where he could enter his own Provings and gain even more honor, but he knew that this was not why he had come.

A fight of the first bout had just concluded when Raonar and Gorim reached the seat of the Proving Master.

"Ah My Lord!" the Proving Master enthusiastically greeted the honored guest. "Have you come to see these young warriors do battle in your honor?"

"Well, I **was** initially going to fight and become the champion of my own Provings, but I'm more interested in something that happened here a couple of days ago," the Prince said very matter-of-factly. "Something about a castless man impersonating a warrior and dishonoring our traditions perhaps? I understand you were incredibly outraged by it,"he added with an obvious tint of irony. The Proving Master's demeanor immediately became annoyed.

"Ah, so you've heard about that, Your Highness. It was a disaster, a disgrace to everything these Provings represent! It disgusts me to even think about it and I would be most grateful if you let me put it out of my mind. Either way, you'll probably have better luck with Ser Gorrel, the proving trainer. He seems to have a better taste for gossip than most."

Raonar promptly waved at Gorim before the latter had a chance to rebuff the Proving Master for being so disrespectful to his liege. After that, they made their way to their seats, where a brown-haired dwarf, dressed in strong, veridium-wrought heavy dwarven armor waited. There was the one that knew all about the castless bruiser incident and was, in fact, quite eager to gossip about it. Raonar found out that the culprit had impersonated a drunken Everd and won all the fights up until the final bout, when Everd stumbled, dead drunk, into the arena and busted him. After that, the bruiser refused to reveal himself, demanding the respect he was owed for defeating the warrior caste's strongest. Needless to say, he was eventually cornered by guards, at which point he proudly took off his helmet and stupefied everyone in the audience when his brand was in plain sight. After that, the Proving Master had him arrested, which, of course, didn't exactly go smoothly as the man knocked out several guards and gave the captain a black eye before he was finally overwhelmed and captured.

Raonar listened to the tale with great interest. The first thing that struck him was that, officially, castless aren't even allowed to carry weapons, yet this one had managed to wipe the floor with even the Warrior Caste's greatest, not to mention most of the entire guard patrol on duty at the time.

"Where is this man now?" the Prince eventually asked.

"There's the thing..." the trainer responded. "He's nowhere to be found. He never made it to the prison after he was apprehended and when he was finally cornered again, he was coming out of a shop in the commons, completely covered in blood. But the weirdest part is that there was only a confused merchant inside and no signs of battle. He was taken back to the prison, but somehow disappeared by this morning."

"Maybe he escaped," Gorim hypothesized. "If he was able to sneak on the grounds and bluff his way all the way into the arena then he probably knows his way around locks and cages."

"That, or he was smuggled out of the prison and caged somewhere else, maybe as punishment for ruining the plans of this Beraht fellow," Raonar guessed. "Gorim, I think I know what we'll be doing for the rest of the day," he then added with a grin and an eerie glint in his eyes.

Gorim followed his lord and, along with the escort, left the Proving Grounds even though the fights had only just started. Their guards were already making their way back to the Diamond Quarter, but what they didn't know was that their two charges had other plans. Gorim noticed how his lord was looking in the direction of the lower levels of the city and how he let out a smug chuckle when he noticed a more crowded area.

"My Lord," Gorim whispered, "You know I'm right behind you, but is this truly wise?"

Raonar did not even bother to answer. As soon as their guards shifted their attention towards the many who were bustling, trying to get a clear view of the new commander, the Prince grabbed Gorim by the arm, snatched a pair o grey cloaks that hanged off a stall next to them and promptly slipped out of sight, getting lost in the crowds even before anyone noticed that anything had been stolen. Within less than a minute, their faces and fine garb were concealed beneath the simple cloaks and they looked no different from all the other merchants and customers that were swarming around them. The two quickly put distance between themselves and their escorts, who had, by now, become incredibly alarmed at having lost sight of the ones they were sworn to guard with their lives. Raonar knew he had made life rather complicated for them, but his goal was set.

The Prince had heard much talk of Dust Town, but he had never really set foot in that place. Thus, he was not completely prepared for the disrepair and desperation that the area emanated. All over, beggars with brands on their faces waited with hopeless eyes for someone to take pity and throw them a copper or two. Most of them didn't even have anything more than some rags on their backs and even the common grey cloaks that the Prince and Gorim were now clad in seemed like a rich man's attire. Gorim felt very uncomfortable, and unsafe, but he kept silent as he noticed the pain that washed over his lord. The cowl obscured most of his features, but enough of the Prince's face was still visible and Gorim remembered the many times Raonar had condemned the caste system and all the foolish traditions that led their people to this sorry state. The warrior could do nothing but stay silent and follow the Prince as he walked the narrow, darkened streets. Their revelry was soon interrupted, however, as they suddenly found themselves unexpectedly surrounded by thugs whose faces could not be seen because of the shadows.

Or, at least, Gorim thought it was unexpected. Raonar had noticed their stalkers ever since he had first entered Dust Town and had made a point of finding a place more out of sight, where he could deal with them without being discovered. This was also an opportunity to squeeze some information about the one he was looking for. Gorim, on the other hand, had nervously grabbed onto the hilt of his sword, not visible under his cloak, and waited to see what their hidden assailants were going to do.

"Go easy on them Gorim, and no killing," the second son whispered.

Eventually, one of the thieves spotted a glint of Raonar's silver-plated ceremonial armor and had just about lunged at the noble. He needn't have bothered. By the time he had a chance to move, Gorim had already taken out his steel shield and slammed it into the face of the nearest attacker. He then proceeded to knocking him out, along with another one who had tried to stab him from behind. By the time he was done with those two, Raonar had knocked unconscious, disarmed or immobilized the other four. One of them was begging to be spared already, which sat very well with the Prince, as this could only mean he was all the more willing to talk.

"You should pick your targets more carefully," Raonar advised as he approached the frightened duster. He was wearing a suit of tattered but well-made leather armor and was obviously not just another beggar. "Since you were so effective at spotting us and following us as soon as we entered this part of the city, I assume you had been tipped off by some sort of observer from the commons, am I right?"

The duster grew even more fearful, almost terrified at how easily the stranger had perceived the truth. Raonar them started questioning him about who he was, who he was working for and any other information that could come in useful. Surprisingly, though scared witless, the mugger refused to give up the secrets of the Carta, until Gorim noted, in a very 'friendly' manner, that the legal punishment for a castless trying to steal from the noble caste is getting one's arms cut off, followed by public execution. Raonar did not enjoy seeing his friend terrorize the bandit so, but he knew it was necessary. Eventually, the duster was ready to be questioned. What followed was less than expected however.

"I need to know where I can find this Beraht fellow. And I'm also looking for a missing person," the second son declared.

"I uuh.. a missing duster?" the castless man asked in confusion. "I wouldn't know anything about that, honest! Maybe this isn't common where you're from, but in these parts, people die and disappear every sodding day. But Beraht... don't you know? He's..." The bandit suddenly stopped, no doubt startled that he was just about to reveal something important.

"He's what?" Raonar asked impatiently, but then a realization struck him. "Ah... I see... He's dead isn't he? Which means that the blood that the castless bruiser from the Provings was covered in was his," he said as he turned to Gorim.

"Provings?" the confused bandit asked. "Ooooh, so that's what this is about! That duster that screwed up bad and cost Beraht a ton of sovereings! If he's who you're looking for, you can put it out of your head. Jarvia's got him locked up tight in the Carta's hideout, and if he's not dead by now, he soon will be!"

"Oh, is that so? Well then, it shouldn't be a problem if you told me where he was."

After a bit more prodding, the mugger unwillingly surrendered the location of the Carta's current entrance, as well as the finger bone token needed to open the door. After that, he was quite surprised to find himself free to go on his way as Gorim and his Lord left the scene.

Gorim kept an eye out for more bandits but they seemed to have finished with the ignoble assailants for the time being. He then followed Raonar and both made their way through the filthy streets, littered with trash and marked by buildings fallen into disrepair. The warrior found it hard to believe that, at one point, this Dust Town looked the same as the Commons or, indeed, perhaps even the Diamond Quarter itself, before the upper levels were carved into the stone. As they walked on, Raonar slid some silvers to every beggar he passed by, even though most would have been satisfied with a couple of coppers_. 'The Dwarves can do better than this'_ Raonar thought to himself and wondered just how the upper castes could even live with themselves knowing the wretched fate they had sentenced these poor souls to. These musings would have to wait, however, as the duo soon found the place they were looking for.

The fake wall slid to the side quite readily when the finger bone slot was inserted. At that moment, Gorim grabbed his Lord's arm and looked very worried.

"My Lord, I ask that you reconsider. This... This is foolhardy! I will follow you even to the deepest reaches of the deep roads but I couldn't forgive myself if you perished ahead of time because I was too afraid to speak. You heard that scared fool, this man we're looking for is probably already dead, or soon will be. Are you really going to risk your life by going in there, even knowing that all you may find is a cold, disfigured corpse? You are the Prince and Commander of the armies! If you fall here, what will Orzammar do? Will they even know what happened to you? Will they even find a trace? Will they even think to look for you here?"

Raonar gazed at his loyal friend and knew that his words came only out of concern. Gorim was a stout man who would never flinch in front of danger. The Prince knew also that what he said was completely true. Should he die there, no traces will ever be found and his father would likely be broken to lose his child, though Trian and a certain other someone may feel glad to some extent. But this was all irrelevant. The Prince had come to fulfill a task, and it was not just to please a pretty lady. He wanted to know, wanted to be sure: can there really be more honor and trust among the castless than there is among the scheming nobles? This search was going to end either with him gaining perfect clarity of purpose, or his death. Besides, if this Jarvia wanted the one he was looking for dead, she would have just killed him instead of smuggling him out of the prison cells.

"In truth..." the Prince finally replied to his companion, "I would rather go on alone. I would much rather have you return to the Diamond Quarter, get some guards and come back for me. Of course, I know you'll never agree to let me go in there by myself. I do not ask that you try to understand my reasons. Truthfully, even if you did understand them, you may just reach the conclusion that I am an idealistic fool that hasn't yet learned a lesson in humility by suffering failure. And, of course, this may very well be true. But I am going to do this either way."

Gorim said nothing. Only once before had the Prince said something like this to him and, though it made him a bit upset at the time, he eventually gained understanding. It was when the Prince participated in Trian's first expedition into the Deep Roads. Raonar was just a month away from turning 20 at the time and suddenly, or so it seemed, decided to go on ahead of the main troops. Gorim, needless to say, went with him, to act as his loyal second as shield, as was his due. Later, he found that, though the Prince had been acting all humorous and coy, he had, in fact, gone ahead to prevent an ambush that had been planned by house Gavorn and was meant to get the 'undesirable heir' out of the picture. Raonar slipped a drug into their rations and was gone before they had a chance to notice. Trian and his own patrol passed by while the would-be ambushers were all passed out. The only reward that Raonar got from all that was being publicly reprimanded by his elder in front of the soldiers for "going on ahead and acting like a child." And, even after all that, the people of Orzammar still gained a greater love for the second son than they have for the future ruler.

"As you will, My Lord. If you wish to proceed, than I wish for nothing more than to make sure you survive, even at the cost of my own life," Gorim declared, solemnly. He knew how ridiculous that really sounded but he did not mind in the slightest.

Predictably, they were faced with resistance as soon as they entered the tunnels. Fortunately, however, there were only a couple of guards stationed there and, thanks to them being bored out of their wits, they weren't exactly quick to notice the intruders, which made their loss of consciousness all the more sudden. Raonar was determined not to kill unless it was completely necessary, knowing that most of the men there turned to crime because they had no other options. He would not shrink from what he had to do, however, and as the two moved on, they tried their best to stay out of sight. Regrettably, the rustle of their coats of plates didn't help them much in this regard and they were suddenly set on by five thugs, one of which had a bow. The two intruders immediately took cover, and while Gorim managed to shove a sword through the chest of his nearest assailant, Raonar found that it was obviously not very easy to engage two people at once while also having to keep an eye out for the possibility of an arrow piercing his skull.

Gorim killed off another of the thugs and ran along the side of some crates in order to stay out of the sight of the female archer. He then rammed his shield into one of the men his Lord was holding off. At that moment, with one bandit on the ground and the other distracted, the Prince suddenly threw his sword straight at the archer, which went through her chest quite readily. The following instant, Raonar smashed his own silverite shield into the face of the last opponent left standing. At the end of it all, the only one alive was the one Gorim had bashed, and Raonar took this opportunity to get some answers.

After a bit of intimidation, the rogue surrendered all he knew about the imprisoned duster.

"It definitely wasn't a pleasant ride to get this far," Gorim begun, "But I still think that we encountered too little resistance. This can't be all of the Carta thugs in Orzammar, can they?"

"The most are probably out in the commons, cutting purses and roughing up merchants for 'protection',", the Prince immediately deduced. "Despicable, but this gives us an advantage. Let's go get this guy and get out of here."

The two went on their way, but not before knocking the remaining rogue senseless. Soon enough, they stood before the door that led to the prison cells. Gorim leaned in to listen and slowly pried the door open without making a sound. Four men could be seen through the crack, as well as two prisoners, each in their own cell. One of them was heavily bruised and had both his wrists and feet shackled in irons, but his hazel eyes burned fiercely from behind the bars of the cell, like those of a cornered beast that is about to turn into something formidable, or so it seemed to the Prince.

"Don't think you'll escape this time," sneered one of them at the captive apparently worse for wear. "I don't know how you managed to escape yesterday or even how some scum like you managed to kill Beraht, but Jarvia ain't happy about that. She told us we would have to keep a really close eye on you until she got back, but she ain't said that we have to leave all your limbs on. So you be a good little boy and behave yourself." The thug started laughing after that, a sound like snarling combined with belches and Darkspawn screams.

_"That guy is drunk,"_ Raonar thought and did nothing to restrain his smirk as he busted open the door. "Guess what!" he shouted. "Jarvia's going to be a while. I don't suppose you'll just agree to hand those two over to us peacefully, would you?"

The Carta men were surprised, and a little startled, as the two stepped in, still clad in their cloaks, now stained with blood. "Sorry, the other guys are either taking a nap or being greeted by their ancestors right about now," Gorim added.

"Who the hell are you?" sneered the supposed jailor again. "How the hell did you get in here? No, nevermind that. We'll just kill you and find out when someone comes looking for your corpse! Attack!"

The ensuing fight did not last very long, being in close quarters, but Raonar did notice that, while the so-called criminals didn't look like they had any formal battle training, they could hold their own as well as any soldier. Most likely they had gained a high endurance from the frequent brawls they engaged in. Eventually, only one of the four guards was left standing, at which point a fifth jumped out from the shadows, aiming straight for Raonar's throat. Fortunately, the Prince noticed him in time and escaped with a minor cut. Unfortunately for the duster, he got too close to the cell door of the aforementioned prisoner, who immediately somehow slipped his right hand out of the shackles and grabbed the assailant by the back of the neck. The next moment, Raonar saw said duster plummet to the floor. Some way or another, the prisoner had hit a sensitive point on his neck, causing him to lose consciousness.

Over the next minute or so, Raonar and Gorim watched as the prisoner dragged the body of the one he had incapacitated closer. After that, he took the key from his body and unlocked the irons he was fastened with, as well as his and the other dwarf's cell.

"Man," the other prisoner uttered as he finally got out of the cell. "I thought we were never getting outta there!"

Finally, the dwarf that seemed to have suffered the most bodily harm stepped into the dim light made by the candles on the wall. He looked strong and had long, dark red hair, gathered in a braided tail at the back. His face was covered in bruises but his thick stubble and moustache made most of them look less out of place than they would otherwise have seemed. The black brand on his right cheek extended upwards, over his eye, but the look in those eyes was not one of submission or even hesitation. This man obviously knew no fear and Raonar immediately understood why the girl in the palace spoke of him with such fondness.

"So, I noticed you didn't kill him," Raonar told the red-haired. "How come?"

The former prisoner smirked. "I'm just funny that way," he said.

"Right, it's nice you still have that sense of humor, even after they clobbered you for hours," the other prisoner said. "Anyway, I think it's high time you told us who you were and why you came here. I can't imagine you came to get us out, I doubt anyone even known we're still alive."

"This is..." Gorim begun, but was cut off by Raonar who waved at him to stop.

"Let's just say we were in the neighborhood and figured we'd pay the beloved Carta a visit. You know, it's the only polite thing to do," the Prince said with a grin.

The red-haired captive stared back at him with a smirk of his own. He could not see behind the simple, grey cloaks that the two were wearing, but judging from the metal noises made during the fight, he could guess that they were both wearing heavy armor underneath. He then noticed the uncharacteristically white hair of the one who had just spoken, and how carefully his moustache and beard had been arranged into several braids. Between that and the lack of brands on any of their faces, he easily realized they weren't from the neighborhood, or even Dust Town for that matter.

"Well, if it's going to be that way..." the prisoner said "I'll just call you... stranger. You can call me Faren, by the way, proud former underling of the crime boss of these parts, though I suspect you already knew that. And this here," he points at his friend "Is my buddy Leske."

"Proud former underling, you say. Interesting choice of words," the 'stranger' replied with a cunning smile.

"Heh!", Faren laughed. "So you did understand what I was saying. At least you're not as stupid as these louts. I can't tell you how glad I was to finally get rid of that bastard!"

"Here," Raonar suddenly said as he threw a red glass vial towards Faren, which the latter easily caught. "I noticed you broke your own right thumb in order to get your hand out of those chains. Drink that, it should mend the damage. Your bruises will probably fade away a little too."

"Ah, a healing poultice is it? From the merchants in the upper quarters. I heard about these, but never really managed to afford to buy one. Not that people around here are usually left in a state where it would do them any good," Faren smugly noted, just before drinking it down, not bothering to consider it may have been just a poison or some drug. The effects were immediately felt and the man was visibly more comfortable now that his bones were not aching and his cuts not festering. Raonar passed him another one, 'just in case' he said, and they all made their way out of the tunnels, fortunately without any further incidents.

As they walked along the streets of Dust Town, Raonar easily noticed how the man he had just helped free was growing increasingly impatient, especially after Leske took his leave, saying he had seen enough dungeons to last for a lifetime. His pace got increasingly quick and no doubt the only thing that prevented him from simply storming off to whatever he was searching for was his curiosity. Who was this upper class individual and why had he come with just one assistant into the bowels of Orzammar's underworld? Suddenly, he stopped in his tracks and turned towards Raonar.

"Look, you helped me get out of that dungheap of a cell and I'm grateful, but I've lived enough to know that nothing ever comes without a price. What was your interest in the Carta and why are you going the same way I am?"

"Come now," Raonar replied. "I know you already have your suspicions, but I'll do you the favor of coming clean, I suppose. The fact of the matter is that I wanted to see if there was really more worth to be found in the so-called castless thugs than in the nobles of the Assembly. As for why I'm tagging along, well, I want to see where you live of course!"

"That's ridiculous!" Faren blurted. "You're talking nonsense, and you should know that most people here don't really have any 'place to live.' the most 'fortunate' make a living inside derelict buildings, which are already few enough. The rest sleep on the street and hope not to die overnight, though that's how most of us return to our ancestors." The castless man sighed deeply, not knowing what to say next. After that, he looked in the distance, as if wondering about something.

"Look," he eventually continued, "just tell me what you want."

Raonar looked at him at length and his hazel eyes seemed to glow as the light from the lava flow behind them reflected in his iris. With his bruises gone, the man's countenance had actually taken on a slightly intimidating appearance. All that Faren lacked was a proper set of clothes or armor and a helmet to hide the brand. Had he those, he would have looked just as well, if not more proper, than any respected warrior of the city. Raonar stroked his beard a bit as he studied Faren's features, during which time the latter crossed hands and waited uncharacteristically patiently for his so-called rescuer to finish his scrutiny. Suddenly, Raonar threw back his cloak, revealing the high-quality silverite armor, with gold plating, underneath. Needless to say, this captured all of the attention of Faren, though what happened next was even more unexpected.

Raonar undid the fastenings on his coat of plates and let his armor fall to the ground, even as Gorim watched without saying a word. He had known the Prince long enough to be aware that he could never be persuaded not to do something. He also knew that the Prince always considered every possible outcome before taking such an action. Eventually, the Prince was clad only in his boots and his silk garments, patched with leather on the inside in order to prevent armor chafing.

"Gorim, give me your sword," the second son suddenly ordered. Gorim did not hesitate in doing so. The next moment, the sword flew straight towards Faren, whose quick hands easily grabbed it by the hilt in mid air. A look of confusion passed over his face, but was quickly chased away when Raonar drew out a fancy-looking but obviously masterfully-crafted lyrium-folded dagger.

"Hmm..." Raonar smirked as he threw it towards Faren, as he had done with Gorim's blade. "You're no fool but you still decided to break the thumb on your right hand earlier. This probably means you're ambidextrous, which means that fighting with two weapons must be your style. Now then..." the Prince drew his own sword and readied his shield, "Here, on these streets, we'll have a match. No armor, only strength of arms will define the victor."

Faren didn't have time to say how completely ridiculous and senseless the situation was because Raonar immediately charged him. With his armor off, he moved noticeably faster than what he showed during the earlier fights. He immediately lunged the shield at Faren's face, but when the latter dodged without much difficulty, he noticed that it was, in fact, a feint. The Prince continued with a thrust of his ceremonial blade and only just missed his opponent's neck. There was no time to gloat, however, as Faren got serious and counterattacked. The way he fought was not what Raonar expected. Faren side-stepped and, with great speed, got close enough to the Prince as to try and slip the dagger behind the shield itself. The goal was to either incapacitate Raonar's arm or cut off the belts that held the shield fastened to it. Fortunately, the second son managed to duck and spin his arm around in time to avoid the trick, though he was forced to evade and jump back in order to get away from the descending sword strike that immediately followed.

The battle looked serious on both sides, and Gorim had begun to ask himself whether he should have refused to hand his sword over to the castless criminal. On the other hand, as the two exchanged blows and skillfully evaded each other's feints, the 'glow' in Raonar's eyes became brighter. Gorim could only assume that his Lord was enjoying himself and remembered that he had only once seen that ecstatic expression on Raonar's face before. No, not ecstatic, it looked more as though the Prince was pouring all his skill and will into shattering any obstacles that stood in the way of his finding out just what his opponent's heart was saying. The only time when that gaze surfaced, as Gorim recalled it, was about a year back, when the Prince was playing a game of chess against Bhelen, his younger sibling. Raonar won, but later told Gorim that Bhelen actually let him win, though he tried to hide it. This, of course, meant that Raonar was also only playing with the goal of perceiving his brother's feelings. Gorim never did find out who would have won if both had been playing to win. Unfortunately, he didn't really have time to analyze his memory of the event because the two fighters decided to change the pace.

What happened next was more than a little surprising. Both Raonar and Faren started to slow down and stumble on their own blows, until they both collapsed to the ground, next to each other and started to laugh as loud as they could. And what laughter it was! Gorim could swear that he had never heard his Lord make that sound, that strong, unstoppable flow of sheer delight. Swords fell, the Prince's shield clattered to the floor and, now, the Prince and the Castless were lying on the ground, face up, next to each other, laughing as though they had just killed all the Darkspawn in Thedas and restored all the lost Thaigs of the old Empire. The born and bred warrior could only stand there, watching those two in sheer amazement and realizing that they had just laid their heart bare in front of each other. "There are men of words and men of deeds," Gorim remembered his Lord saying, long ago, "But I like to think I am a bit of both. I'll probably behave in a very uncharacteristic manner when I meet someone similar." It was a foolish idea, Gorim thought, as he firmly believed that his master was not just a bit, but the perfect merger of both those ideals. He chuckled to himself, realizing he had almost come to worship Raonar, the one now lying on dusty stone slabs in the least glorious posture the warrior had ever seen. And yet he regretted not the way he felt.

"Phew..." Faren finally managed to utter after his lungs settled down. "You fight like a tempest, my friend. I dare say that taking off your armor gave you an advantage instead of a handicap."

"No kidding," Raonar replied after his own breath stabilized. "I'm certain now that you definitely won the Provings without any tricks. On my search for you, I considered the possibility that you, or someone else, drugged the other fighters in order to rig the fights. I'm really happy to see this isn't the case."

Faren and Raonar didn't get back up until they had had their fill of amusement, but the former immediately got back to his original questions.

"Now that you admitted you were searching for me, I want to know why. What could a **respectable noble** like yourself want with a castless criminal like me?" His tone was understandably ironic, especially when he pronounced the words 'respectable noble', and the Prince picked right up on that. He didn't feel in any way offended, of course, since nobles were hardly respectable even by his standards. If anything, he gained the deepest respect for this man whom the Memories supposedly deem unworthy of recording. The Prince had found what he had been searching for, the confirmation that his city, Orzammar itself, was completely screwed up. He couldn't decide between being happy or outraged about finding this answer at last.

"What, you're saying you don't have anyone who would be worried about you? I just happened to... run into someone who does and then used my own methods to track you down" the second son frankly stated.

"Fine, evade the question!" Faren glared back, "but Just tell me who in the world are you anyway? And who told you of me? If I had to guess it would be my sister, since no one else not imprisoned at the time would have known I was gone. Don't tell me you're the patron she was talking about!"

Raonar tried to no avail to contain his laughter. "Hahaha, yes, I suppose it would be horrible for your sister if she was anywhere near me. **Very** subtle of you indeed!"

"Ad, sod it!" Faren immediately got back up and started to straighten himself, to dust off his torn suit of duster leather as well as he could. "She's probably back at the house by now. And mother. Oh, I wonder what that old, useless woman has been doing! She probably doesn't even know I'm missing. No doubt she's laying under the table with yet another bottle of moss-wine in her hand."

Raonar looked quietly as Faren talked to himself, until the latter remembered he was not alone. "I am not your sister's patron," the Prince said. "But if it's as you say, she's probably waiting for you, so we should get going."

"No," Faren said up front. "We're not going anywhere until you tell me who you really are. What kind of armor is that?" he asked as Raonar picked up his breastplate and, aided by Gorim, started to strap it back on. "it's fancier than any armor I've ever seen that isn't completely impractical and hard to move in. And you fight better than any of those grunts that supposedly earned glory in the deep roads."

The Prince did not immediately answer. Did he have the right? If he were to tell him who he was, that he was the Prince of Orzammar, the supposedly most popular person in the entire city, it probably wouldn't have made any difference to the so-called castless criminal. But if he did reveal his identity, if he had somehow drawn this man into his world, chances were that his hard life, the dangers of dwarven politics and the ever looming poisoned chalice would transfer over to this duster. If so, Raonar would be completely responsible for ruining his, his sister's and his mother's lives, even though he went to the trouble of rescuing him from the dungeons_. 'No'_, he thought, _"Dust Town alone is enough for them to worry about. My problems will not reach them."_

"Now now, you already guessed I'm a noble, so let's leave it at that for now. You should already know that, at times, the less you know, the better," the Prince said with complete honesty. "Come! Gorim and I will accompany you to your home, then we will take our leave."

"Hmpf!" Faren scoffed, but said nothing more.

After Raonar put his armor firmly back on, he put on his now blood-splattered grey cloak and got ready to leave, when Faren approached and handed Gorim's sword and the enchanted dagger back.

"Don't forget these, **my lord**," Faren said, somewhat annoyed for not having had all his questions answered. "Just so you know, I can find out who you are on my own just as well," he then added smugly. Raonar smiled and gave Gorim back his sword, but refused to take the masterwork dagger back.

"If you're so determined, I've no doubt you'll readily learn all you wish. That's why you should keep this dagger close at hand. If you really can't help yourself and get involved in the matters of the upper castes, this blade will at least help save your life when you see just how better it would have been to leave matters as they are now. Keep your wits about you."

Faren definitely did not expect to be told something like this. Normally, he would have taken it as bluster and would have dismissed the line as a cocky comment. But he had just fought this person and knew that he was as straightforward as he was out of place among the derelict walls of the slums. And yet the way he deflected all of his questions and practically convinced him to let the matter rest revealed a very cunning mind underneath that humorous attitude. What's more, the stranger's companion, obviously a manservant of some sort, was obviously completely devoted. The more he analyzed the situation, the clearer it became that his life, whether he wanted or not, had just become much more interesting. That, and the bright white hair and beard that the upper classman had were definitely uncommon. It would be easy to find out just who this mystery man was, Faren concluded, and said nothing more.

The trio departed and, since Faren was in kind of a hurry, they quickly walked down the streets of dust town until they arrived at the small slum house that sat on the fringe, just next to the cliff besides the large lava pool that boiled underneath the city. Raonar had intended to leave as soon as the house was in sight, but Faren threatened to stalk him all the way back to the diamond quarter if he didn't at least come inside. Raonar realized, of course, that what the duster hoped was for Rica to be there. If she was, Faren would immediately find out if there is a connection between the stranger and his sister depending on her reaction. Fortunately, only a few hours had gone by since the Prince and Gorim has slipped out of the sight of their escorts, which meant that Rica was probably still at the palace. They agreed to go in.

It was as Raonar had assumed, the girl was absent. Needless to say, this didn't calm down Faren much, but at least his mother was there, exactly as the duster had expected, passed out under the table.

"Sorry," Faren said somewhat uncomfortable. "I guess inviting you in to this spectacular view wasn't exactly the best idea in the world after all. I always keep telling her that the moss-wine will eventually rot her brains, but she never listens." The Prince could clearly see the sadness that Faren was trying to hide as he forced a humorous tone into those words.

"it's fine," Raonar answered with a strange look, as though he was recalling a distant memory. "People don't usually drink themselves witless unless they are desperate or suffer from a severe lack of self-confidence. I'm sure she loves you, but you should know that you can't really do anything about it in her stead. People choose who they are by themselves, even if they would like to believe they have no such choices." He paused and then chuckled. "Though I suppose saying that to a duster that is considered less than an animal by his own people isn't exactly very appropriate or accurate, now is it?" The Prince sighed deeply. "Anyway, Gorim and I will be going now. Don't worry. I'm sure your sister will come home soon! If she's a red-haired with two strands of hair floating along her cheeks, then she's probably the one I caught a glimpse of earlier in the Diamond Quarter."

It was a half-truth, of course. The prince had caught more than just a glimpse, but those words played their part. Faren's fears that Rica may have been abused by Beraht's or Jarvia's thugs were dispelled. He could now be at ease, knowing that nothing irreversible happened during his imprisonment.

...

_Do write a review if you will.  
_


	3. Prelude 2: Memories Outside Memories

**Chapter 2: ****Memories Not Recorded in the Memories**

"Ignorance is the root of all evil... Others say pride is. They are all fools. Evil is only an illusion, a fabricated concept strapped onto 'undesirable' figures when those that would judge them seek an excuse to do so. But if this is true, then why do people become wicked?

Because of their own weakness."

Raonar felt a bit relieved when he and his second finally made it out of Dust Town. The duo proceeded to making haste towards the diamond quarter. Now, all the Prince had to do was think of an explanation as to why he disappeared during the day of his celebrations. All he could hope was that he hadn't completely fumbled the entire event, though he didn't care about protocol overmuch and wasn't about to regret his decisions. After a short while, they had once again reached the gates, at which point they took off their cloaks and strode into the upper city.

Eventually, they arrived back at the palace, where an angry Trian, followed by Bhelen, suddenly appeared, eager to reprimand his sibling for going off to ancestors know where. Raonar patiently waited for his elder to say his long, long moralizing speech, topped by insults and shrieks, until Trian was finally exhausted from shouting and could do little but wait for Raonar to take his turn at speaking.

"What?" the second son asked with an earnest gaze. "It's not all that late yet. I bet the feast hasn't even started. Or did you actually let the news of my small escapade reach father's ears?"

"Hmpf!" Trian sneered. "You think you're clever, do you? Of course I didn't let this news be known. Even for all your conceit, this day is father's as much as yours. To think you'd actually ruin it for him by pulling off something like this. On any other day I would have..."

"Yes yes!" his sibling cut him off with a prompt, dismissing wave. "I heard you gloat about what you would do about me many times before. I would gladly let you elaborate on all the intricate means you would use to ensure my public humiliation, but I'm afraid that would only delay my arrival at the feast. Then you would have to explain to father how your speeches ruined the entire event."

Trian stormed off, followed by an obviously amused Bhelen and muttering something about teaching his brother respect. Gorim was glad when the two were gone, as he was finally able to laugh about the whole situation. Raonar, on the other hand, knew that, for all his ego and foolish ambitions, Trian was right. Nevertheless, the second son decided not to dwell on the event and resolved to finally attend the ceremony, though not before making a small stop.

Rica was understandably overjoyed at hearing that her brother was alive and had returned home. She was excited and relieved and obviously eager to be on her way, but she still suspected that the prince had ulterior motives. Raonar looked at her quietly until she was able to restrain her excitement. She didn't know what to say, however, so she just stood there, waiting to see what Raonar would do.

"I feel I must... apologize to you once again.," the prince eventually told her. "I may have just traded one of your problems for another. Your brother is a very... curious man. I kept my identity secret, but he suspected enough and has no doubt found out who I was by the time I returned here. So I ask you now, stop him from doing anything rash. If he gets involved in the affairs of nobles, his life won't get any easier."

Rica just listened but understood something of what the Prince was saying, because even having spent only a short time around the nobles' quarter, she had noticed certain things already. The intrigue of the court was no more subtle than how the Carta provided 'protection.' Her memories were interrupted immediately afterwards, as the prince suddenly unfurled a soft belt than hung off his right wrist. The belt was revealed to be in fact a scarf, weaved out of silver-lined silk with cyan-colored embroidery. Raonar always wore it, and Rica was soon about to learn why.

"This was once my mother's," he cleanly told her. "You should take it. Keep it hidden. Hopefully you'll never have to use it, but if you do inevitably get into trouble, you can go to Lord Harrowmont's estate. Lord Pyral Harrowmont is an honorable man and should be able to keep you, your brother and your mother out of trouble if the need should ever come. He'll recognize this immediately."

"But My Lord..." Rica asked in confusion. "What are you saying? I can't accept th..." She wasn't able to say anything else as the prince immediately turned around and left the room, leaving her to ponder for herself.

By the time the Prince and his second finally got to the throne room, all the guests had already arrived and taken their seats. All that was left was for the new commander to show up and grace them all with his august presence. Raonar felt increasingly excited as he slowly approached the grand archway that led to the hall. One the one hand, he was concerned that now, at the height of his glory, with his attention spread thin, he was the most vulnerable to intrigue. On the other hand, he didn't have any problem with being happy with himself for his achievements. He knew his worth and felt no guilt for acknowledging it. "_False modesty is just a pretty disguise for a lie," _he said to himself as he walked into the chambers where the feast was in progress.

Some of the nobles immediately noticed him and nodded in acknowledgement, but most of the others were still waiting for King Endrin to finish up whatever grievances the nobles had brought to his attention. After that, the formal investment of the new Commander would take place. This was fortuitous, the second son reasoned, as it would give him time enough to get a better grasp of who may or may not ask something of him upon his investment. In fact, Lord Ronus Dace was waiting uncharacteristically near the entrance and immediately tried to draw the honored guest's attention as he approached.

Raonar indulged him of course, though he knew he should expect nothing besides deception. Lord Dace told him how a vote concerning the status of the 'surface caste' was going to take place in about a week and asked the Prince if he would be willing to speak out in favor of having their rights returned. Raonar, naturally, perceived that the noble's plight was hardly altruistic but didn't really believe it when Ronus 'admitted' he didn't care about the surfacers at all but his wife had a cousin among them. The prince sighed.

"Well, no doubt you hope I would just 'do the right thing' but I'm sure you came prepared with a suitable array of possible compensations for this 'favor' I would be doing you, yes?" Raonar shrewdly retorted. Lord dace laughed.

"Straight to business eh?" he begun. "As you know, I like to keep an ear to the stone. I hear things, things that might help you out in your mission tomorrow. Do this for me and I'll tell you what whispers are saying."

The prince already suspected what the 'whispers' were saying but, at the same time, he felt inclined to actually help the surfacers as well, even though Lord Dace was just being a selfish hypocrite. He wasn't just going to play right into his hand, however, and decided to turn the whole situation to his advantage.

"Fine," Raonar bluntly told him. "I'll agree to this, but I'll want specifics, not just 'watch yourself, there is a plot against your life' or some other horribly vague hint." Lord Dace's look grew quite surprised and uncertain as the Prince went on. "As your ear to the stone no doubt kept you informed, plots against my life and honor have been cropping up ever since my mother died, because of one such scheme aimed at my elder brother I might add." The second son's face grew all the more authoritary as he spoke. "So, I'll agree to this, but you'd better have something good."

"Heh, you certainly seem to have mastered the game, your Highness. Very well, if this is what it will take," lord Dace conceded.

"Good," Raonar continued. "And in exchange, I'll not pry to deeply into just how you got a hold of whatever information you have. It would be dreadful if it was found out that your house was somehow involved in the whole affair, no? Or that the real reason is that money you lost because of the surface expedition you funded ended in disaster. I know you just want House Hemi and Aeducan to pay the surfacers' kin debts."

Raonar went on his way after lord Dace assured him he had nothing against him personally, but the whole deal left a sour taste in his mouth. He disliked such back-handed dealings as much as he disliked the darkspawn that preyed on the lost thaigs. He didn't really intend to go through with those threats, of course, but the noble didn't know that. Still, he knew that he had to keep a sharp ear and a strong grasp over these intricacies. Fortunately, a certain odd-looking group of guests caught his eye and the feeling of disgust for politics passed on. Grey Wardens were present at the feast, apparently led by a tall human, tough as stone and grizzled. He carried himself with dignity but his eyes and the lines on his brow hinted at a less than easy life. The Prince and Gorim approached him and were immediately greeted with honest delight.

"Greetings, My lord Aeducan!" the man said in an earnest tone. "It is an honor to met you at last. My name is Duncan, leader of Ferelden's Grey Wardens. Your father has told me much about you. He says you might just be the greatest warrior in all of House Aeducan."

"My father does me great honor," Raonar replied suavely, "but whether I really am all that is still to be decided. We'll see what happens tomorrow."

"Ah, your answer speaks of maturity far beyond your years," Duncan praised. "It is unfortunate that such an attitude is so rare. I actually had more than half a mind to invite you to join our order. We need more Grey Wardens, and quickly."

"Ah, am I to understand that you also intended to gather recruits during your stay here?' Raonar asked.

"Yes," Duncan answered. "In fact, we have been here for about a week. Your father was even kind enough to stage a Proving in our honor, whose winner we would have drafted into our ranks. It is unfortunate that the event fell apart as it did... But I'm sure you don't want me to waste your time with idle gossip."

"Ah, you are referring to the incident with the castless that beat down all the fighters in the warrior caste? Yes, a very funny business that," the Prince said without bothering to contain his amusement.

"You certainly don't seem to share the Proving Master's aggravation over the event," Duncan told the new commander, slightly amused himself. "I actually intended to conscript him, but he seemed to disappear after he was apprehended by the guards. It is unfortunate that such talent should be wasted because of politics," the Warden Commander concluded with a resigned sigh.

Raonar let out a sly smirk and gazed up at the man with a cunning grin.

"Well now," Duncan added with a grin of his own "If I didn't know better, I would say you knew something about this affair that you haven't yet said."

"Well, he didn't really mention anything about the Grey Wardens wanting to conscript him," the Prince cleanly stated.

"I doubt he even knew I had the mind to," Duncan explained, "but what do you mean by 'he didn't say'? Forgive me if I seem a bit skeptical, but it's not exactly likely that you, the Prince, would have run into this very specific castless man on your day of celebration, especially with all the armed escorts that you had following you about."

"Slipping out of the sight of armed escorts in the middle of the crowded marketplace isn't exactly that difficult," Raonar told the Warden. "It doesn't matter how I ran into him, however, but the way he fought... Let's just say I share your opinion that he would indeed strengthen your order."

Duncan stroked his beard and looked at the young dwarf at length. Even short as he was, by human standards at least, he looked as completely in control of the situation. The Warden also noticed a few subtle dents on his armor and realized that the Prince didn't have a very boring day. Duncan eventually reached the conclusion that there were no lies in the prince's words and dismissed his suspicions. He chuckled.

"Well, perhaps I might leave this grand city with a new recruit after all. It would indeed be quite fortunate."

The second son briefly gave the Warden Commander the directions to Faren's house and was prepared to leave when he caught a glimpse of someone who appeared to look most out of place when compared to all the other 'tall people' present. There, leaning against a column was a man dressed in long, black robes with scarlet embroidery.

He had long, black hair, gathered up in a long ponytail that hung at his back, while half of his right cheek was obscured by a strand that hung in front of it. Next to him was an intricate staff. Raonar took a closer look and spotted a pair of keen, green eyes that almost shone in the shadows cast by his eyebrows. What eventually caught the dwarf's attention, however, were the sharp, pointy ears that the individual had. An elf, the Prince realized. Meanwhile, Duncan had observed the guest of honor and noticed how intrigued he was.

"That man is also part of our group," Duncan told Raonar.

"He's an elf, is he not? And if I'm not mistaken, that's a mage's staff..." the prince observed. Duncan was quite surprised to see his host so very entranced and knowledgeable about things usually only seen on the surface. "So am I to assume that he's also a Grey Warden?"Raonar eventually continued.

"Actually, he has not yet become a full-fledged member as he was only recently recruited. In fact, he has been traveling with us for less than a fortnight. He was originally a mage from the Circle of Magi but we conscripted him after a he got into some... trouble with the Circle itself," Duncam explained.

"Trouble? What sort of trouble?"the Prince asked out of sheer curiosity.

"Ah, you'll have to forgive me but it is not my place to say. You may ask him yourself, however, though I pray that you do not take offense if he proves to be less amiable than myself. You see, elves are not exactly fond of other races. History has not been particularly kind to elves and even now they are being persecuted by humans and considered little better than slaves," Duncan told, obviously discontent with that state of affairs. Raonar nodded and walked up to the peculiar individual who didn't seem to notice him at first.

The Prince would not be discouraged, however, and he just stood there with his arms crossed, studying the person's features. He was shorter than the other tall folk, though still noticeably taller than the dwarves which scurried about him. Eventually, the elf turned his gaze towards the one in front of him, revealing that he was, in fact, trying to escape notice and avoid any sort of interaction with the others by acting all meditational.

"I suppose you're not one to take a hint, are you?" The elf bluntly said with just a slight tint of annoyance. "Well, what is it you want? To stare at the lowly elf in the corner perhaps? Surely there are far more interesting ways for an **esteemed dwarf** such as yourself to spend his afternoon." His tone was sarcastic and easily irked Gorim.

"I would suggest you choose your words more carefully when speaking to his lordship!" the warrior rebuffed him, not even bothering to conceal his anger. "His Highness did not come to his own feast to be insulted by outsiders."

"Ah, the man of the hour is it?"the elf remarked with a smirk. "Well, you'll have to forgive me but I can't really tell dwarves apart from one another all that easily. Though I assume you, with your unusual hair and beard color, at least stand out more than the rest. (sigh) I'm supposed to congratulate you on your naming as Commander I suppose?"he continued with a obvious air of boredom. ''Well, congratulations My Lord. Now if you'll excuse me..."

The elf recruit got up and reached for his staff but, by then, Raonar had already walked within reach of it. In a split second, the prince grabbed the weapon and spun it round a few times between the tips of his fingers. After that, he inspected the crystal at the tip.

"Hmm, very nice. A masterfully cut diamond indeed! And the lyrium was woven into it flawlessly as well," the second son remarked, sensing the tingle given off by the enchantment. Meanwhile, the elf could not help but be annoyed at the little creature that would not let the pestering stop. On the other hand, he was surprised at how interested and, apparently, knowledgeable, the dwarf was about magic. Then, much to his relief, Raonar simply handed the staff over, bowed slightly and walked away.

Raonar walked up to the throne just as his father was settling some dispute related to Kal Sharok. Kal Sharok was the capital of the old empire and was thought to have been destroyed by the darkspawn until just a few years ago, when Endrin managed to restore contact. Needless to say, the dwarves there were angry at having been abandoned to fend for themselves and were not particularly keen on obeying the rule of Orzammar.

"Disregard of our ancient traditions does not qualify as a political technicality." The King stated firmly. "The Assembly of Kal Sharok will respect the rule of Orzammar... or they will rot and die alone, surrounded by enemies. But look!" he added as he noticed his second eldest child approaching "We now have a reason to spare us further wrangling."

"I see the business of ruling is still the same as ever," Raonar begun with a grin, "You should be careful, father. I do believe that you'll get even more wrinkles if you carry on like this, heh."

Endrin laughed at the remark. "Ah, my son! How well you look in your great grandfather's armor! Are you ready to be introduced to your guests?"

"Come now, father," the Prince replied, "You know, of course, that none of these people here are really strangers to me. That said, I think we should move on to the main event. I can tell you're eager to get some rest as well," he added warmly.

"Haha. Practical as ever! But don't underestimate your old man, boy. There's still strength enough in these old bones of mine to gloat over my son's achievements." The King stood up. "My lords and ladies and Deshyrs of the assembly! The man of the hour has finally made his appearance. Who would pose a question to the new Commander? Who seeks to know the prospect better?"

Needless to say, Lord Ronus Dace promptly took the word and asked what the new commander's opinion was of the surfacers.

"They are as we are and should have their rights returned," Raonar bluntly answered with not even a shred of hesitation. He didn't do it for the benefits, of course. This choice was mostly made because of how stupid the entire caste system was in the prince's eyes. That and the notion that those who leave for the surface 'lose their stone sense' was utterly ridiculous. Lord Dace was quite satisfied and returned to his seat. Immediately afterwards, the King cut right to the matter at hand: the mission that was to take place the following day.

The new Commander was going to lead part of a mission in the deep roads. The overall goal of the campaign was to reestablish contact with some of the more important mines that the city had lost to the Darkspawn during the rule of the previous monarch. In addition to that, the mission would allow Duncan and his Grey Wardens to strike a deep into the deep roads and find out whether a Blight was really brewing. Raonar had not yet been told what his Father planned for him to do but had learned that Trian and Bhelen would have their own roles to play.

"Now!" Endrin finally shouted, "drink, feast and celebrate! For tomorrow we fight!"

The nobles readily held a toast for the new army Commander and then went back to enjoying their ale and the roasted nugs that the palace cooks had prepared in great quantities. As for the Prince himself, his father noticed that he was just ready to go on his way, and, thus, called him over to at least exchange a few words.

"Are you upset that your brothers didn't attend the feast?" the king asked with an earnest, fatherly tone.

"A little..." Raonar answered, though as he looked to the side his father couldn't help but notice that there was more than just that bothering him. For an instant, his second child looked old, and not just because of his white hair. It looked as if he had dealt with hardship to last him three lifetimes instead of just one. Endrin didn't exactly manage to understand what his son felt at that moment but said nothing.

The King never did learn exactly how Raonar's hair and beard had gotten that silver-white hue. Originally his hair was a striking blonde and his eyes were dark blue, not the clear cyan that now burned underneath those snow-white eyebrows. Even the prince's behavior was different before his mother passed away. Yes, that was what started it all. The Queen was a strong woman, a resolute monarch and a caring mother, greatly loved by her people, her husband and, of course, her children. Raonar, in particular, liked being around her because she was the only one who didn't discourage his passion for the wonders of the surface world. Then, just as Trian had turned 21, she suddenly fell deathly ill and could barely even speak.

This was about four years in the past. Raonar was 18 then, whereas and Bhelen was just weeks away from turning 17 himself. Trian spent his days angrily looking for the source of the poison that had put her into such a state, while Bhelen usually strove to stay out of everyone's way. The King, meanwhile, had to deal with the heightened pressure from the nobles, who saw this as an opportune time to score better dealings from one whom they saw as a distraught ruler. Endrin stood his ground admirably, but his face got an extra line with each passing day as he regretted not being capable of being there for his wife.

At the time, Raonar was not nearly as popular as he later became. During the two weeks that his mother spent ill in bed, he mostly stood at her side, nursing her and seemingly incapable of coping with the situation. Endrin did not think particularly well of his second child for doing that. He believed that he should put on a strong face for the sake of House Aeducan as a whole. Raonar didn't care. In fact, as he suffered his father's, and Trian's, repeated preaches, he kept leaving them stunned because of how completely unimpressed he was with their angry postulations.

This, of course, didn't seem to help the overall situation much, but that was only because, as Endrin later realized, none of them actually noticed that the then golden-haired lad had never actually shed a single tear. It wasn't until a couple of years later that the King finally saw what he had failed to see all that time ago: Raonar understood, even sooner than the rest, that the queen would not recover.

And so it was that Queen Errinne, most respected female monarch since Anika, wife of Paragon Aeducan himself, passed away one afternoon with only Raonar by her side. The King was, at the time, forced to attend to the court, while Trian, accompanied by Bhelen, was still trying to find the one responsible for the plot itself. An antidote was never found for the exotic poison, nor was the reason for the queen herself being targeted.

Endrin still remembered that grim scene when he and his two sons returned, only to find Raonar leaning against the Queen's room's stone door. He gazed at them as they entered and bluntly informed them that the inevitable had occurred. 'Mother is dead,' he said, but his voice was like that of a dead man. No emotion was in it and, as Trian rushed inside to see for himself, Raonar slowly followed, right after his father and younger brother. Predictably, Trian became enraged and swore he would get the bastards that had done that to her, while Endrin fell to his knees and started sobbing, his tears pouring over his wife's lifeless hand, now as cold as the stone she had gone back to. Bhelen stood in a corner, while Raonar simply leaned against the side of the door, looking at how helplessly they moaned and wailed. Endrin momentarily lifted his eyes and saw Raonar looking at him and he knew him no longer: the limitless enthusiasm he emanated was gone, the youthful and glorious fire that had once burned in his eyes now extinguished.

"There, now she is dead," the Prince said matter-of-factly and turned to leave, but not before letting out one final sentence. "Fools and their politics."

After that, the atmosphere in the family became somber and, as Trian and Endrin conducted investigations into the events, an unseen force begun to act of its own volition inside the palace. Not long after the queen was returned to the stone, high-ranking nobles from various houses started to turn up dead, curiously from the same poison that had killed Errinne herself. A connection between House Aeducan and the occurrences was never establiched and, indeed, the King and Trian never could uncover just what had happened to all of those lords.

Meanwhile, Raonar spent most of his time in his quarters, doing something that dwarves aren't generally known for: meditating. He only left his room when going to attend the family meals which, needless to say, usually went by without a single word being uttered. Then, one day, Trian could stand the situation no longer and lashed out at his younger brother. Words were spoken in anger, and though Trian did most of the yelling, the two never really said anything kind to each other after that.

Coincidentally, the next day was when a great campaign in the deep roads was scheduled. The King went to see his forces off, accompanied by Trian and Bhelen. Trian had requested that he be allowed to lead the forces, but the King refused, saying he would not risk losing more of his family so soon after his wife left the world. Raonar did not attend and everyone assumed he had just decided to confine himself to his room. This assumption was proven false, however, as they only found, later that day, an empty chamber and a rolled-up note on the table.

"I have disguised myself as one of the other soldiers and left with the armies into the deep roads. Don't bother sending anyone after me or ordering the forces to return. By now the army will have passed the old underground highways and entered the ancient section just beyond the lava rivers. No messengers or patrols will ever survive those tunnels in small numbers. You know this.

Now before you start drawing any rash conclusions, let me make it clear that I am not going there seeking death. As odd as it might sound, the Deep Roads, as infested with darkspawn and deep stalkers as they are, seem more friendly right now than the Royal Palace. The only thing I regret is that I couldn't persuade that magnificent fool Gorim not to follow me. Even now he's sneaking around the palace entrance, disguised as a common guard and hoping I won't recognize him and send him away.

Perhaps I will return or I will not. We shall see.

/Raonar/

**P.S.** If Trian is there, tell him to watch his back. The shadows in the Diamond Quarter have grown thicker as of late."

Endrin even now could remember what mixed feelings that note stirred in him. A stream of anger, combined with desperation and sorrow, with the only ray of hope being that, at the very least, his son hadn't left all alone. Trian, of course, scoffed at his brother's foolishness and, much to his father's dismay, did not exactly get as angry as the king expected. 'If he dies, it'll be his own fault' the elder blurted. Bhelen hypothesized that Raonar had finally gone mad and, for once, the others seemed to agree with him. They had all been outplayed, however, for it was exactly as the second son had written: all they could do was wait, and that's exactly what they did for the next three months.

Finally, the army returned from the expedition and, much to the glory of Orzammar, had suffered only minor losses and also successfully completed what it was set out to do, namely rediscover the way to Kal Hirol, long lost refuge of the smith caste. Endrin and his remaining two sons hurried to greet the soldiers but, obviously, were more interested in the fate of their wayward kin. Worst case scenario, Raonar could have just died in a skirmish, without anyone ever recognizing him. What happened next was far from what they had even remotely considered.

Since the mission had been a success, it was customary of the king to honor the commanding officer. The one that had been placed in charge was Baizyl Harrowmont, cousin to Endrin's closest advisor, Lord Pyral Harrowmont. He was known as a skilled fighter and honorable man. As such, the entire crowd was surprised when he stepped down and told everyone that another was responsible for the success, as well as the survival of so many.

At that moment, to everyone's amazement, one of the most common-looking soldiers, whose face was completely covered under his full helmet, approached Baizyl and muttered, as those close enough to hear later revealed, that they had agreed to keep the whole matter a secret. Baizyl retorted saying that his honor demanded that he choose the lesser lie, after which he took off the man's helmet himself, leaving everyone on the site astonished, and the royal family staring in disbelief.

As Baizyl removed the soldier's helmet, the light emanated by the lava river behind the crowd revealed a smiling but slightly annoyed man whose eyes seemed bright and whose hair was whiter and more radiant that that of even the eldest of the Shapers. He had dark circles around his eyes, but his face was soft and had only an air of calm affection about it. His features were so unique, however, than no one seemed to recognize him and, indeed, even the Royal Family had trouble deciding what to believe.

At that point, another soldier immediately approached and took the other one's sword and shield, setting them against the stone palisade, after which, to everyone's growing amazement, the white-haired person did the same thing Baizyl had done and removed his helper's helmet. It was only then that the king received the confirmation: Gorim was the white-haired young man's attendant, which meant that Raonar had returned. Endrin could not speak, however, as his did not yet know what to think

The returning prince then stepped up and earnestly smiled at his audience, though he immediately gave them all a scolding look.

"The honorable warrior Baizyl exaggerates, I'm afraid. I'm just a rash young man who ran away from home a few months ago and disguised himself as a soldier when this fine army left for its mission. There I spent my time looking at how grey the stone was, how interesting the cracks in the rocks looked and rushing on ahead of the main force repeatedly, though I always managed not to get myself killed somehow. The ancestors are just funny like that I guess..." Raonar's voice was filled with such playful honesty that the crowd exploded in a rain of laughter never before seen. Ever since the empire fell to the darkspawn, the general populace had never even come close to laughing to their hearts' content in such a manner. And yet now, a single young man had managed to drive all the worries and fears from everyone's hearts with just a few words, albeit for just a moment.

"What are you doing?" Baizyl asked uncomfortably as he got close to the wayward youth. "Tell them the truth already!"

Raonar acted a bit confused but retorted in a voice clear enough for everyone to hear. "What do you mean? Technically, what I said **was** the truth. What do you want me to do? Gloat in front of these people like some glory-hungry fool that's had too much to drink?"

The laughter of the crowd grew even more enthusiastic and even the soldiers started to chuckle at each other, breaking ranks and relaxing even though it was customary for the main force to stay still and straight while the king was present. Fortunately, the general revelry did not last forever and, finally, the people had calmed enough to listen to the one supposedly in charge of the expedition.

"What this 19 year-old and somewhat **too playful** young man means is that he kept his identity secret in order to more easily fulfill his assignments and acted as a one-man-army-scout. Most often he went ahead of the main force, accompanied by his valiant companion (points to Gorim) and either collapsed weakened tunnels over deep stalker nests or set traps for unwary pockets of darkspawn. And when he was not out doing that, he usually came up with unorthodox tactics that ended up in us making short work of any attacking beasts and starting our evening ale-drinking rituals all the sooner." Baizyl explained without any hint of sarcasm or hesitation.

"Well, you're quite the speaker yourself," Raonar told him.

"Now hear me people," Baizyl then shouted. "For it seems to me an insult not to recognize one whom you have seen much of in the past. This man is Lord Raonar Aeducan, Prince of Orzammar and second eldest son of our respected King Endrin."

The many men and women gathered there suddenly gasped and started to fret in disbelief. Everyone, by then, had assumed him dead. Whatever doubts they had were dispersed, however, as the King approached his son, now apparently metamorphosized into something more than what he was when he left. As he drew near, however, it became clear that King didn't exactly know what to do. Only Raonar, Gorim, Baizyl and those close enough to them actually noticed the tears welling up in Endrin's eyes as he tried to restrain himself from hugging his brash son in front of the entire city. The latter, however, was not nearly as undecided.

"Hey..." he begun, " Don't be taken aback **that** much! Honestly, you look like you've just seen a ghost."

"Oh, you completely insane fool!" Endrin burst as his eyes finally overflowed and he embraced his beloved but arguably insane child. "_Protocol be damned"_, he thought and held him tight until he finally calmed down. After that, his brothers followed up with their own greetings, just as predictable as their father's.

"Well, you don't seem any worse for wear," Bhelen joked. The next second, Trian stepped up and smacked his brother on the back of the head, though Raonar only smirked back as he noticed that, for all his attempts at playing the tough one, Trian was just as relieved to see Raonar back as his father was.

"Nice to see you again too, big brother," Raonar said with a grin.

"Hmpf," his elder pouted, unable to completely restrain his smile.

...

_Do write a review if you will._


	4. Prelude 3: Honor and a Poisoned Chalice

**Chapter 3: Honor and a Poisoned Chalice**

"Plots and schemes. How dull and sad at the same time. One would think a time would come when the knife under the pillow is no longer needed.

Perhaps it will, perhaps it will not. Either way, now is definitely not that time."

The King asked his second eldest to go look for Trian and send him over but would not disclose the reason no matter how insistently Raonar asked. In the end, Gorim and him left the chambers, but not before bidding Duncan and the other Grey Wardens a warm farewell. At the very least, the elf did not seem as grumpy as he was earlier. Duncan told him something no doubt, or at least that's what the new Commander suspected. There was one more person that had to be visited and the whole ordeal was going to be over. Or just get worse, as one would soon learn.

"So, I did as you asked," Raonar told Lord Dace. "Now tell me what you know."

"So businesslike you are, your Highness. Then listen carefully. There is a plot against your life, though you seem to have gathered this much already. This time, however, you should look inward. This plot is one of Aeducan design and not one that is easily countered. Now, I must take my leave, but a final word of warning: watch yourself, not all allies are to be trusted."

The Prince did not show any emotion, though he was quite sad that his worst fears were being realized. He was certain of one thing, however. If it was truly as the noble said, than whoever was involved would make their moves soon. As such, there was no reason to dwell on it just yet. The Prince was actually more inclined to indulge his old friend's enthusiasm. Gorim was very excited to have seen the Grey Wardens in person and was also excited about the coming battle. "I yearn to face the darkspawn and prove myself as your second," he would declare, almost warming Raonar's now troubled heart, even if only a little. Whatever was left of the second son's good disposition was doomed to fade, however, as soon as he entered Trian's chambers.

His elder brother and Bhelen looked as though they had just finished discussing something and Trian was even more brusque of his 'welcome' of his sibling than usual.

"Hmpf! So, you are a commander now, in name at least. Do you have a reason for bothering us?"

Raonar had half a mind to rebuff him, as he had done so many times before, but decided against it. "You two were not at the feast," he said inquisitively. "I know you two aren't particularly fond of me lately but I didn't think the situation was so serious that you'd pass the opportunity of enjoying the delicacies that the castle cook so lovingly prepared," he said smugly.

"The world does not stop because of your meager achievements," Trian said with a tint of disdain in his voice, "not even tonight. Now then, what do you want?"

"Father wants you," Raonar stated sharply, determined not to indulge Trian's foul mood.

"Of course he does. We need to discuss strategy before tomorrow's battle. Bhelen, stay here and stroke the commander's conceit if you wish, but then get to bed!" he ordered as he left the room.

"Bah! All day I've put up with that. He can really grate on the nerves," Bhelen told his elder sibling after Trian was out of sight.

"He probably thinks it's his right. Ah well, he's acted worse I suppose," the second son replied in an unusually detached manner. This didn't exactly improve Bhelen's mood, however.

"Is it also his right to try and improve his status at the cost of everyone around him?" Bhelen said with spite.

"This isn't something I really want to hear, is it?" Raonar asked.

"Probably not, but you'll have to hear it all the same. Trian has begun to move against you, even though I always thought his much proclaimed honor would at least prevent him from acting on his jealousy." His tone suddenly became serious as he lowered his voice. "Big brother, Trian is going to try to kill you."

The Prince stroked his moustache as he listened to his younger brother speak and what saddened him most was that he wasn't at all surprised to hear of this. How sad it was, he thought, that one would actually reach a state where he wouldn't even be surprised to hear that his own brother wants him dead.

"I know you think it sounds far-fetched," Bhelen continued, "but I actually overheard him giving orders to his men and I couldn't just sit idly by and let him do as he pleases."

Raonar sighed. "That fool. He's already heir and I definitely don't recall ever saying I'm after the throne. What made him take this route? Does he think I'm courting the Assembly?"

"Look at it from his perspective," Bhelen began to explain. "You're much more personable than he's ever been. Merchants are already giving you princely gifts and fainting in the middle of the streets as you pass by. Not to mention most people in the city would even challenge a guard's blade just to get a chance to see you in person. Between that and your favor with the soldiers, it's easy to see why the assembly would prefer you. That and it's not unheard of for the popular brother of an undesirable prince to be selected by the Assembly upon the death of the king."

"Paragon Bemot became a Paragon and King in one move from the Assembly, and he was a commoner," Gorim noted.

"That was an extraordinary case, but at least half a dozen times the assembly chose a different member of the family, or someone from another house as king," Bhelen added.

"What do you think Gorim?" Raonar asked.

"Permission to speak freely?"

"I asked didn't I?"

"Trian would make a terrible king, but no one will ever say that out loud as long as your father is still alive. He has only enough backing in the Assembly to make it ugly when your father dies, but not enough to become the next monarch. Killing him now makes your house stronger and saves a whole deal of bloodshed later."

There it was, even his friend was counseling him to kill his own brother. Raonar though it incredibly ironic, though obviously unpleasant. He stood there, stroking his beard and staring straight ahead as though Bhelen and Gorim were just part of the decorum. it wasn't the first time Gorim saw his lord like this, but what was unusual was that he couldn't tell what was going on in Raonar's mind at all. That troubled the warrior, because being unable to perceive his lord's intentions had never happened to him before. Or rather, there weren't any previous situations where Raonar had no means of conveying his emotions exclusively to him. Suddenly, the second son smirked and his expression became incredibly dark, as though some part of him that had been lying dormant had finally surfaced.

"That idiot already lived long past his time," Raonar said with an unusual level of spite in his voice, much to Gorim's astonishment. "It's his fault mother died. That poison she ingested was originally meant for him, but the fool was lucky enough for mother to fall prey to it instead. And now he would seek to slay his brother and, if possible, break his father's heart in the process. By the ancestors, what stupidity I am privy to! That old man couldn't possibly take another blow like that!"

Gorim was left speechless and even Bhelen looked as though he was taken aback by what Raonar has just uttered.

"That's it," the Prince finally decided. "Trian dies. And you had better not be near there when he does, little brother. I won't be responsible for your own involvement in this mess getting you killed as well."

Gorim was not used to seeing his lord utter such words and, indeed, seeing his face take such a hateful expression. That glare he had on was akin to a feral beast. Time seemed to stop as all three stood there, speechless.

"You're my elder," Bhelen finally broke the silence. "I'll respect any decision you make, but please, try to be careful. I don't want to lose the brother I actually like." His voice actually seemed to carry a tint of brotherly affection about it. "Now you should probably know, I'm taking your place as father's second so I'll be at hand tomorrow. For now, try to get some sleep." Bhelen then left the room, leaving behind a darkened Raonar and a somewhat concerned Gorim.

The latter did not know what else to say or even think. By all accounts, he had expected his lord to jokingly dismiss the prospect of a planned fratricide and just wait and see what Trian would decide to do. The warrior even started to regret having spoken so openly against his master's brother. He now remembered how, earlier today, Raonar had told him not to be so quick to pass judgement onto others. Gorim now realized that he may have actually done more harm than good by so tactfully advising his lord to kill his own flesh and blood. He knew, of course, that there was nothing he could do about it now, but the regret he began to feel was not exactly lessened by the silence that appeared to drag on forever. The prince had not moved from that spot for several minutes when, unexpectedly, Raonar smirked.

"Subtle... As **sin**."

Gorim could not have been more confused when the Prince suddenly walked over to the heir's desk and picked up the leather-bound tome that lay on it. Its pages were well tied together but, even from several feet away, the warrior could notice that it wasn't just an ordinary book. Mostly this realization came because the handwriting was not the same as those that the scribes from the shaperate use when writing their records. Unexpectedly, the Prince shut the tome and looked straight at Gorim. Then he laughed.

"It appears that Bhelen told the messenger that was supposed to give me my dagger that Trian would deliver it to me. Then Trian got annoyed for being considered an errand boy for the new commander and had the merchant's apprentice thrown out. Ah, priceless! I would have loved to see Trian's face just then." He then noticed how confused Gorim was. "This is Trian diary, by the way."

"Are you not going to retire, my lord?" Gorim finally managed to utter.

"Not just yet," the prince replied. "And I'll have to apologize, but I'll need your presence for a while longer still."

"Of course my lord."

The warrior followed the Prince as he exited Trian's dormitory and made his way down the hall. Surprisingly, he passed by the corridor that led to his own quarters and, instead, appeared to return to where the feast was being held.

"Do you plan on returning to the celebrations my lord?" Gorim asked. He received no worded answer, but got his confirmation as his master simply swung the doors wide and strode in. Most of the nobles had left, except for Lord Pyral Harrowmont and a few others. Trian was also present, as were Duncan and a few others who appeared to be on the verge of departing themselves. The King and the others that were apparently engaged in a serious conversation did not immediately notice Raonar's return, but this soon changed.

"Father, I would speak with you," the second son demanded in a soft but authoritary tone. He then continued just as Trian was getting ready to utter something, no doubt yet another of his rude reproaches. "Trian, you have to hear this too. I would like that everyone who isn't a member of our family leave us to confer if private. " The Prince then turned to the Warden Commander "Sorry Duncan. Hopefully I'll never have to burden you with the explanation for this."

"I understand," Duncan replied with a soft smile, after which he retired.

"What in the ancestors' name is the meaning of this little brother? Have you really so little respect that you would interrupt our meeting just for your petty..."

"Silence!" his brother suddenly demanded in a strong voice, at once startling the King, Harrowmont and the few remaining nobles that immediately took their leave. "I said I would speak at you both and you will listen. After that you can sneer at me however much you like!"

"Perhaps I should take my leave as well, my king?" Pyral Harrowmont gracefully suggested.

"Actually," Raonar interrupted, "you are the closest thing there is to a neutral party right now and you've been my father's best friend and advisor for many years. I'd rather you stayed. What I have to say won't be easy for my father to hear and I'd much rather see you next to him. I warn you, however, that if you accept, you'll likely be embroiled in the ugliest story of dwarven politics our people have seen in a while."

By now, Trian was already speechless and Gorim, who had stopped in his tracks at a reasonably 'safe distance', was as confused as he could possibly be. Unlike Trian, however, who was mostly outraged at 'the audacity', King Endrin was actually concerned as he saw the incredibly vibrant but grim and even slightly scared expression on his second eldest child's face. He could not even begin to guess at the gravity of the situation though, until Raonar uttered words that instantly ruined their day.

"When thieves and murderers know only deception, a dose of honesty will throw all of them off their tracks," the prince recited as he gazed straight into Trian's eyes. "And a stubborn, immovable object will cause them all to collide with and destroy each other." He paused, after which he continued. "Mother told me that just before she died, among other things." He then turned towards his father and, as an unspeakable regret darkened his face, came right out and revealed what he had hoped never to need to say. "The way things are going right now, you, father, will likely lose one or two sons before tomorrow's battle is done, either to death or exile."

Endrin flinched and even Harrowmont was startled at the speaking of those words. If one were a spectator, he could swear that they both looked as though they had seen a rockslide crush the entire city underneath.

"Wha-" Trian burst. "Is this your idea of a joke? You actually came here to destroy father's day with your hypocrisy? To think you'd have the gall to come here and speak such rot after..." The heir suddenly stopped and uncomfortably noticed Harrowmont's and his father's questioning looks.

"After what?" the second eldest Prince asked as his eyes flashed. "After you were told I was courting the assembly? Or did that little bird go as far as to '**reveal'** that I was planning on killing you tomorrow? Oh don't act so surprised!" he told his elder as the latter tried to conceal his insecurity. "Tell me, did that little sly fox poison you against me before or after I went to tell you of father's summons?"

"My son!" Endrin pleaded as he could no longer contain himself. "What are you saying?"

Raonar sighed deeply and then looked his father straight in the face. "I always feared that such a day would come, but now it is unavoidable. Don't act so surprised. As King, you are best acquainted with what the phrases 'Orzammar Politics' and "Dwarven Honor' really mean. I know you tried to believe in your children, how you forced yourself to ignore the gnarled root of jealousy that grew in your own house, how you hoped that at least we three would grow free of the serpent that has poisoned almost everyone in our city. There is no '**honor' **in Orzammar and there won't be as long as thieves and assassins get to decide our fates." Those words struck deeply and mercilessly, and Endrin, Trian and Harrowmont could find no reply, knowing that what was said was true. "But I digress," the Prince continued. "What I came here for was not to scare you witless or destroy the illusion that kept you going after mother returned to the stone. I came to get rid of this bad blood once and for all."

As his lord spoke these heavy words, Gorim could not help himself and moved closer in order to get a clear view of his master's face. He was stern, even more so than when he squeezed information out of those castles bandits earlier that day. but what most wore on him was the complete resignation that loomed on Raonar's brow.

"I now know that, regardless of how many times I tell this hot-blooded idiot (he points at Trian) that I don't want the throne, he'll still believe every possible rumor that says I am out to get him."

Trian scoffed. "You honestly expect me to believe that? How can you not want the throne? What else could you possibly want?" he asked in utter disbelief.

"Must I want anything?" his younger brother asked "Is it really so unbelievable that I don't want to be king? Honestly Trian, if you could just think outside that small box you built around your brain, life would be so much easier. But enough. I don't expect you to suddenly see reason. I said I would put an end to this bad blood and, right now, I can see only one way to do it. Or, at least, only one way that doesn't involve systematically eliminating my entire family in order to ascend to the seat of power." The three waited with baited breaths. "Tomorrow, after the mission is over, I think I'll leave Orzammar... permanently."

"What?" the three blurted in disbelief. "You can't just come out and say that!" the king said with a mixture of disbelief and desperation." That would mean abandoning your caste, your house, you life... Why would you even consider such a prospect?"

"Hmpf!" Trian scoffed. "You're full of garbage."

"Wait," Lord Harrowmont interrupted. "You still haven't exactly explained anything. What exactly do you think will happen to the two of you tomorrow?"

"It's not a matter of what '**I' **believe," the second son promptly responded, "but of what this one (points at his brother) believes out of all the nonsense he has been told. That and, of course, the fact that he's been jealous of me ever since that deep roads incident several years back."

"Trian?" Harrowmont asked. "What do you have to say about this?"

The heir did not immediately answered, though it was plain for all to see that he definitely had something he was trying to hide. He started fidgeting and his hands started trembling as he became more nervous. He had almost reached a point where he looked as though he was about to strike at something or someone just to calm down. Gorim grasped the hilt of his sword, 'just in case', but the pressure was suddenly dispersed.

"There's no need for this game of hide and seek," Raonar spoke as he seemed to stare directly into the bowels of the earth. "In short, Trian thinks I plan on killing him tomorrow and is considering a preemptive strike. What he doesn't know is that the one who told him this idiocy is actually trying to play both of us."

"Wait..." Trian asked as his sibling's words were finally starting to make sense. "You expect me to think that..."

"Sharp brother, **really** sharp," Raonar sighed. "Anyway, it's fortunate that it was my hand that person tried to have you killed by. Any other prince would have been just as power-mad and ambitious as to actually go along with this filthy plot."

Endrin suddenly looked up as a dark realization finally materialized. He then looked at Trian in complete disbelief and saw how his eldest was also struggling, not knowing what to believe anymore. Seeing his eldest like that did not alleviate his disappointment in his appointed heir in the slightest. Raonar had just said he would impose exile upon himself just to ensure that blood would not be spilled. He was practically sentencing himself to exile, even though all the ones present knew that he would have been more than clever enough to have Trian killed and make it look as though the darkspawn did it. It pained Endrin to admit this, but he could no longer ignore what lied right in front of him.

"Now you're beginning to see the whole picture," the second eldest prince said with absolutely no satisfaction for being able to say 'I told you so'.

"Are you actually saying Bhelen planned to get rid of both of us tomorrow?" Trian finally gathered the courage to ask. "You're telling me our little brother is actually so subtle? That's impossible... It's just... not possible. I mean, he's never even done anything worthy of note! This must be just another ploy of yours!" At this point, Trian was so confused that he couldn't even decide between what he knew and what he thought he knew. Up until that instant, the jealousy he felt for his younger brother burned him on the inside and was the sole object of his focus. Now, he was startled because he couldn't find anything besides that jealousy inside of himself.

"Oh, you guys have no idea how subtle Bhelen is," Raonar stated with a scolding tone. "Actually, it was quite remarkable how he concealed his darker works from you. Just whose hand do you think it was behind all those poisoned nobles after mother died? Actually, I'm sure that at least part of the whispers that say I'm being considered for Kingship next are fabricated by Bhelen's concealed allies."

"This..." Endrin tripped on his words. "This is madness... You're saying that you think Bhelen has been courting the assembly all this time? And that he planned to ascend to power after getting you two, his own brothers, out of the way?"

"I played a game of chess against him once. I know what he can do. I almost didn't notice that he actually let me win that time. But I will not play with him this once," the Prince declared. "Actually, he's probably been eavesdropping on this entire conversation for quite a while," he added as he gave Gorim an explicit glance. After that, the latter went to check the door, signaling that no one was there. It made no difference, of course, since there was enough time for anyone to fade out of sight once they heard the warrior's heavy steps near the entrance.

"There's one more thing that I don't understand, child," said Harrowmont, who seemed to be quite matter-of-fact about the whole situation. "Why are you so sure that Bhelen's plans will go as he wishes? Why do you think that renouncing your own life is the only way to go? If what you claim is true and you know his plans, then this should be a simple matter of questioning him and bringing him to justice." Needless to say, Endrin did not exactly like to consider the idea of executing his own son for high treason.

"Come now," the prince answered. "What proof do I have besides my spotless track record and my charisma? This fool of an elder brother of mine obviously hasn't decided whether he still wants to kill me or not. And besides, I don't exactly want to see any of my brothers dead either, nor does father. And I doubt father would actually want the assembly to know that such things are happening in the royal family, since our house would lose the throne if they did. his is why, even though I said all these things now, Father will not cancel or change anything about the mission tomorrow, just to keep this a secret from the other houses."

"Hmpf!" Trian sneered as he could no longer contain himself and exploded in a fit of rage. "You think you're so clever! For all we know, you may just be trying to play all of us. What do you know about honor anyway! You don't know anything and you never did anything to prove you actually cared for anything other than your own glory! The way you let yourself be paraded in front of the populace, how eager you were to go mix with the soldiers, how smugly you acted when participating in the Provings. Oh, and let's not forget how superior and self-important you carried yourself after mother passed away! Our family would have been better off without you! You should have just died in that deep roads excursion! Maybe then our family wouldn't have been divided like this and..."

"That's enough, Trian!" their father shouted as he stood up, though he quickly felt his feet weaken and almost fell over. Fortunately, Harrowmont caught him readily enough and helped him sit back down.

"Are you satisfied?" Trian scoffed at his brother. "Look what your games did to father. I think leaving the city and never coming back is the greatest idea you've ever had."

It was incredibly painful for Raonar to be told that so directly, but the biggest pain came not from the act himself, but from the fact that he had expected it. He now felt an incomparable level of grief as he regretted not being able to stop what he had feared would happen.

"Just so you know," he told his elder as he was leaving, "I told Bhelen I'd try to kill you tomorrow." Trian was shocked at such a direct confession. "Hopefully this will make him think it no longer necessary to send mercenaries after you. Watch yourself, big brother, because If my life in Orzammar, one way or the other, does end tomorrow, there won't be anyone here to look after you anymore. You title as heir is not as effective a shield as it once was."

As Raonar strode towards the door, his father gathered the last of his strength and called out to him to wait. Then he whispered something to Harrowmont.

"Your father wants to know why you are really saying all this," Pyral conveyed.

Raonar stood still for a time, with his back at the others, then he turned around, stern and lordly, though obviously heavyhearted. "Trian will have to get over his naivite sooner or later, or he will rot and die as just another undesirable prince ignored by the Memories. Mother took the fall for him when she was poisoned in his stead those years back, but none of you ever realized it. And yet she knew, even before the rest of us, that, for all his brash foolishness, it was Trian's stubborness and difficult attitude that would have any chance of helping our people change their ways. You were a strong king, father, but are too attached to tradition and a strong king can only cope with the corrupted assembly's evil machinations. This will no longer wok. This venom that has festered over the centuries needs to disappear or our people will slowly die out as the nobles squabble over coin and false pretenses. Trian is definitely not what Orzammar wants, but he is what she needs: a completely unreasonable specimen that has the potential of diluting that venom. As king, he will be hated and most likely ridiculed, but if he manages to pull through, the game of dwarven politics will finally be broken."

Raonar studied the faces of the onlookers and saw how completely unprepared they were to hear something like that come from his mouth. Then, Trian, now more uncertain than ever before, managed to stutter.

'Right... and... where do you fit into all this?"

The Prince was silent for a moment, after which he smiled sadly, then calmly, and quite solemnly, responded. "I? A curious question coming from your mouth. I am already what I need to be. I am the Prince of Orzammar and Commander of her Armies. I am the standard bearer, the one responsible for our continued existence. I am Aeducan, Shield of Orzammar, and even if I am cast out and reviled by my own, I shall protect my people even from their own folly."

With that, Raonar turned around and promptly left the chamber as all the others, including Gorim, remained rooted to their spots. Endrin said nothing, his head bowed and his breath heavy, while Lord Harrowmont stared at the doors until the Prince's sure steps faded beyond the edge of hearing. At that point, Trian scoffed and let out a sentence that finally caused Gorim to snap.

"Hmpf! Look at how much better he thinks he is compared to the rest of us. He's a weak fool who couldn't cope with losing his mother and never got back in touch with reality after that. I should've just..."

"You will speak no more ill of my lord, **your highness!"** Gorim shouted as he renounced any thoughts about restraining his disgust. "Swallow your bluster and second-rate pride! You claim to be his brother, his elder no less, and yet you don't know anything about him!"

Harrowmont was completely surprised to hear the submissive second burst out in such a fashion, as was Endrin, who now stared at Gorim in amazement, almost invigorated.

"How dare you speak that way to me churl!" Trian sneered, outraged that his lesser had the audacity to address him in such a disrespectful manner. "I'll have you thrown out of the palace, expelled from your house and your caste and exiled to the surface for this insolence!"

"You need not waste your breath!" Gorim sneered back as he suddenly drew his sword and let if fall on the steps in front of the king's throne. "I will no longer witness my lord's honor be besmirched by simpletons, even if they are the heir to the throne! Pearls before swine **indeed**!" With that, Gorim smashed his foot against the weapon, his steel boot instantly shattering the blade. The shards clattered as they scattered and the loyal second then looked at Trian in scorn, after which, much to everyone's confusion, began to recite a list of dates from the back of his mind.

"9:27 Dragon, thirteenth day of Wintermarch; 9:27 Dragon, 20th day of Cloudreach; 9:28 Dragon, first and 26th days of Solace; 9:28, the entire second week of Justinian; 9:28, twelfth day of Kingsway; Satinalia of 9:29; and finally, Wintersend this year." Gorim made a brief pause and saw how completely befuddled his audience was, after which he boldly continued. "Assassination, two poisonings, assassination again, staged deep roads ambushes, castless mercenaries, again poison and, finally, a commons building seemingly collapsing by accident. These are the means by which your enemies, lord heir, tried to remove you. These are the plots that your sibling thwarted, even as you remained oblivious to your own folly! I have memorized every date, even as my Lord would have preferred these things never known. And he kept you alive even as he had to deal with attempts against his own life and honor! I am surprised he ever found the ease to sleep at night!"

At this point, Gorim went silent, expecting some sort of retort or declaration of disbelief. But the King said nothing and Trian had a look on his face that Gorim couldn't even begin to comprehend. Gorim then took a straight stance and spoke his mind freely, as though renouncing his allegiance to the crown had given him a newfound freedom.

"You will never understand on your own that my lord has already renounced his life for you, his father and his people. I dare say he would even be willing to do much more if it had any chance of stopping your other brother from descending even further into darkness. You have no right to even presume to judge him!" The second then pointed at the shattered blade, its shards now scattered around the lower end of the steps around the royal throne. "Look upon that broken sword and know that I have renounced my loyalty to house Aeducan. Henceforth, my arm is his alone."

Gorim said nothing else, instead deciding to get as far away from that chamber as possible. And when he had finally closed the doors behind him, the relief that washed over him was the same as one would feel when exiting a haunted tomb.

...

_Do write a review if you will._


	5. Prelude 4: A Long Day

**Chapter 4****: The Sudden Conclusion to A Very Long Day**

"To slay or save one's kin. Sometimes, the only way to achieve either is to do both."

Morning eventually came, but it felt as though an eternity had passed. Raonar could not close his eyes the entire night, instead sitting, cross-legged, in the middle of his bedroom, waiting, his forehead leaning against his clenched right fist. He kept seeing the deathly gaze his father had given him just before he had left the throne room and his ears ringed with his brother's angry declaration. _"You should have just died in that Deep Roads excursion!"_ The memory replayed in his mind, again and again, as the prince strove, hopelessly, to remember something, anything that could at least suggest that Trian didn't mean what he said. it was futile, for the only thing the second son could recall was the intense hate that his elder burned with at that time. Raonar looked up and saw that the last grains of sand in the Hourglass Wall were about to tickle away. And as he saw it, a more pleasant memory, from a more distant past, unexpectedly came to him and almost seemed to soothe the pain he felt inside his chest.

The Hourglass Wall was one of his mother's most interesting inventions. As a great sculptor, she was responsible for some of the more entrancing works of stone art in the Diamond Quarter. Essentially, the wall that the Prince's bed stood in front of was carved in intricate patterns, as if a multitude of miniature river beds gradually came together until they were all united in one single channel. Through them, the 'water', in this case lyrium sand, flowed until it disappeared beneath the floor. A large reservoir, carved directly into the black granite above the ceiling, was where the sand itself was kept, replenished each morning by the servants of the family. Every evening, the Prince would press a stone switch and the glowing sand would start to tickle through the myriad of small passages, creating a show of light that seemed to draw one's soul closer to the ancestors. The sand lasted for exactly nine hours. The prince approached the wall and caressed the thick, cold glass that covered the sculpture. He then let his forehead rest against it and just stood there for a time, until he saw the last grain of sand slip out of sight. And as that happened, his memory of himself and his two brothers playing around their beloved mother as she delicately shaped the rock, while the King lovingly gazed upon them, all those 16 years ago, faded back into the deepest reaches of his mind.

Gorim had not shown up. This troubled the Prince, since his second should have already been there to inform him if anything had changed regarding the plans for the day. There was no need, of course, as Raonar already knew that the mission would go on as planned, even in spite of the events of the previous evening. He put on his armor by himself, grabbed his shield and his blade and, after gazing upon the crystallized representation of Orzammar one last time, slowly, but unwaveringly, left his dormitory and, then, his home, knowing he may never see the inside of those walls again.

Naturally, life in the city was going on as usual, since no one even remotely suspected that anything was amiss in the Palace, at least nothing besides the usual rivalry between siblings. The Diamond Quarter was now free of merchants and the Nobles were leaving their various estates in order to go see the soldiers off and, of course, indulge in the latest gossip. The Prince strode onwards as they enthusiastically greeted him or nodded in acknowledgment, and though he answered them all with a smile, their haughty countenance did not do his mood much good. Eventually, he reached the gates, next to which, on a stone bench, Gorim was seated, his hands together and his chin resting upon them. His eyes were closed and the Prince immediately knew something was amiss. He stopped in his tracks just in front of him and simply waited.

"Oh... Forgive me, my lord" Gorim uttered as he opened his eyes. He was a bit startled since he was taken by surprise but immediately got up and bowed. "How are y..."

The warrior immediately stopped as he suddenly realized what a stupid thing it would be to ask the Prince how he was feeling while knowing all that had happened that previous evening. He then studied his lord's face and was saddened to see it rough and weary, no longer soft and vibrant as it used to be.

"Are you alright?" Raonar asked him with an obvious concern in his voice. "You didn't come to the palace..."

"Am I alright? You're asking **me** if **I'm** alright?" his second replied with a tint of anger after which he dropped all notions of protocol. "Look at you! You look as though you haven't slept in months! Your eyes can barely be seen behind those black circles and even your father has less creases on his brow than you do right now! Why... Why did you... Why did you have to do that! Even though all you get in return is scorn and spite, you still protect that asp of a man and even..." Gorim managed to lower his voice at the last second, noticing that people had begun to stare. He then started fidgeting and scratching his forehead, struggling to regain his composure. "By the Ancestors' beard! What-" he was suddenly cut off as the Prince burst into a clear laughter, much to the confusion of the few that were passing by.

"Ah, Gorim! You magnificent fool!" the prince proclaimed as light started to return to his face. "Even though you were born warrior caste you somehow always manage to say exactly what I need to hear. Truly your family must have come from a great line of bards! Ah, how refreshing it is to hear you shout!"

On any other day, the warrior would have protested at the absurdity of that statement but, as it was, Gorim was simply relieved to see some of his lord's spirit return. The two then left and made their way through the commons, straight to the Deep Roads entrance. There, they met their escorts who led them to the underground crossroad where the armies had gathered. Everyone, including the Grey Wardens, were already present. Raonar and Gorim approached just as tactical directives were being distributed.

"Trian and his men will go with the Grey Wardens, clearing the farthest road," Lord Harrowmont dictated.

"That is a sound course of action," Duncan said, "We should be able to sense the Darkspawn, and avoid them once the way is open."

"Now then, get to your stations," the King ordered.

"Come men, glory awaits!" Trian shouted as he prepared to leave, at which point he noticed Raonar and his second approaching. He said nothing, but gave Gorim a nasty glare just before he strode off with his troops.

"Bhelen, you and your men will second the King, clearing the main path," Harrowmont continued after the Grey Wardens and the heir had left.

"Are you sure this is the right idea?" Bhelen protested, "Entrusting the hardest part of the mission to these... outsiders."

"Are you questioning the battle plan?" Harrowmont asked, slightly unnerved.

"Of course not!" Bhelen replied, sarcastically, "I'm sure your **caution** is for the glory of us all..."

"Enough Bhelen!" King Endrin demanded, "Take your men and make ready! Harrowmont and I need to have words with your sibling."

Bhelen looked at Raonar as he walked up, after which he glared at Harrowmont and turned to leave. "Good luck brother," he said, obviously annoyed.

Before long, only the King, the Prince and their respective attendants were left, along with their troops, which waited some way off in front of the cavern entrances that they would brave that day. For a time, none said anything, as they were still marked by the events of the previous evening. Gorim started fidgeting, fearing that it was now inevitable for his lord to learn of how he had so rashly renounced his loyalty to the throne and revealed the secret of the prevented assassinations. As time dragged on, however, and silence thickened, he couldn't help but stare at the King and see how uncertain he looked.

"This is getting morbid," Raonar suddenly remarked. "It is as I predicted. Father will resign himself to waiting and seeing just what will come of the three of us. The day will proceed as planned, so why are the two of you hesitating? Or did you reconsider your options and have come up with a better idea than the one I had last night?"

"Your father is worried about you," Harrowmont tried to explain, obviously concerned himself since he, too, was quite fond of the Prince, especially after what had transpired.

"And yet he does nothing," Raonar calmly noted. "Ah, but I am just being grumpy because I didn't get any sleep last night."

Endrin now noticed that his son's face was far less lively than he had gotten used to and the complexion of his skin had seemingly changed overnight. The King could not help but remember the look on the faces of seasoned veterans, tired by war and death, that he had so many times greeted upon their return from the deeps.

"Even before I had said anything, there was nothing that compelled you to actually participate in this mission, father," his son went on to saying, sighing heavily. "Why didn't you just stay home and rest?" he then continued, suddenly dropping all pretenses and clearly showing his own concern for his parent. "I'm already worried about enough even without having to worry I may lose you too."

"How can I just stay put?" Endrin retorted with a mixture of faint anger, grief and fear, "How can I just stay idle after all those grim things you said last night?"

"Do you even believe any of it?" the Prince boldly asked. "You do not. At least not all of it. And the so-called battle plan is proof of that. You had Bhelen's men second yours. You want him close, you want to watch him, you hope that I was wrong and that he's the same, innocent child you convinced yourself he is. And if he's not, you hope you'll at least be able to keep an eye on him and stop him from going ahead with his mad scheme." The young man's voice was direct but gentle. Raonar knew he had already brought a year's worth of grief upon Endrin the previous night and it pained him that his father was so determined to not spare himself the worst that was yet to come.

"Bah, it doesn't matter!" the prince burst. "It's out of both of your hands now. So let me go on with my mission to clear the eastern tunnels and meet up with the other forces afterwards... or did those plans change when I wasn't looking?"

The King said nothing more, leaving it to Harrowmont to explain that the second son's mission had, indeed, been changed. Apparently, a special task had been reserved for him, namely investigate what lay ahead of an ancient entrance carved into the stone. The previous King, Ansgar Aeducan, father to Endrin and grandfather to Raonar and his brothers, believed that that door led to the ancient Aeducan Thaig which had been lost for some time. The legendary shield of the Paragon Aeducan himself was supposedly still located somewhere within. The tunnels beyond were narrow and rather dark, as lyrium veins were not as abundant as in other parts of the kingdom. As such, the prince was to take a small strike force, only a couple dozen soldiers, meet up with the two scouts sent ahead and explore the tunnels and the ruins in the search for the shield. Raonar listened closely to what was being said, and with every word, his own suspicion were being confirmed.

"This is foolhardy!" the youth protested. "After all that happened you're just going to send me on an errand to retrieve some shield?"

"Child," Harrowmont interrupted, "Your father just wants what's best for yo-"

"That's the **problem!** He's being biased again!" the prince responded angrily. "This isn't just some gift for me, a nice mission that would bring me glory! This is his way of making sure that I'm as far away from Trian as possible! He's trying to keep me out of harm's way, the same way he's always shown how I was his favorite. Trian and his forces just went on ahead to fight Darkspawn and ancestors know what else! Don't you two have minds of your own? What do you think will happen when they're tired and decimated after they fight all day? Didn't you listen to what I said last night?" Raonar's eyes had widened and his countenance had become fierce, to the point where the stone itself appeared to tremble under his voice. He immediately lowered the intensity, however, as he noticed that even the soldiers, although far off, had started to give out questioning looks. "**I'm** not the main target here, **Trian** is," he said as he restored his composure. "The idea was for Bhelen to believe I wanted to kill him so that he wouldn't hire mercenaries to do it instead! If I'm leagues away, how in the world is he supposed to believe that!" Endrin watched as his son got unnerved, how he started to pout and glare. He never remembered seeing him so agitated before. Then, Raonar let his face rest against his palm and scoffed. "Father, this is your one mistake. You treating me like your favorite isn't making my job any easier."

"it's just as you say, my son," Endrin suddenly begun, slightly taking his child by surprise. "I'm being biased. And it's because of what you refrained from saying last night." The father and the son's eyes met for a moment and they stood still, motionless. "You said I am a strong king, but what you stopped yourself from also saying was that, as a man, I was weak. And it's true, I am a foolish man that clings to false hopes. I am a weak man that can't even love all his children equally. And I am a blind man that can't even see the abyss in front of him, even as he takes the fall."

"But if you know this then why?" Raonar asked, though he knew the answer. "Why are you still taking all the wrong precautions? Why do you chose to decide against what you should decide?"

"It's exactly because of something else you said yesterday: the venom in our city has festered beyond hope. If Bhelen is really planning against you two, then he has already drunk enough of that poison to become a serpent and is no longer my child. And if Trian was actually foolish enough, and hateful enough of **you**, his own sibling, that he would want to kill you, then he is no better. You were the only one who wouldn't commit fratricide. I'll not lose all my children in the same day!"

Raonar watched his father and his heart ached with anguish at how utterly desperate and confused he was. And as he realized that his own part in his father suffering was prominent, his facial expression turned from defiant to pity. For his father looked as though he was on the end of his rope, as if he was about to lose all purpose.

"Why didn't you talk to me?" the child eventually pleaded. "Why didn't you confer with me before deciding on this? You're sidelining me even though being as close to Trian as possible right now is the best idea... unless..." a realization struck him. "Ah... I see...So that's how it is... Very well, I understand." He paused and put on a straight face, stroking his beard, after which he gazed in the direction of the King's own forces, as if looking for something. Eventually, his eyes stopped searching and he turned his gaze back towards his distraught father. "Then if you're going to be so stubborn about this, I'll want a boon."

The king had not expected this but he could clearly see that his son, though he had conceded to his wishes, would not back down from this one request.

"Alright..." Endrin accepted in a resigned tone.

"Baizyl Harrowmont," the prince unexpectedly uttered in a commanding voice. "You will add him to my contingent."

Lord Pyral Harrowmont's scrutiny of the entire situation was immediately thrown off track as he heard the second eldest Prince demand that his cousin be made a part of his armies. Nevertheless, he said nothing as the King sent for the warrior. Soon enough, Baizyl himself showed up. He was clad in fine dwarven studded leather and his sword and round shield hung off his back.

"You asked to see me, my king?" Baizyl asked as he approached, after which he noticed Raonar was present and immediately showed an earnest smile. "Ah, your highness! It's an honor to see you here! I hope today turns out to be one where the Ancestors find enough favor to shower us all with glory." He then noticed how unusually pale and tired the prince looked and immediately became slightly concerned. "Are you alright, my lord? You look ill..."

"We called you here," Pyral began "Because the Prince wants you to accompany him and his men."

"Ah, truly?" he asked, surprised but in no way disheartened. "Then I am honored! I shall then... do my best to keep an eye out for any deep stalkers as we go along, yes? Just like old times!"

"Ha!" the prince answered with a smile "I'd rather it not be like old times. I seem to recall getting horribly lost and almost losing track of the army. Or was it the army that got lost... I never do seem to remember. Ah well..." After that, he turned to Gorim. "You two go greet the men then. I'll be there shortly."

The loyal second simply nodded and, accompanied by an amused Baizyl, walked off, leaving only the King, Lord Harrowmont and a thoughtful Prince of Orzammar in the middle of the underground crossroads. For a time, none said anything, and with each second that passed by, their hearts sank deeper and deeper. Eventually, Raonar stopped stroking his mustache and sighed deeply, after which he exhaled from the bottom of his lungs and took his father by surprise by embracing him. It took a while, but when the King finally got over his astonishment, he gathered enough courage to hug him back.

"Don't worry father," the Prince said with his eyes closed while only Harrowmont could see how grim and sad his face looked. "Though you have already given up on your eldest and youngest, I have not. By tonight, this will all be over, for better or worse. And even if the worst comes to pass, at least your uncertainty will have gone away." The prince then slowly left his father's arms and left.

Gorim and Baizyl were giving the two dozen soldiers whatever directions were needed as they noticed that Raonar himself was finally drawing near. Then they saw him stop in his tracks and gaze at them all, as if studying them.

24 men, plus Gorim, Bayzil and himself, the Prince counted. Not exactly a very glorious number for his first military commission, he reasoned. He then looked at their faces. Some were older than he was and had the look of men that had seen battle before. Others were young, some even younger than himself, and looked a bit uneasy. However, the common thing about most of them, except some of the older veterans, was that they looked eager, hungry for battle even. This seemed to reinvigorate the Prince and he decided to take all of his unease and grief and shove in the deepest parts of his brain. He would not lead these brave men to their deaths.

"Is everyone ready?" he asked Gorim as he drew near, noticeably more determined. Gorim nodded. "Good. And I assume the Bronto isn't one of those who'll run off at the first cavern ant we encounter? It would be nasty if we ended up without provisions and ammunition half-way through the Thaig, now wouldn't it?" The Prince's tone was surprisingly playful and Baizyl smirked as he heard those words.

"Haha!" Baizyl laughed, "Yes, I suppose it would be quite the sight. Then you'd have to go track it down and bring it back, along with all the weapons and provisions, just in the nick of time like last time. I don't know how you managed to pull that off but I do believe at least half the men would have been killed in that darkspawn attack three years ago if you hadn't."

"Yes, running about the tunnels trying to find lost cattle was quite glorious indeed! Let's hope I won't have to repeat performances, shall we?" the Prince joked warmly. After that, he walked among the men, looking each of them in the eyes as he went along, until he reached the stone door, now open wide.

He stopped and placed his hands on both sides of the entrance, as if trying to feel the stone itself. After that, he just stood there for a time, gazing into the dark path that lay ahead. Lyrium veins were few, so the light was very dim, even compared to the other tunnels he'd been in. Then, to everyone's surprise, he picked up a pebble and threw it into the passage as far as he could, after which he listened to see what sound it would make. Or so it seemed to the soldiers.

The Commander turned around and, with a straight but determined face, gave his first order. "Get in a straight line and tie yourselves by the waist to the one in front and the one behind you." The men were a bit surprised, some confused, but they obeyed. Soon enough, they were all linked to each other with the same type of braided rope. When it was done, Gorim and Baizyl stepped in front, next to Raonar, and prepared to do the same, but the Prince stopped them. "You two are with me. We'll be the vanguard for now. (turns to the soldiers) Now, all of you, put on your full helmets. If we encounter darkspawn, you'll not want their blood in your eyes or even on your skin. Stay alert!"

Raonar was the first to enter the dark passageway, followed immediately by his second and Baizyl, who had taken a hold of the rope that linked the soldiers together. They walked on for a time, undisturbed, and the men started to wonder at the point of being tied up in that fashion. By all accounts, if they were going to be ambushed by darkspawn, they would immediately get slaughtered for not being able to move freely. They did not have much time to question the intellectual capacity of their leader, however, as the ones at the back immediately learned the reason for the Commander's precaution. Suddenly, just as the force drew a wider area that split into several smaller paths, the recruit that was second to last in the row felt something pulling him back and, strangely, upwards. And when he turned around, he immediately understood the reason behind the odd formation that had been decided upon.

"Cavern spiders!" he cried out, alerting the others, who suddenly turned around and saw the last soldier as he had been grabbed by a crawler that was still trying to carry him off. His mouth and nose were already covered in spider web and he struggled to get free of the hold. At once, all the other felt the impulse to rush and grab onto him.

"Hold your positions!" Raonar at once commanded in a thundering voice that caused them all to flinch. "Panic now and you'll all fall over! You two! (points to the two at the farthest end) grab onto the rope and hold fast! Gorim, Baizyl, get over there and cut him loose!" At once the two warriors rushed back and, within the span of a few seconds, had almost reached the scene. In that moment, Gorim, who was ahead, suddenly stopped and turned around, bending forward and putting his hands together in order to help the one behind him jump to the man's rescue. The next instant, the lightly armored Baizyl stepped into the leverage the former had provided and was propelled upwards, enough so that he managed to reach as high as to grab onto the captive. And just as his blade swung in the darkness, two of the giant spider's legs flew off, along with the webbing that had incapacitated the unfortunate last in the line. The latter fell down from the ceiling, right on top of the two that had stopped him from being taken away. A few moments later. another swing of a sword was heard and the crawler itself plummeted to the floor, almost on top of the other men. The spider squirmed as it had fallen on its back, but it had no time to recover, as the one who had chopped off its legs also descended from above, right on top of it, plunging his sword straight between its eyes in the process. The beast stopped moving.

"Don't space out!" the Commander's voice suddenly demanded as his own sword was heard stabbing something. The nearest men turned and saw that another cavern crawler lay dead at the feet of the Prince. "SWORDS!" Raonar shouted. That instant, all his troops drew their blades. "Cut off your bonds! The beasts have blundered in their hunt! "

All the soldier's eyes flashed as they now fully understood the purpose behind that unusual first order. Blades glittered in the dim light and the fetters were undone, just as a swarm of crawlers started to pour out of the adjoining passageways. "Archers! Grab your injured comrade and move to the middle and ready your shots!" the commander dictated. "Wait for my order! The rest of you, form a circle around them and take out your shields!" The command was quickly carried out and, before the crawlers had time to overwhelm them, Raonar and his melee troops, including Gorim and Baizyl, had formed a circular wall around the ten ranged fighters that were present. The spiders stormed them but were either unable to smash through the shield barricade or were cut down by the fighters' counterattacks. The battle dragged on for just five minutes before three thirds of the beasts, roughly 17 in total, had been cut down. All that time, the archers were forced to wait. Then, the creatures that were still alive appeared to become afraid and prepared to retreat. They started to dangle back up into their dens.

"Now! Melee troops, duck! Archers, take them out before they have a chance to squirm back to their filthy lairs!" The soldiers immediately obeyed the command and, even as the crawlers tried to retreat into whatever holes they had come from, the wave of arrows released from the centre of the force struck surely and swiftly in all directions. The remaining six arachnids plummeted, to the ground. Then, Raonar stepped forward and drove the edge of his shield straight through the last creature that still had life enough to move, decapitating it.

"What's the condition of the one in the back?" he immediately asked, not bothering to wipe the bloodstains on his face.

The soldier appeared to be fine, as the spider intended to drag him back to its nest to feed off its blood while it was still fresh. He only needed a little while to catch his breath after having been almost suffocated by the webbing that had been sprayed on his face. He was slightly disoriented but managed to get to his feet as the Commander drew near, though what he saw was no particularly comforting. Raonar still had some blood dripping off his forehead and had frowned in order to avert it getting into his eyes. Between that and how he had his equally bloodied sword still drawn, he wasn't the most comforting sight one could see just after coming face to face with death. Fortunately, the prince noticed the nervous look on his subject's face in time. He wiped his face and laughed.

"Ha! Don't worry young man! I won't bite," he joked, instantly lightening the mood and giving the other men a cause to let out chuckles of their own. "Are you alright?" The man responded with a nod. "Good. You did well," the Prince added, causing him to blush and scratch his head.

"You know," Gorim begun with a smirk of his own "you could have worn a helmet yourself, my lord. Then you wouldn't have turned into this walking pillar of blood."

After the men regained their breath, the commander gave the order to march on. They met a few groups of genlocks on the way through the tunnels, but the light was better now. This enabled Raonar, Gorim, Baizyl and a few of the others to make a relatively short work of them, while the archers took care of any stragglers. For the most part, the creatures ended up dead even before the younger soldiers, some of whom had yet to see a darkspawn in the flesh, had a chance to gasp. Eventually, they reached the first rendezvous point where one of the two scouts was supposed to be stationed. The site looked like the ruin of an old foyer but only the slabs that were once called the floor of the building, along with some derelict columns, were left. As the rustle of the army drew close, a dwarf clad in a suit of dwarven chainmail emerged from beyond the patch of wall on the right.

"You made it, your highness!" the man uttered as he ran up to the others. "I thought the darkspawn had gotten you for sure." His face had some creases, but he was not particularly old, not much older than Baizyl anyhow, and his dark hair and beard had not yet gotten any grey hairs.

"Some vote of confidence," Baizyl uttered.

"These men were trained well. Really, it was the cavern crawlers that gave us more trouble," the Prince answered.

"You're Frandlin Ivo, second son of Lord Ivo," Gorim remarked as he recognized the warrior. "If I'm not mistaken, you're the one who won the Provings that were held in Lord Aeducan's honor yesterday."

"Ah, I thought you looked familiar. House Ivo's promising young fighter that likes exotic fighting tactics?" the commander asked quite intrigued. He also gave the man a scrutinizing look that seemed to make him slightly uncomfortable. "And a Provings champion no less! Then you'll take rear guard after you tell me what lies up ahead."

Frandlin related how he had taken cover to escape the darkspawns' notice. According to him, there were a few pockets of them up ahead and, thus, he wasn't able to venture too far in. The other scout was also supposed to be somewhere up ahead but he hadn't met up with him. After his report was over, Raonar gave the order to move out and the troops, along with their bronto of burden, steadily made progress, even dispatching whatever darkspawn they encountered with relative ease. Eventually, they met with the other scout, a light-armored, rather young but seemingly tough individual who was just as surprised to see everyone alive and well as Frandlin had been. His own report about the darkspawn was not much different from that of his predecessor, though he could confirm that the Aeducan Thaig door wasn't too far off. Sure enough, after a few hundred paces of dim lit passages, a stone door, carved into the stone, became visible at the end of the tunnel. Unfortunately, it didn't exactly inspire relief when it was revealed to have already been opened. It was even surrounded by several darkspawn corpses. The scout went ahead and inspected the remains.

"These bodies are still fresh," he said, though Raonar could already see as much. "Whoever did this is likely still somewhere inside."

The prince looked at the scene and, for a time, stood erect, thoughtful. "They would have needed an Aeducan Signet ring to get in," he reasoned, "and they seemed to be in quite a hurry if they didn't even bother to clean up the mess."

"The ring could have been stolen," Frandlin reasoned, "recently, or generations back..."

"Unlikely," the Commander retorted and he couldn't help but notice an odd look on the scout's face as he looked through the door. Then, a suspicion was born in the back of his mind and he decided to test a theory. "Scout," he said, almost causing the dwarf to flinch. "They may have set traps. You'll go on ahead and keep an eye out for them while the main force stays at roughly 10 paces behind you."

Needless to say, the scout wasn't particularly pleased with that order and even let a slight scoff as he conceded. He then went ahead, guiding the main force as they crossed the bridge over a large chasm filled with surprisingly clear water. The bridge itself was narrow and forced the men to again use a straight line formation. The area beyond the bridge, on the other hand, was quite spacious, but what caught Raonar's eye was that, on both sides, there were terraces carved into the stone itself, one of which was partially sealed off by a pile of boulders, likely the result of a rockslide. Also, ahead, the Thaig could clearly be seen and most of the buildings looked still intact. Unsurprising, since the settlement itself had only recently been overrun by the darkspawn themselves. Strangely though, at least to the Prince and contrary to what the forces may have thought, the actual darkspawn present in the ruins had been few. This could only mean one thing, and that was the basis for the Commander's next order.

"Gorim," he quietly told his second as they neared the end of the bridge, "Tell the archers to form up in a single row once we cross. Then tell the other soldiers to have their shields ready and form two lines, one on each side of the archers." After that, he turned to his the other commanding officer. "Baizyl, since you're not as encumbered as the rest of us, I have a special task for you."

Soon enough, all the men had assembled as the Prince had ordered, though they still didn't know exactly what the Commander had in mind. They didn't have much time to wonder, however, as the Scout suddenly took a run for it. the Prince expected that to happen, but he was more concerned with the shadows that started moving on both of the aforementioned terraces.

"Archers!" He suddenly yelled as he jumped back and readied his own shield. "Duck and ready your arrows! The rest of you, shields to your flanks!"

"We are in an ambush!" Gorim yelled.

Fortunately, all the men were already on alert after the other previous encounters and, thus, were quick in carrying out the order. Within a split second, the rustle of plates and steel was heard and a roof of metal appeared above Raonar's forces, just in time to deflect the rain of arrows that came from above. Archers had been lying in wait on both sides and the soldiers quickly found that they could do little but stay there and hope the projectiles were of low enough quality not to pierce their equipment. This was problematic, especially considering that more ambushers had been hidden within the former Thaig dwellings themselves and were now showing themselves.

"We won't be able to fight those grunts off while worrying about these arrows striking us down!" Gorim shouted. The Prince, on the other hand, had a familiar glint in his eyes and looked as though he was just waiting for something. He then took a closer look at the right terrace and noticed how one of the crossbowmen was suddenly seemingly dragged off. Raonar grinned. For at that moment, the enemies on the right became confused and agitated as some within their ranks seemed to simply disappear behind the stone-carved trench, one after the other.

"Gorim, get ready," the Commander uttered in a seemingly excited tone, "Baizyl's about to turn this around for us."

it took a moment, but the loyal second finally understood. With all the confusion caused by the scout running off, no one had noticed Baizyl suddenly fading out of sight. The officer snuck off and made his way behind the walls of the old buildings, after which he scaled the now derelict constructions and climbed onto the terrace on the right, even as the ambushers, focused on trying to bring down their quarry, were completely oblivious to the doom approaching them from behind. And before the last couple of archers finally noticed that something was amiss, the other four were already lying dead. They didn't have time to notice the bringer of their end, however, as Baizyl emerged from behind and ran one through with his blade, just as he rammed the edge of his shield into the throat of the other.

"The right side is clear!" Raonar uttered as he saw Baizyl signaling. "Right flank! The threat is neutralized! Shields to the left and draw your blades! Your foes await to test your mettle! Left flank! Cover the archers as they take cover under the left terrace!" The archers quickly did just that and, now that they were no longer under threat of fire, the rest of the melee troops were free to contend with the almost two dozen enemies that had come out of the buildings. Besides the Prince and Gorim, there were 14 other warriors eager to take them on, but their shields were still occupied with trying to deflect the arrows that still rained down from the left. The Commander looked at Frandlin, who had just skewered one of the enemies.

"Take two men and go take care of those pests!" Frandlin was just about to carry out that order but the incoming enemies, aware of what he intended, tried to charge him. That was when the real bloodletting began.

Raonar threw his shield straight into the throat of the closest assailant, instantly killing him. The next moment, he drew out the dagger from the sheath on his side. "Gorim! You're my left flank! Everyone else, split into teams of two! One will be the sword and the other his shield! Charge!"

The troops immediately understood and reacted accordingly. As they divided into teams, one used his shield to deflect any arrows shot at them while the other one took it upon himself to take on the attackers. The ensuing chaos allowed the Frandlin's team of three to make it up the stairs and begin the task of systematically eliminating the remaining ranged enemies. Before long, they all lay motionless. Now, the Commander's soldiers were able to fight without a handicap, and it took the enemies only a second to realize how bad the situation had so quickly become for them. For, just an instant after the Prince leaned forward, his sword and dagger in either arm, he erupted in a flurry that took out two of the nearest foes, and threw off the balance of a third, in little more than a couple of seconds, just as Gorim slammed his shield into one that attempted to flank his Lord. And when Raonar retook his stance, getting ready for another fray, his enemies quaked when they met his gaze. That moment, all of the prince's soldiers fell upon them and it looked like victory was finally within reach. Eventually, only the leader of the enemies was left. He was clad in strong, steel-wrought massive plate armor and had his two-handed sword at the ready. The Commander reclaimed his shield and ordered his units to stay back.

"Imagine my surprise to see house Lantena's insignia on the armors and shields of the men that tried to jump us," Raonar began. "You'd think one would at least have enough of a brain to conceal one's allegiance when committing high treason," the Prince of Orzammar uttered in a sarcastic tone, even as he made it clear to the dwarf that he was about to be dueled. "Especially knowing how they have always shown **such** fervor when they spoke of honor and the might of their House. And yet here they are, so horribly failing to kill even a single man in their oh-so-honorable ambush, despite their numerical advantage. Your Ancestors, my Lord Dugan, must truly have a sense of humor." Needless to say, all of Raonar's forces gave out an approbative laugh, though the noble's demeanor didn't exactly become more amiable. He took his battle stance.

"You're very bold to challenge me head-on! Being Endrin's little brat won't save you now!"

Dugan lunged at Raonar, aiming for a clean decapitation, but slightly lost his balance when the prince effortlessly bent backwards and avoided the tip by a hair's breath. The noble then followed up with a few consecutive sweeping strikes that also failed to land on their target. That moment, Dugan's eyes met the Prince's, and he felt enraged as he saw the seemingly condescending exhilaration they emanated. Without hesitating, he prepared to perform a vertical slash, thinking only of how eager he was to teach the arrogant young man a lesson in humility. He needn't have bothered, for just as he was ready to strike, he felt a strong palm crushing into his face and ramming him against the Thaig's granite floor.

"Hmpf! Some duel," the Prince said, disappointed. "He's already unconscious."

Gorim stepped up and intended to congratulate his lord on their victory, but stopped when he saw him looking through the other's pockets. Not long afterwards, Raonar found the last piece to the puzzle he had been arranging in his mind, an unsigned missive. He paused, staring at it, after which a realization struck him. "Not all allies can be trusted indeed! But whose allies?"

The Commander slowly got up and walked back to his men, his grim and worried expression causing Gorim to also become concerned. "Are you alright, my Lord?" he asked, but received no answer except the air of fear that had emerged in the Prince's countenance. It was at that moment that Raonar accidentally let his guard down and nearly paid for it with his life.

"Your highness, look out!" a voice was heard, just before the sound of an arrow sinking into flesh knocked Raonar's senses back into him. He almost jumped out of his skin and, when he turned around, he saw one of the more aged men, his back turned to him, struggling to stay on his feet as blood was beginning to stain the ground in front of him. He had jumped in and taken an arrow so that the Commander wouldn't be hit instead.

"It's that damned scout!" one of the others yelled as he spotted the betrayer some way off, hidden behind a derelict wall. Immediately, the coward turned to flee, only to hit his face against the chest of a terrifying Baizyl Harrowmont, whose dark brown eyes now burned, seething with anger. He didn't even give the bastard time to beg for his life, settling, instead, for grabbing him by the neck with his right hand and immediately crushing it.

"How is he?" Baizyl asked as he ran to where the injured man was now lying. He looked at least 40 years old and his head was shaved, while a thick, grey stubble covered most of his face. A worried Raonar was holding his head up, if only to just reduce the amount of blood that now flooded his throat. The arrow had gone through his chest, just about a inch from his heart.

"Why did you do that you fool!" the Commander asked with a mixture of outrage and regret. " That arrow may have missed! Do you have so little value for your own life?"

The soldier smiled, even as blood started flow from his mouth and, between chokes and coughs, managed to utter an answer.

"It's not that (cough) I don't value my life..." He choked, even as Raonar tried to unfasten the suit of chains and get a closer look at the wound. "Do you remember...? Four years ago, that lad who almost got himself killed while following you... as you were scouting the deep roads? And how you carried him on your back... for hours... just so you could get him back to the main force fast enough to give him medical attention?" Raonar remembered it vividly. The boy had spied on him and Gorim as they were getting ready and recognized him as being of the royal family. The prince now realized what the dying veteran was trying to say.

"Don't tell me... he was your son, wasn't he? You think you're repaying a debt..."

The veteran coughed up some more blood and gave a look of pure gratitude to his distraught superior. "It was... an honor to die in your service, your highness..."

"The sod it **was**!" Raonar suddenly shouted as he drew out a strange-looking vial from the pouch tied to his right leg. "You'll have the honor of fighting in my service for a while yet! If you've energy enough to talk..." he grabbed onto the arrow "then you'll bear with **this!" **With that, and to everyone's shock, Raonar pulled out the projectile, causing a great deal of blood to spray out of the wounded chest. The next second, he put pressure on the wound and poured some of the contents of the potion straight into the injury. Only the victim knew what he felt at that time, as everyone else only saw the wound boiling. The reaction eventually subsided and the dwarf stopped struggling. He was dead.

Or so everyone thought. To their astonishment, the veteran stirred just a couple of seconds later and, after spitting out just a few more drops of blood, the Prince helped him back up. His wound had almost closed off, leaving the soldiers speechless.

"That's a bit of that... magic you got from the unconscious merchant yesterday..." Gorim remembered, even as he was as impressed as everyone else. He didn't have time to hold onto that admiration, however, as his Lord immediately stepped up to the veteran and, to everyone's confusion, smacked him over the head with such force that he almost fell over once more.

"Foolish old man!" he yelled at him with a reprimanding tone. "You're not very smart, are you? Giving your life so promptly even though you've got him and your wife waiting for you to come back! Honestly, use a shield next time... or just kick me out of the way!"

"You..." the man was stunned "Y-yes Your Highness..."

"Anyway," Raonar continued as he studied his men and saw that, while they were all alive, some had minor cuts and bruises, "Go to our beloved bronto and get patched up. The rest of you, do the same. Gorim, Baizyl, Frandlin... we need to confer in private." With that, the four commanding officers walked off until they were out of the others' range of hearing.

The soldiers quickly tended to their wounds but they could not help their curiosity and kept staring in the direction of their valiant leaders. They could not hear what was being said, but it looked obvious that the Prince was relating some sort of terrible secret to the other three. Baizyl and Frandlin Ivo occasionally gasped and looked completely astonished, even as the other two could not help but show the concern on their faces. But what most struck the men was how completely worried their new Commander looked, even though they would have expected him to be eager and confident after their extraordinary victories. Eventually, Gorim took out a map and spread it on the ground, after which the trio seemed to put together some sort of master tactic. After that, they put everything back in its place and returned to the main force. Raonar stepped up and addressed his troops.

"What do you fight for?" he asked in a thundering voice.

"We fight for our City and our King!" they answered in unison.

"And why do you fight?" the prince continued.

"Because it is our duty!" they answered.

"And are you willing to die for that duty?" he queried.

That moment, the men exchanged looks and immediately answered, unhesitatingly.

"We are!"

The Commander could not help but let a warm smile slip past his stern countenance, a smile which his forces did not fail to notice. However, immediately afterwards, he let out a deep sigh and, in an unexpectedly straightforward tone, spoke a sentence that no one was expecting.

"Then I release you from that duty."

The soldiers barely had any time to realize what was said before Raonar continued.

"I am afraid this mission will have to end here," he uttered. "I will no longer look for the Shield of Aeducan. Instead, I will embark upon a fool's errand as I consider how lucky I am to have these three magnificent men follow a rash youth such as I," he explained as he pointed at Gorim, Frandlin and Baizyl. "What I plan to do will not be for my father, the king, nor will it really be for my City, not exactly. Duty, thus, does not compel you to follow me. So you should all return to the rendezvous point on your own, while the way back is still clear. We four will go on towards our destination alone."

The men were, predictably, more than confused. They started to mutter and question the new order and grew increasingly impatient and frustrated at being left in the dark.

"Why do you say this?" one of them asked. "What do you plan to do? Do you not trust us?"

"It's not a matter of trust," Raonar retorted. "It's just as I said. it is not your duty to follow me in the course I have set for myself now. And I don't know whom you will face if you do. They could be friends, even family, I really can't guarantee against these. Do not question my motives. You're better off not knowing them. The most I will say is that they are as selfish as motives can get, and just as presumptuous."

A period of rustle followed, as the soldiers did not know what to think. Nevertheless, they eventually settled down and said nothing more. What troubled the Prince, however, was that they didn't seem particularly inclined to leave either.

"I will fight for His Highness!" a voice was suddenly heard from the crowd. Soon after, the same man who had taken an arrow for his superior came forth and stood proud in front of the others.

"(sigh) I was afraid you'd say that..." Raonar said, scratching his forehead. "Didn't I just tell you not to throw your life away so easily?"

"You also said that you released us from our duty to follow your orders," he replied, smugly. "Which means, basically, I get to do what I want. And this is what I choose: I will fight for Your Highness."

"As will I!" another shouted. The archer who had almost become Cavern Spider food earlier stepped up and took his place at the side of the other soldier.

"And what of you louts?" the veteran shouted at the others. "What will you do?"

"We, too, will fight for his highness!" they declared as they saluted, without even a moment's delay.

"You see, my Lord," the veteran went on to saying, "Keeping people alive, like you have, has its benefits."

"Or its downsides," the Prince retorted, more than a little troubled. "Don't be stubborn fools. If you come, you'll not find a glorious end. Please, just... go back to the city. A nobles' plot is not worthy of being the cause of your deaths."

"We are not **all **fools, you know," the aged soldier stated."We saw how concerned you were when you came to greet us at the crossroads, even though you were obviously already tired and troubled by other matters. We noticed how careful you were to spot every detail as you progressed through the tunnels, determined to see us all get through them alive. So if a noble's plot is the reason for your decision, we will simply assume you plan to prevent it from doing any harm, just as you prevented the spiders, the darkspawn and these traitors from ending us. Do not be so quick to take all the burden, my Lord. Instead, let us carry it for you."

"Bah!" the prince scoffed, though he couldn't conceal how glad he was to hear him say that. "If I let you carry it, you'll die under its weight! Then I'd have to carry you all on my back and I will have just exchanged one burden for another!"

"Do not insult us, my Prince," the veteran replied with a disciplinary tone. "We are warriors. We do not need to be reminded of the imminence of our deaths. This discussion is meaningless. We have made up our minds: we will fight for Your Highness, like it or not. So stop gesticulating helplessly and get on to the business of command."

Raonar could no longer contain himself and allowed the laughter that had welled up inside his chest to burst out. "Ah!" he said with delight, not bothering to mask his gratitude. "There's no doubt you're a father! You certainly know how to show the arrogant young ones their place! Very well, if that's what you have decided on your own..." he bowed deeply before them, "Then I consider it a fine honor and privilege to be your commander," he stated as he straightened up, taking a last look at the battlefield. "Then quickly attend to those of our attackers who are not mortally wounded. They may be misguided fools but they are still our brethren. Orzammar already has few enough soldiers for these ones to die for something like this. After that, we set off."

Trian and his contingent had encountered several large parties of darkspawn as they proceeded through the underground highways, but they managed to eliminate them all. The last skirmish was particularly bloody, however, and only about a hundred and a half of the 200 warriors he had at first were still alive. Of those, roughly half were wounded and the army was forced to cease its march in order to attend to the many injuries. Duncan and the Grey Wardens had gone ahead, saying that the darkspawn they sensed now were few and scattered enough that they wouldn't be discovered. This also meant that the army itself was in no imminent danger of being attacked, which made this an opportune time to recuperate.

Trian was not satisfied though. He kept thinking of the previous night and of the many things his brother had said. But most of all, Gorim's words still rung in his ears, preventing his seething anger from subsiding. What most wore on him, however, was that he no longer understood what he was angry about. His heart was in complete chaos.

"Your highness," a dwarf uttered as he approached. He wore a suit of silverite chainmail, had short dark hair, black eyes and a prominent stubble of his own. Trian stared at him for a time, as if trying to remember something.

"Vartag, of house Gavorn is it? What do you want?"

"With your permission, I have a suggestion," the soldier replied with a glint in his eyes that Trian failed to notice.

"Well? Out with it then!"

"See, here's the thing. If what those Grey Wardens said was true, then there shouldn't be many darkspawn in the adjoining tunnels, which means that we don't really need all of our men to take care of them."

"You propose to divide our forces?" Trian asked, though he still wasn't exactly paying attention.

"Well, with your leave... You see, my soldiers managed to get through these skirmishes with minor cuts at most. About 45 men, strong. And I see that you're not exactly satisfied about leaving all the glory to those Grey Wardens. I propose we go and make mincemeat out of the spawn! That always seems to cheer you up."

Trian looked away for a bit, as if considering, then he looked back at the officer.

"Fine, get your men ready. But we're going elsewhere, not to fight darkspawn."

"No? Then..."

"Don't question your future King!" he yelled. "Just do it!"

Not ten minutes later, Trian and House Gavorn's men left, apparently back the way they had come. The Heir did not say where they were headed, nor did he explain what they would do once they reach their intended destination. Strangely though, even as time dragged on and they were kept in the dark, the soldiers themselves didn't show any sign of unease or impatience. On the other hand, their pace wasn't steady and they didn't exactly hold ranks the way seasoned soldiers were supposed to. Eventually, they passed through a section of tunnels they had gone through during their mission. There, the area was far more spacious but had only a single other adjoining tunnel, except for the one they had come through. Trian gestured to his soldiers to stop, thinking he had heard a noise up ahead. The next moment, his brother emerged from the darkness and walked up to Trian, alone and with his sword not drawn, though his shield was at the ready.

"Hmpf!" Trian sneered. "Even after all that, you still show your true colors." The Heir had come all this way just to see if his sibling would show up. And he had, just as Bhelen had told him.

Raonar gave his brother an annoyed look as he stopped at about a foot in front of him. Then, he immediately looked at Vartag, who was now standing behind Trian, dangerously close. "Right, your revealing gaze has laid me bare, big brother. After all, it would be so easy to just kill you and all forty of those," his eyes flashed "soldier-disguised mercenaries by myself!"

Trian barely had any time to consider what his sibling had said. The latter suddenly charged forward and, instead of bashing Trian's face, slipped his shield arm around and behind him in a split second. The sound of metal on metal rung in the Heir's ears as his momentary confusion was promptly dispelled. Raonar had just stopped Vartag from stabbing him in the back.

"Scum of the earth!" the second son shouted as he pushed against Vartag with such force that he was thrown off his feet. He then drew his sword and pressed his back against his brother's. "Your treachery ends here!"

"So, you managed to see through this much..." Vartag said with disdain as he got back to his feet, wiping the blood now dripping from his nose. "Prince Bhelen said you would. I guess he was right in thinking you weren't just some self-important idiot like your other brother." He immediately got up and backed off, ordering to the others. "Now! All of you, just kill them!"

Trian was astonished, but he retained his composure and readied his maul, just as the would-be soldiers charged them. The next instant, he felt Raonar's foot pressing behind his right heel, just as his brother's palm smashed into his face, throwing him off balance and slamming him against the ground.

"Stay down!" his sibling commanded as he let himself fall beside him. The next second, as he lay there, on his back, Trian saw a cloud of arrows fly over them and striking down the nearest wave of assailants.

"Now!" Gorim's voice was heard from where Raonar had emerged. "Protect Their Highness!"

The Heir was awed as he saw a stream of warriors pour forth and start to push back the others. He barely even noticed his brother jumping to his feet and felling the nearest surviving enemy with one swift strike through the chest. Immediately after, said enemy dropped dead right next to him, and Trian finally noticed his own folly. The so-called war paint, as Gavorn had called it, was simply on those 'soldiers'' faces in order to hide their brands.

"Castless mercenaries..." he finally realized. And as he did, he remembered some of the last words that Raonar had spoken the previous evening. "_Just so you know, I told Bhelen I'd try to kill you tomorrow.__Hopefully this will make him think it no longer necessary to send mercenaries after you."_ His brother had seen through it all.

"By the Ancestors!" Trian yelled in disbelief as he jumped to his feet himself, relieving some of his frustration by smashing his maul into the chest of the nearest grunt. His rage then surged and, if not for his quick reflexes, Raonar would have been caught in the flurry of heavy swings that his elder surrendered himself to. About ten second later, five attackers lay crushed around him.

"You idiot!" Raonar yelled as he yanked his brother backwards by the collar of his armor. An arrow sung as it passed straight in front of the Heir's eyes, just before he found himself lying on the ground once more. "Don't just charge in like **that**!" the second eldest Prince demanded as he stood over him. "You'll just waste your ener-" his words were interrupted as an arrow promptly sunk into his right side.

"Gah!" he cried out in pain.

"My Lord!" Gorim shouted in horror.

"Your Highness!" Baizyl followed. Unfortunately, neither of them were close enough to rush to his support, having been engaged by opponents of their own. And as Trian lay still on the ground, disoriented from having hit his head when he fell, he could only watch. And even as his blurry vision cleared, he still couldn't fail to notice the feral gaze in his brother's eyes as he simply pulled out the arrow, blood sprays and all, and ran it through the abdomen of the thug that had come up from behind.

"Hmpf!" the Prince pouted "A flesh wound like this is nothing!" he proclaimed as he promptly decapitated the only other enemy near him. Unfortunately, as Trian noticed, it was pure bravado, for the second eldest Prince lost his balance and almost fell over Fortunately, Trian managed to get up in time to offer him support. "Bah! I'm fine!" he enforced, just as he took a red vial from the pouch on his right leg and drank it down. He immediately got back to his senses.

"Trian, get out of here!" he suddenly demanded, much to his elder's astonishment. "Don't look at me like that! As Heir, you're the main target here."

"I won't just flee with my tail between my legs!" he protested as he charged off into the fray before his brother had the occasion to throw him off his feet a third time.

"Dammit!" Raonar let out as he ran after him while also studying the situation. "Baizyl! Gorim! Protect that idiot of a brother of mine!"

It took a little, but the two managed to get to Trian's location, though they couldn't exactly get close because of how freely he swung his huge war hammer. The Heir managed to eliminate a pair of inexperienced fools, just before a third somehow slipped near enough and made a deep cut into his left arm. Immediately after, Gorim slammed his shield into the man's face, just as Baizyl grabbed hold of Trian as he started to wobble and helped him walk away from the scene.

"Ancestors mercy... " Raonar uttered as he saw how freely the blood flowed out of his brother's arm.

"Commander!" Frandlin's voice was then heard. "They are too many! We'll soon be overwhelmed. We must retreat!"

"I know we're outnumbered but can't these soldiers take care of some undisciplined mercs?" Raonar asked as he tied bandages around the wounded limb.

"I'm afraid he's right, Your Highness," the aged veteran that had taken the arrow for him said as he rushed there himself. "Right now, the battle could go both ways but some of us are still not completely recovered after that ambush. You should take your brother and make your escape while we cover your retreat."

The Prince wanted to protest but, just as he opened his mouth, Trian's body went limp as he fell unconscious from the blood loss.

"My Lord," Gorim repeated "We have to get out of here."

The Prince didn't even bother to mask the disgust he felt at having to make such an ugly choice.

"Before I go, I would know your name old man," he told the seasoned soldier.

The soldier smiled and bowed slightly. "I am known as Melec Medra, Your highness."

Gorim gasped. "Wha... You're the leader of Warrior House Medra? I though you looked familiar! What are you doing here? Shouldn't all Warrior House leaders be with the King right now?"

"The king covertly added me to His Highness's contingent, though I would have requested the Honor myself had he not offered it."

"That old fool, always doing things like these," Raonar said with a sad smile. "Truly, I am fortunate to travel in such august company. But I will not just leave you here to perish." He unfastened the potion pouch on his leg and passed it to the man, keeping only the special one, from the magic merchant, for himself. After that, he also handed him his high-quality white steel blade, much to Melec's surprise.

"Then this is my last order as your Commander. Take this sword and carve a path of justice through these fiends."

"May the Ancestors look favorably upon you," the Warrior wished the four officers as he prepared to rejoin the battle, but he then noticed how pained the young Commander looked at him. "Don't be so distraught child," he said in a soft but disciplinary, fatherly voice. "Decision like these are a natural part of a Commander's role. So respect your underlings and do not insult them by so shamelessly showing your fear as they try to hide theirs. Who knows? We may yet survive for you to save our lives a few more times."

Those words rammed straight through the Prince and he immediately changed his countenance from that of an uncertain youth into that of a stern lord. And as his eyes brightened and his facial expression regained its determination, Melec grinned and turned to leave, but not before letting out a final line.

"Today was... not a bad performance for a young man that hasn't slept for more than 24 hours."

"We should go now, while there's still time," Gorim noted, picking up Trian's Maul.

"We need to see to your brother's injury too," Baizyl added.

Baizyl hoisted Trian up and threw him over his shoulder, after which the three, along with Frandlin ivo, disappeared through the Tunnels they had come from.

Trian felt hazy as his consciousness returned to him, but he was immediately brought to his senses by the sharp pain that awoke in his left arm. The light was dim and, after a while, he barely managed to gather that he was on the ground, leaning against the cavern's wall. Some way off, Gorim Saelac, Baizyl Harrowmont and Frandlin ivo were standing guard. What immediately struck the Heir, however, was that his brother was nowhere in sight. It was then that he felt the odd itch in his palm and looked to the side, where Raonar, too, was lying, seemingly unconscious. At that moment, Trian tried to move his right hand, but finally felt his brother's own left hand clutching to it as hey were bandaged together. What startled him most, however, was that he couldn't tell where his own palm ended and his sibling's began.

"So, you finally awaken," Gorim said as he approached, not bothering to hide his disapproval of the whole situation. "I would ask that you do not get too agitated. Not while you are living off my Lord Aeducan's blood."

Trian was confused but, at the very least, reasoned that it had something to do with the strange feeling he felt in his right arm. "What do you mean?" he uttered, "living off my brother's blood?"

"You lost a lot of your own and we were forced to retreat," the loyal second began to explain, still slightly angry. "Yes, we had to leave those brave and loyal soldiers behind to cover our escape. All because you were oblivious to your own escorts' true identities, I might add. After we lost them, we had to stop in order to tend to your injury. That's when His Highness realized you had lost too much blood. So he made a cut in his left palm, and your right, and joined them with some magic he had acquired some time ago."

The Prince heir was speechless and, for a time, he couldn't decide whether to believe this crazy story. Gorim wasn't at all in the mood for jokes, however, and that was more than enough to 'persuade' him. "Is that even possible?" he finally asked.

"I'm not sure even he was sure it would actually work, but he said he couldn't think of anything else on the spot. Sure enough, after he poured the potion and caused your skin and blood vessels to intertwine... a painful process too... he immediately lied down and said he would... lower his blood pressure by reducing the frequency of his breathing... or something..."

"What? Can he even do that? And what good would that have done?" Trian became more and more astonished with each word that came out of his siblings' second's mouth.

"He said something about your blood flows not being... synched? Really, I'm no physician. Either way, don't get agitated and wait until he wakes up."

"It's not like I'm asleep, Gorim," the Prince's soft voice was heard, almost startling the two.

"My Lord!" Gorim let out, excitedly, as he leaned next to him. "How are you feeling?"

"Nauseous," Raonar cleanly answered, causing Gorim to let out a short laugh, alerting the other two guardsmen. They held their positions, however, knowing danger is always present in the deeps. "It's ok," he continued, "Give us some time, would you?"

"Of course, My Lord," Gorim conceded as he walked away.

As the second walked back to the others, to tell them that both princes were conscious again, the two brothers were left alone, lying there, next to each other, hand in hand. Trian felt a bit awkward and did not even know what to say or think. He glimpsed at his sibling, noticing that he had his eyes closed. This gave him the courage to study him in more details, now that he had gotten used to the dim light. Raonar breathed softly but he still looked quite tired. Even so, however, his white hair and beard seemed to glitter, even in the shadows and despite the dry blood sprayed all over them. Seeing him like that threw Trian off, as he couldn't even remember if his brother had ever looked so completely vulnerable before. At that moment, he remembered how sure he had been, the previous day, that Raonar planned to kill him, and the shame that fell upon him for wanting to do the same was so strong that his heart started to race.

"Trian..." the Prince unexpectedly uttered in a soft tone that still caused his elder to flinch. "You're getting agitated and it's putting pressure on my arm. Stop fidgeting."

A silence followed, after which the heir barely managed to open his mouth.

"How did you know?"

Raonar opened his eyes and threw his elder a glance. "About what?" he asked. "About the mercenaries? Or about the whole deal? Either way, it does not matter. Explaining it to you would take longer than it's worth."

Trian was silent for a time but the pressure on Raonar's arm did not seem to lessen, which made it plain to see, for the Prince at least, that his sibling was still troubled about a lot of things.

"So your second was serious when he spoke about those assassinations you stopped..."

"He did WHAT?" The Commander's own heart started to race and Trian began to feel what he meant by 'pressure on his arm'. Raonar then sighed deeply and seemed to calm down. "Ah, I suppose it was unfair of me to get him involved in all those things and expect him to just keep silent because I said so. I am a cruel man, aren't i..."

"But why did you do it? Step in for me...Even with..." Trian couldn't bring himself to admit he had been an unjust fool. He was too proud.

"Hah!" his brother smirked faintly. "Someone had to keep your ass out of the fire. And if I may be so bold, big brother, you make... excellent ass material."

Much to his own surprise, Trian burst into laughter instead of feeling even remotely outraged by what his little brother had said. And what a clean laughter it was. Even the three others looked back in surprise when they heard the grumpy and normally self-important eldest Prince actually laugh instead of smirk.

"Ah..." he said as his lungs settled down. "What happened to us, little brother? How did we end up at each other's throats?"

Trian received no answer but, by now, he didn't exactly expect his sibling to eagerly answer every inane question he came up with. His revelry was suddenly interrupted, however, when he felt Raonar's hand lessen the hold on his own palm and going limp.

"Brother..." he called out, in an uncharacteristically concerned voice, but received no answer. "Raonar! Little brother! Hey!"

His cries alerted the others who immediately ran to the scene and saw that their Commander had lost consciousness. Gorim rushed to his side and checked his pulse.

"His pulse is weak. I think... I think he lost too much blood. He said this might happen..." he told Trian in horror. "I think... I think my... My Lord is dying..."

"Wait," Trian protested, "This is my fault, isn't it... I drained him of too much blood..."

A moment of silence followed, after which Trian suddenly grabbed the dagger that hung on Baizyl's side. "A warrior can't die in such an unsightly way!" he declared as he passed the edge of the blade in between his and Raonar's hands, instantly cutting them apart without even flinching from the pain. "Bandage his hand, quickly!" he ordered the others, who immediately got right on it. Meanwhile, Trian did the same to his own palm, and when they were done, he and Gorim lifted his unconscious brother by either arm.

"How far from Orzammar are we?" the Heir asked them.

"About two hours if we hurry," Frandlin Ivo explained. "But with your injuries, it'll probably take longer to get there..."

"Then we'd better get to it," Trian ordered with a newfound determination.

Unfortunately, things would not exactly go as planned, for much to their dismay, they found themselves surrounded by lightly armored castless thugs as soon as they emerged from the side tunnel. There were eight of them, three of which had taken position on some high ground and had their crossbow trained on the soldiers as soon as they emerged. The other five, one of which was cloaked and had a cowl obscuring his face, slowly advanced on their position. Gorim and Baizyl immediately readied their weapons and shields and stepped in front, leaving it to the other two to hold Raonar up.

"Well, there you are!" the apparent leader of the thugs noted smugly. He wore a suit of steel scale armor and his brand covered his entire face. "We got promised a fair deal of coin to kill the two brats but we don't mind a little extra sport."

"That snake!" Baizyl let out.

"That Bhelen definitely planned for every possible situation, didn't he," Gorim added with no tint of humor, realizing how bad the situation was. He became resolute, however, and practically dictated Trian's next move. "Prince Trian, Frandlin," he whispered as he and Baizyl exchanged looks.

"Be ready to make a run for it," Baizyl continued. "We'll buy you some time. Use that fire bomb that the Commander saved, 'just in case', to cover your escape. We'll hold them here."

Trian thought of questioning the logic behind it all, but he realized that there was no way all of them were getting out of there alive. "It seems my brother can truly inspire loyalty," he told them with a tint of admiration. "Very well, then."

With that, the party was just about to split up when something completely unexpected happened. Right before their very astonished eyes, one of the mercs seemingly dropped dead. This assumption ultimately proved closer to the truth than the soldiers hoped to think, as it was revealed that the aforementioned cloaked figure, until then the mercs' ally, had lightly stabbed him on the back of the head with his dagger. The next instant, even before the others had time to realize their folly, the figure took out a pair of throwing knives, one in each hand, and threw them straight towards the two farthest archers. Both reached their target, the throat, even though the men were situated more than 5 meters away and on either side. The mercenaries fell to the ground. It was only then that the remaining crossbowman managed to call out to the others and warn them of the danger.

He needn't have bothered, for just as the cloaked figure threw sand into the eyes of the nearest two louts that had charged him, another knife left his grasp and landed deep into the sternum of the final ranged combatant. At that moment, the figure performed a sweeping kick and knocked the two stunned rogues off their feet, immediately following with equally fatal stabs to the chests of both. Only the so-called leader was left.

"By the Stone... What in the Acestors' name just happened?" Trian whispered in absolute astonishment.

"I have... no idea..." Baizyl responded, just as amazed.

"Wha... what the sod!" the thug leader yelled in horror when he turned around, drawing out his two-handed axe. In just five seconds, the smug, cloaked bastard that was supposed to have been just another of their mercenary band had killed off his entire squad. "Bastard! Traitor!" he yelled in outrage.

"Hah!" the cloaked figure gruffly smirked. "A hired goon speaks of treason. How novel."

Gorim's eyes widened.

"Now shut up and fight!" the man added, causing the so-called boss to snap. It took only a few seconds, but Baizyl managed to follow how their savior effortlessly stepped to the side, evading the descending strike. After that, he quaintly stepped on the weapon, driving it into the ground. The next moment, his lightning-fast right hand slashed the enemy's gullet with a masterfully-crafted dagger, even as the man remained unimpressed with the blood that gushed out and sprayed him all over. The grunt fell, lifeless.

"Stay where you are!" Baizyl shouted as he saw the cloaked stranger slowly walking up to them. Gorim, on the other hand, seemed to ease up as he looked straight at what could be seen of his face.

"It can't be," he said, almost delighted. "It is you, isn't it?" he uttered, much to Trian's and the others' confusion.

The man threw back his cowl. "Ha! And here I thought you wouldn't recognize me, since nobles keep saying how all castless look alike."

Gorim exploded in a rain of laughter, unable to even stand up straight anymore, so relieved and glad he was to see that Faren Broska was the one in front of him.

"Wait!" Faren suddenly shouted as he noticed Raonar unconscious. "What in the bronto's ass happened to him?" he asked with earnest concern as he ran over, though Trian and the other two still had no idea what was going on. Gorim waved at them to let him pass. "What did he do this time? Infiltrate another enemy base?"

"Hold on!" Trian shouted as Faren brusquely grabbed his brother, but was immediately cut off as Faren simply slipped passed all of them and laid him down, leaning his back against a boulder.

"His pulse is weak, but only his palm is injured? How did he manage to lose enough blood to end up like this?" the castless man asked, frowning at the others as one that scolds one's children for failing in their appointed task. "Some guardians you are!"

"It's complicated," Gorim replied. "Suffice to say, we ran out of healing poultices and were rushing back to the city when... your... squad... intercepted us."

Faren paused, looking at Gorim a while, not even bothering to glance at the others who were now just standing there, stunned. Then, he reached under his cloak and brought out a red vial, the same one Raonar had given him the day before. "Just in case, he said. Ha! Just in case **indeed**!" Without a moment's notice, he forced the Prince's mouth open and emptied the small bottle's contents inside, massaging his gullet to make sure the liquid ended up in the right orifice. Just then, Raonar stirred as the color returned to his face and he slowly opened his eyes. He immediately recognized the one kneeling in front of him, but the look he then gave was not what anyone had expected. Trian remembered his little brother making the same look, when they were infants, whenever their mother forced him to wake up early.

"Faren? You're here already? How long was I out?" he asked, slightly confused, but he struggled to his feet and wobbled over to where Gorim was standing, just to take a look at the scene.

"Wow..." he let out, in amazement, even as Gorim was helping him stand up. "I can't believe I missed this... aaawww man..." He then turned to Trian. "Wasn't he awesome? He was, wasn't he."

"Umm... little brother... are you alright?" Trian asked as he couldn't decide whether his sibling was still right in the head. He then looked at Faren inquisitively, wondering if that potion he gave him wasn't drugged or somesuch.

"Hmpf!" Raonar scoffed as he suddenly dropped all pretenses. "You needn't sound so disappointed," he said, dismissively. Then his eyes glinted and he looked at his castless friend with a very cunning grin. "Anyway, since we're already at this part, I can finally put my plan into motion."

"Plan, my Lord?" Gorim asked, more than a little confused.

"You have an Idea?" Baizyl asked.

"Actually," Raonar began, "I've been planning for this situation since yesterday and kept going over it in my mind the entire night."

"Wait," Train interrupted in disbelief. "You planned **all of this?** The ambushes? And everything else? You mean you foresaw all that Bhelen would throw at you? Do you expect me to just believe that?"

"You needn't sneer so, big brother," the Prince retorted. "I didn't say I planned this. I said I planned **for **this. I definitely couldn't know exactly what Bhelen would do. Look," he said as he quaintly took Faren's electricity-infused dagger, "follow me and I'll explain. " He then went silent and walked over to the middle of the tunnel intersection, followed by the others who had, by now, become very curious. There, he stopped and they all formed a circle.

"All the actors are here," the Commander begun, pointing at each in turn. "Faren, the castless mercenary. Baizyl, the Harrowmont. Gorim, the loyal manservant. Frandlin Ivo..." he stopped, as if considering something, though the scrutinizing look he gave Ivo made the warrior more than a little uncomfortable. "I'll get back to you later. And, finally," he turned to his brother. "The victim."

"Victim?" Train snorted. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"How do you feel?" his sibling unexpectedly asked him. "Are you at all dizzy? Any hint of weakness or fatigue?"

"What? No..."

"Good." Raonar then glanced at the others. "Guys... Don't freak out."

Trian didn't even have time to wonder what his sibling was going on about because he suddenly felt a sharp pain in his abdomen, just below his sternum. He looked down, and, in utter disbelief and confusion, saw that Raonar had driven the castless man's dagger straight into him. The others recoiled in shock.

"Wha... You... After all that..."

Trian tripped on his words as he looked his brother straight in the eyes, unable to read any emotions from his straight, poker face. Then, his breathing became heavy, his vision blurred, and the last thing he felt was his brother pulling the blade out of him and softly laying him on the ground. Then, there was nothing. That very long day, at least for him, was now over.

...

_Do write a review if you will._


	6. Prelude 5: Worms and Serpents

**Chapter 5****: Worms and Serpents**

"-. Truth is beyond the reach of the wicked.-"

Raonar was seething as he sat there, in the middle of the passage, surrounded by burnt corpses. He was exhausted, breathing heavily, still clutching his brother's great war hammer. His own bruises stung him, yet even that wretched physical pain couldn't even begin to compare with the incredible agony that throbbed in his chest. He kept seeing Gorim's face, staring at him in shock, even as he remained resolute and accepted the fate the Prince had forced upon him.

_"Gorim is dead now" _the Prince kept repeating in his mind, as if the charred corpses surrounding him and whose stench filled the air were all illusions_. "And so is Trian. And still, it may not be enough for him," _he thought to himself.

"Someone's coming," Frandlin Ivo uttered, almost startling Raonar out of his revelry. The prince looked in the direction of the footsteps and saw his father, the King, approaching, accompanied by Lord Harrowmont, the royal guards, some nobles and about three dozen soldiers. And, of course, there, at the King's side, walked the great schemer, Bhelen himself. And how haughty Raonar thought he carried himself and how clear he though he could see his satisfaction as the party approached the scene. He got up and waited for them to draw near, still clinging to the maul.

"By the stone!" the King cried out in disbelief as he couldn't believe what he saw. His second eldest stood there, in the middle of a battlefield, surrounded by corpses burned beyond recognition but which still reeked of blood and smoke. Only he and Frandlin ivo were there, alone, as though they were the only survivors of an inferno. Seven corpses littered the area.

"My son! What is the meaning of this? What happened here?"

Raonar ignored him and threw Trian's Maul at Bhelen's feet.

"Congratulation, little brother," he uttered with a grim tone than no one could interpret, though his eyes were fierce with outrage. "You got more than you bargained for!"

"What happened here?" one of the Deshyrs demanded. "So Prince Bhelen was right after all! Are we too late?"

Raonar ignored him too, still looking straight at Bhelen.

"Look at what you've accomplished! You hired mercenaries to kill Trian, even Gorim and me!" his tone was uncharacteristically agitated, as though he had trouble breathing.

"Don't try to project your own treachery onto me!" Bhelen riposted, just as outraged.

"These corpses don't lie!" Raonar yelled. "Look upon them! See what your madness has wrought! Look at what your insane ambitions have made of our House!" Raonar paused, though he kept staring straight into Bhelen's eyes, even as he had no trouble staring right back. "Look at what you've done! See them! House Saelac's crest! The Aeducan royal armor!"

Those words suddenly drew everyone's attention and caused them to approach, even as the rank smell of death and the hideous charred flesh stung their nostrils. And as he drew closer, the King inevitably recognized his eldest's princely armor, though the body inside it, now facing down, had been reduced to a burnt husk that could no longer be recognized. And there, right in front of him, just as disfigured, was what looked like Gorim, his shield lying motionless next to him, with its crest partially burned. All of the ones present stared at each other in disbelief, not knowing what to even say, until the King himself fell to his knees near his son's corpse. He turned it face-up and felt his insides churn as he saw that what covered the skull of his first-born could no longer be even remotely called a face.

"Don't just stand there, you hypocrite!" Raonar shouted at his little brother.

"Oh, I'm the hypocrite am I?" Bhelen yelled back. "And what about you? I heard you say how you planned on killing Trian yesterday night! How eager you were to get your "idiot of an older brother" out of the way!"

"How dare you! When it was you wh-" Raonar was cut off.

"Oh, don't try it, big brother! Don't even try to deny it! You always resented him, thinking how unfair it was that he was heir when you clearly thought you were better! And you even kept saying how it was his fault mother died, even though it was yours!"

Raonar really was surprised to hear those last words. "Wh... What do you mean it was mine! And what does that have to do with this!"

"Enough!" Endrin cried out, even as he was barely able to get back on his feet from the shock. Harrowmont held him up.

"You killed Trian!" Bhelen yelled at his sibling. "You always planned to do it!"

"Enough," Harrowmont blankly commanded. "Child, tell us what you claim happened here. The we'll see if it's true."

"You're asking what happened?" Raonar was outraged and he immediately left his spot and strode towards one of the farthest bodies whose face wasn't completely burnt. He lift it up, showing it to the others. "Are you blind? Can't you see the brand? These are castless thugs! They were hired to kill me and Trian so the way to the Throne would be clear!"

"Oh really!" Bhelen retorted in apparent disbelief. "Then what about you? Where were you when this happened? You don't have a single burn mark on you! Don't tell me that's a coincidence! And don't make me say how you mysteriously slipped out of sight of your escort yesterday, only to be spotted coming out of Dust Town some hours later! You hired those goons yourself!"

Raonar said nothing more, instead he looked blankly at his sibling, trying to make out just what was driving him, though Endrin was quite shocked to hear this talk of Dust Town.

"That's enough," Harrowmont ordered. "Since it's your word against his, we'll get nowhere. We'll have to settle for the testimony of the only other person present." Everyone turned to Frandlin Ivo who, obviously, didn't enjoy the attention and started to fidget.

"You are of noble birth and are known as an honorable man," Harrowmont began, "so your word carries weight in this matter. Tell us what truly happened."

Frandlin an Raonar exchanged looks and, for a moment, it looked as though the former was struggling to decide on something, so pained his face was. Eventually, he managed to gather courage enough to speak.

"I'm sorry, your highness" he said as he looked at Raonar with what appeared to be great sadness. Then he turned to Harrowmont. "I'm afraid that..." Raonar noticed the menacing glare that Bhelen gave Frandlin that moment, even as the others remained oblivious to it. "I'm afraid that Prince Bhelen is right." Everyone gasped and looked at each other in confusion. Then, Frandlin continued.

"Prince Trian and his men got into a fight some way off, against some mercenaries. I don't know who hired them. It wasn't going well. Then, my Lord Aeducan charged in with his men, supposedly to stem the tide of the fight. After that, he persuaded his brother that the battle was lost and got him to follow him and his second back here, where these other castless thugs were waiting. Prince Trian saw the treachery but he didn't stand a chance, though he did manage to bring Gorim down before he fell."

"Incredible!" Raonar cried out in disbelief. "You were in league with my brother all along! What lies! You fought alongside this man and still you spout such lies!"

"Silence, Raonar!" Endrin cried out in grief.

Everyone now noticed that Gorim's armor had been smashed on the back by a heavy object, presumably Trian's hammer. "My Lord was outraged," Ivo continued. "When he saw Gorim dead, he almost lost his mind, He charged at the remaining mercenaries and slew them for being incompetent. Then, distraught, he stripped his brother's signet ring, saying he didn't deserve to own it, and threw a magical potion of fire over all of them, saying that their faces were unfit to be looked upon by the ancestors. It was... horrible."

"This is all a lie!" Raonar yelled with a mix of disbelief and astonishment.

"I want to believe that!" his father answered, pained beyond measure. "I really do! But... but this... look at all this!"

"Are you kidding? I've been looking at this for hours!"

"Exactly!" Bhelen observed, "You had more than enough time to do everything that Frandlin Ivo told us just now!"

"Search him!" one of the nobles suggested in spite. "Find Trian's signet ring. If it's intact and not burned, then he's the liar!"

Raonar could not even protest, so immediately was he taken a hold of by two of the guards, while a third started to search him. Before long, the man found what he sought, and it was just as Frandlin had said. The ring was in perfect condition. Endrin looked at his second eldest in disbelief, hoping he would still wake up from this horrible nightmare. He kept going back to the previous night, to thinking how earnestly his child had warned everyone of the dangers, and now, all signs pointed to his hand being behind it all. And the worst part was that Raonar, now, didn't even seem in the slightest inclined towards giving his father a reassuring look. Instead, the two Princes kept staring into each other's eyes. if stares could kill, both of them would have dropped dead ten times over by now, so it seemed to the King.

"Treachery!" the biased Deshyr sneered.

"Is there anything else you have to say about this...?" Endrin asked, desperate. "Please, my son, anything, tell me this isn't real!" Endrin pleaded. His son only answered him with a strange look, as if he pitied him.

"You wouldn't believe it, anymore than you believed everything I said so far," he replied, almost emotionlessly. "This is out of your hands now."

"This is a matter for the assembly" Harrowmont concluded. "To Orzammar!"

"-.A snake does not leave scraps for worms to feed upon. It swallows its prey whole.-"

The ground was humid, the walls were moldy and light was even more scarce than in those spider-filled caverns he had been through just hours earlier. Still, the smell, at the very least, was not as horrible as that of darkspawn. This meant that, even clad in tattered prison clothes and tired as he was, Raonar could still find some calm through meditation, even as he knew that only two possible outcomes were left for him. Either he was to be called before the Assembly to stand trial, or Bhelen would convict him of kinslaying right off the bat. Either way, it was the deep roads for him, and the Prince knew that he had to recover some of his energy or he would die as soon as he was made to walk them.

Raonar sat there, in the middle of his cell, cross-legged, his back straight and his hands resting on his knees, though not completely relaxed, in order to keep the blood flow constant. He breathed from the bottom of his lungs, but so slowly that he only inhaled about seven or ten times per minute, so steady and sure his chest was. But even this exercise could only do so much. He had lost a lot of blood when he joined his body with that of his elder, not to mention that getting close to 40 hours of no sleep was less than easy on his nerves. He knew it would only be a matter of time before he broke down because of the stress on his muscles, but there was still something left to do. So he waited, thinking of how shamelessly he asked Gorim to renounce his life so that his own plan might work.

The Prince's mind drifted to Gorim's father, and he could already see him, broken up, angry at the king for letting something like this happen to his child. And he had every right to be, since he had entrusted his son to Endrin's House, only for him end up dead because of some hatred between siblings. Raonar could not help but think of how low Aeducan had fallen, and how that man's suffering was his doing entirely. But he questioned not his goal. What he had done was necessary, and his own fate proved it. Or so he hoped, since there were still some variables that had the potential to drift to other values and change the arrangement of the pieces. But Raonar was alive. And as long as he was, he knew he could still do something.

The presumed kinslayer heard the portcullis on the far end of the prison corridor creek as it opened. Footsteps were heard and a dwarf eventually stopped in front of his own cell door. He waited there, until the prisoner decided to finally open his eyes. It was Frandlin Ivo once again.

"Ah..." Raonar uttered, somewhat surprised. "Isn't it a bit... dangerous, for you to be near me right now?" he asked him with a tint of irony, though he was remarkably calm for a prisoner on a death row. The meditation could be counted on for that much at least.

"The Assembly has called for you," Ivo responded, forcing himself to eliminate as much as he could of the emotion in his voice. Raonar was more than a bit surprised to hear this.

"Really?" he said, blinking. "That's... odd... I would have expected Bhelen and his many allies to have me exiled immediately. Isn't he afraid I'll sway the Assembly back in my favor? Or did father say something?"

"Your Father didn't attend. He's taken ill, apparently. But, Bhelen tried to do that alright. Almost succeeded too. But something... unusual happened after that..." Ivo wasn't sure how to begin.

"Well?" Raonar said, impatiently. "Out with it!"

"It appears that your men won that battle against the castless thugs after you and your brother retreated. "

"Ha!" Raonar let out with boundless relief. "And what exactly did that lead to?" he continued. "Did Melec survive?"

"Oh, he did at that. And when he got back to the city, just about an hour ago, and he heard what was happening, he was furious. He just... barged into the Assembly chamber, all covered in dry blood, and demanded that you be allowed to stand trial." Ivo actually sounded impressed, glad even.

"Did the Deshyrs even care?" the Prince asked, reserved. "He's Warrior Caste after all. Didn't they just ignore him?"

"Oh, they intended to. Until he threatened to take his entire House and leave for the surface."

Raonar was stunned. That was one thing he definitely hadn't expected, especially knowing how irreverently he had smacked that man over the head some hours earlier, as a reward for taking an arrow for him no less.

"Wow... That's... something..." he managed to stutter._"But this is perfect."_ he thought to himself.

"Anyway, it'll not matter if you just sit there. Get up and let's get going." Ivo demanded.

"I assume Bhelen sent you to get me. No doubt he meant it as an insult. Or he hoped I'd snap and try to kill you for revenge." The Prince's tone was unexpectedly humorous, though Frandlin only looked as though he wanted to be out of that awkward situation as quickly as possible. Eventually, Raonar got up, in no hurry, and let himself be led to the halls.

They were just as he remembered. Tall, grand and swarming with self-important lords and ladies, idiots as it were. Most people already looked at him in scorn, as though he had already been proven guilty and the trial was just a formality to confirm it. The prince was not surprised and, predictably, not in the least impressed with their scoffs and sneers, though he did enjoy seeing them get so aggravated. It made for a nice change from the ever sickly feigned smiles that he was, by now, used to seeing on everyone's faces. Frandlin Ivo led him as far as the main access corridor, where two guards took him off his hands, much to his relief, or so he made it seem. The guards then proceeded to leading him on to the assembly room itself, but they were stopped in their tracks when a man stepped in front of them, causing them to flinch.

"Hmm? Ah, a friendly face. Not all are extinct, it seems," Raonar said in acknowledgment, allowing a sincere smile to decorate his tired but still vibrant facial features.

"I know you didn't do it," Melec bluntly stated, crossing his hands, without even hesitating, even though the guards were right there.

"Hah!" Raonar smirked. "Did what? And how can you be so sure? You weren't there, you can't know. And everyone else seems to think I did it. Ah, but my attitude isn't the same as that of one who just lost a brother and is about to be sentenced to death for it," he added with a strange look that the warrior did not completely understand. "But that's irrelevant Did many of your men die?"

"**Your** men you mean, Commander," Melec corrected. "Somehow, we managed to get off easy. After that coward Vartag fled, the castless started breaking ranks. Only about nine of our own died, and that's because of those poultices you left us, if I might add," His voice was filled with a mixture of gratitude, admiration and uncertainty, but changed to worry as he saw the odd look in the young man's eyes. "I take it you're planning something again. This has something to do with what you talked to those other three earlier, doesn't it?"

"It makes no difference," the Prince cleanly stated, with an air of finality that made it more than clear to the veteran that he wasn't going to find out anything more, for his own good. "Take care of Orzammar, will you? Even if these Desyrs squabble over lost unmentionables, at least you try to make sure the city doesn't fall to those beasts in the deeps."

"You speak as if you'll not be here to do it yourself, even though the trial hasn't even started..."

"Indeed," Raonar confirmed, unhesitatingly. After that, the guards finally led him off, leaving Melec to gaze at his Prince until he disappeared behind the hall's large doors.

Except for Endrin, all the lords and ladies of the assembly were present in the grand, circular chamber. That hall was where all matters of politics and economy were decided, although few discussions ever went smoothly unless the King had some sort of great idea that put everyone in their place. This once, the King was absent, which meant that neither of the 80 members would feel any sort of restraint to ridicule the accused or berate him. The Prince also noticed Bhelen among the nobles, smug and proud, but not exactly satisfied. It was plain to Raonar that he wasn't at all pleased with the fact that his brother was given a trial.

"The Assembly is now in session," Assembly Steward Bandelor began as the doors closed and the Prince slowly but tactfully walked towards the centre of the hall. "This meeting's purpose is to ascertain the events that took place in the deep roads crossroads earlier today and to determine whether or not the accused, Prince Raonar of House Aeducan, had a hand in the death of his elder brother, Trian, the eldest son of King Endrin and Heir to the throne of Orzammar."

"This trial is a farce!" Bhelen protested. "You already agreed he was guilty but are doing this because you allowed yourself to be cowed by some lower castman!"

"Hmpf!" Raonar snorted, knowing that the excellent acoustics of the Assembly chamber ensured that his every word was heard perfectly by everyone present. "You'd think your own brother would be more supportive."

"You have some gall to say that after you killed Trian!" Bhelen protested with unrestrained disdain.

"Enough!" Bandelor ordered. "The lords will refrain from losing their composure, especially those **emotionally involved.**" Bhelen was irked to be reprimanded, but said nothing more. "Now," the Chancellor continued "On to the matter of the trial. The one known as Raonar Aeducan is accused of High treason and fratricide in the eyes of this Assembly, among other, less serious but intimately related acts, such as conspiring against the Throne, deception and, finally, misappropriation of royal property. By law, a lower caste man would have his hands cut off, be given a public flogging and, ultimately, be publicly executed. But since the accused is of noble birth, the assembly agreed that erasing him from the Memories and making him walk the Deep Roads, fighting against the enemies of Orzammar, would be best suited."

"This would at least give your life some last semblance of usefulness," a Deshyr said.

"And would, ultimately, imply some measure of redemption," another, female noble added.

"Bah!" Raonar scoffed, interrupting them and taking them off guard. "Then why did you call me here? If you've already decided to erase me from existence, why didn't you just do it? I'm hungry. I'm tired. I haven't slept in almost two days. I have only half my blood in my body right now and I've fought against deep stalkers, cavern crawlers, darkspawn and mercenaries for hours. I would have been more grateful if you had let me doze off for a few minutes in my moldy cell instead of having me dragged down here."

Most of the nobles were too surprised to say anything, some even failing to completely restrain their laughter. Others were quite outraged at the 'child's' audacity.

"Be careful what you speak," a more grumpy lord demanded, annoyed. "Your arrogance will gain you nothing!"

"Ah, but it did, My Lord Bemot, it gave me the immeasurable satisfaction of seeing that lovely brow of your scowl," the Prince responded, smugly.

"You dare!" he yelled in outrage. "I'll-"

"You'll what?" he cut him off, quite matter-of-factly. "It's out of your hands. I will walk the deep roads and fight darkspawn. How original, really. It's not like I haven't been doing that for years already, keeping your asses out of the fire in the process."

"Why you little-"

"I said **enough**," Bandelor demanded, quite annoyed himself, though he secretly enjoyed seeing Bemot being shown his place. Then he turned to Raonar again. "Child, you're not making this situation any easier on yourself."

"He's just a fool!" Bhelen argued, "I say send him to the deeps already, as all murderers deserve."

"That he is a murderer has yet to be decided by this trial," Harrowmont retorted. He seemed to be the only one there actually believing that the Prince might be innocent. Or, if there were others, they were good at hiding it.

"Ahem," Bandellor cleared his throat. "Now, I suggest you weigh your words carefully young man."

The Prince took a straightforward stance and just looked the Steward in the eye, after which he did the same to some of the Deshyrs. Some drew their gaze away, others started fidgeting or scratching their foreheads. "So tell us," Bandellor asked "What do you have to say about all this?"

Raonar was annoyed and didn't even bother to hide it. "What do you **want** me to say?"

"Please child, just tell us the truth," Harrowmont pleaded.

"Hmpf!" the Prince sneered. "How easily you speak such words! **Just** the truth! As if it were **nothing**! No, my lords and ladies," he added with a cunning grin, "Far better the **lie**! You all wouldn't recognize truth even if you married it in packs!"

'Why you littl-" a Deshyr tried to protest.

"Silence!" the Prince commanded in a loud voice that was only amplified by his central position in that chamber. His order fell like a boulder and caused almost everyone in that assembly to flinch. Bhelen only frowned, as even he didn't know what to expect. "My turn to speak has been recognized by the Steward and you will all hold your tongues until I am finished! I am not erased from the Memories yet! I am still your Prince!" His declaration was so direct and decisive that no one dared answer, except Bhelen who chose to keep silent simply because he was quite intrigued by the whole affair. That, and he knew that shouting at the assembly wouldn't help his brother's case at all, so why stop him?

"You all act so self-righteous," the Prince continued, "Even though you backstab and steal from each other on a daily basis! You, Lord Dace (turns to him) act all kind and compassionate towards the surfacers, when you're just interested in getting your kin debts repaid by my own house and others' houses! And you, Lord Hrildan (turns to him), think you're so subtle and always try to keep up that spotless visage, and then go and murder Lord Voldin's fourth eldest child over a love affair! And it seems no one cares about Lord Dugan Lantena's own attempt at high treason today!"

"How dare you impune my honor boy!" Hrildan yelled back.

"What's this talk about killing my son!" Voldin protested as he glared at Hrildan.

"Order!" Bandelor dictated.

"Ha!" the second son smirked, "Some players of the game of politics you are! You can't even see what's in front of your own noses!"

With every word that came out of the Prince's mouth, the lords and ladies in the hall began to exchange accusatory glares amongst each others. A rustle started to be heard, growing stronger and more chaotic. Bandelor didn't have time to say anything else though, since the Prince immediately followed up with more.

"But why should you believe me?" he asked, stupefying most of them. "I am just a kinslayer now, no? So you can't really know if what I say is true! But what if it is? Ah, that doubt, now **that** is what you deserve! Something to keep you awake at night, always worrying about this or that sinister plot that your enemies may or may not have set in motion. "

"Child, please," Harrowmont tried to stop him, "I ask for your own sake, stop th-"

"Oh come now, Harrowmont," he broke him off with a dismissive wave, "what did you **think** I was going to say if I was called here? You thought I would beg to be believed guiltless? You thought I'd cower and grovel? Before these scum that are no better than what they are trying to make me pass as? You want the truth? Orzammar is a venom-filled cesspool! Our people are dying and our own brethren from Kal Sharok hate us! The castless and surfacers look to outnumber us but you stubbornly refuse to acknowledge their existence, even as you encourage noble hunting! Such hypocrisy! And all this time, instead of doing something about it, you 80 **fine** members of the assembly squabble over gold and silks, and who is or isn't better at the 'game of politics." And as you do, the rest of us who actually care have to sleep with knives under our pillows and make nugs eat out of our plates before we do, to test for poison!"

Harrowmont could clearly feel the outrage that the prince burned with, especially considering how his countenance became more and more fierce as he pronounced each word.

"Don't act like you care!" Bhelen protested in spite.

"Oh, you'd know all about acting, wouldn't you little brother?" Raonar responded, getting a nasty glare in response. Then, he returned to berating the lords, knowing he may never get the chance again. "You are all egotistic worms!" he proclaimed.

"That's enough!" a Deshyr angrily let out. "I'll not simply sit here and listen to him spouting his venom left and right! The arrogance!"

"Then you'll have to stand up if you're uncomfortable," the Prince simply noted. "You are all worms, now rallying around a snake (glares at Bhelen), thinking it's a fitting idol for you to worship and hoping it will leave you some scraps to gnaw at once it's done with its meal! You are all **fools!** A snake does not leave remains for worms to feed upon! It swallows its prey whole!"

Harrowmont was completely astonished to hear such terrible declarations come from the young man's mouth.

"So there it is, my **honorable** lords and ladies of the assembly!" Raonar concluded in a tone that was so perfectly sarcastic and solemn at the same time that they could find no retorts. "If you want to feed on the prey of that snake, you'll have to let yourself be swallowed up as well!"

"That's enough!" Bhelen said, calmly. "It's clear he has no intention of even trying to deny he's a kinslayer. So let's get this so-called trial over with."

"Yes, the Deep Roads will be a nice change compared to this," the Prince said in approval, taking his little brother slightly by surprise.

"Then," Bandelor conceded, with an air of resignation, seeing that the Deshyrs were now busier with glaring at each other in suspicion, "The Assembly finds the accused, Raonar Aeducan, guilty of fratricide and high treason. Your name will be struck from the memories, your status as Aeducan removed and you will be made to walk the Deep Roads and fight the enemies of Orzammar until your death."

"How ironic," Raonar concluded, "that even in my death I get to help my people more than you ever deigned to consider. Fools and their politics."

"-. Snakes and rats. Well, mice really. Small, fuzzy creatures indeed.-"

And, once again, he was in his beloved cell. Raonar wasn't even upset anymore, instead he felt invigorated after seeing the angry faces of the oh-so-honorable lords and ladies. Meditating came even easier as he sat in the darkness, mindful of the small mouse that had started to scurry about him, trying to keep warm. Eventually, he turned his attention to it and saw that, strangely, the small furry creature did not fear him at all, even letting him stroke the back of its head. The mouse squeaked in satisfaction as the prince picked him up and put him on the top of his head.

"Ah, you little thing. I feel like I'm in one of those adventure tales mother used to read to me... and my brothers..." His tone became somewhat sad, at which point the small creature started to play with the Prince's spiky hair, tickling his skull, as if trying to cheer him up. "What are you anyway?" Raonar asked with faint delight, "If this is the Ancestors' way of showing some measure of parental support, it's a horrible performance. Ah, but here I am, talking to animals no less!" He felt amused at himself, a small dose of comic relief before the plunge into the deeps. Even small as it was, it was welcome.

Eventually, the mouse managed to form a sort of nest and went to sleep, at which point Raonar was able to resume his meditation. He thought of nothing, hoping that the calm would allow his body to regenerate even in absence of sleep. It worked somewhat, but only just. Unfortunately, he didn't have time to think of a better method as he again heard the portcullis creek open and a dwarf with light steps approach. Raonar didn't even bother to open his eyes, so many times he had heard that almost soundless walk before. Eventually, the steps ceased in front of his cell, at which point the second son calmly picked up the small furry creature on the top of his head, his eyes still closed, and laid him to rest on the floor. He then met the visitor's gaze and slowly got to his feet and approaching the cell door. Then, he stopped there, crossing his hands and staring straight at him.

"Well, come to gloat over your achievements little brother?" he asked Bhelen dryly. "Or did you come to yell at me for throwing your pet nobles at each other's throats?"

"I bet you feel all proud and satisfied, don't you..." Bhelen retorted, unable to completely conceal his rage.

"Hmpf!" his elder scoffed. Raonar was not bound to show humor, not after Bhelen hired mercenaries to kill his brother and knowing that Gorim's life was over. If he did, it would have caused Bhelen to become suspicious."Really Bhelen, how creative. Asking me if feel proud of myself and satisfied even though I'm hours away from fighting darkspawn with my bare hands, or a dagger and a battered shield if I'm lucky. If I didn't know better, I'd say you're angry. Don't tell me you're feeling insecure," he smugly added.

"Even in defeat, you still squirm..." the youngest blurted.

"(snort) Defeat. As if I played your game. Don't presume to know the status or motivations of others just because things seem to go according to your plans," the second son advised, coldly.

"Oh, don't try to act all strong and resolute!" Bhelen blurted. "And really, you're in no position to give out tactical advice," he added, seemingly emotionlessly.

"Ah, and who says I am not?" Raonar replied with a glint in his eyes that Bhelen could not exactly place. "Do not presume, little brother. Great men lost everything because they misjudged their own position, not just that of others. But this point is moot. I never really was a threat to you, It was your own paranoia that led to this. Fratricide, even that wasn't beneath you. "

"You have some nerve," Bhelen let out, seething with anger. "Even now, after you have become nothing, no, **less** than nothing, you still show the same arrogance!"

"Careful what you speak, little brother," Raonar suggested as he frowned. "You're the last person entitled to speak of arrogance, especially after you had the audacity to have your own sibling killed. But this doesn't matter now," he waved with an air of pained boredom. "You're here, so you must want something. So, what did you come here for?"

"I came to look at you."

"Oh, how heartwarming," his elder proclaimed, putting as much dry sarcasm and disapproval as he could in that exclamation. "And how do you like the view? Or did you like the mouse better? I can introduce you if you like."

"Pfah!" Bhelen shrugged.

"Well, judging by that reaction I assume this isn't what you hoped to see," Raonar asserted with a scowl. "So, what did you hope to see?"

There was no answer. Bhelen just stared at him.

"This won't turn out as you want it to, you know," the now former prince forecasted quite matter-of-factly.

"Don't get all smug!" his brother almost shouted back. "You think that stint you pulled will do any good? I've been gathering support for years! I own more than half of the assembly already! Don't be so stuck up as to think you can just shatter that in a few minutes and with just a few shouts! What you did in there will mean **nothing **in the end."

"Oh really?" his sibling simply inquired, feigning confusion. "Then why are you here? And why are you so obviously outraged?" He got no answer, so he just continued. "Ah, Bhelen, so that's how it is."

"What is **what?" **the new heir asked with spite.

"My my, how sad yet not completely unexpected. To think you're afraid of me even now."

"Don't get all high and mighty! I was** never** afraid of you!" Bhelen snapped, striking against the prison bars with both his hands.

"My, and how explosive a reaction that was! That **must** have struck a cord. And why do you speak in past tense?"

"Don't practice your semantics games on me," Bhelen responded as he seemed to regain his composure.

"What do you want Bhelen?" Raonar suddenly asked, slightly peeved. "I can't believe you just came here to convince me that what I did was meaningless. That would be too odd for even you."

"Why?"

"(deep sigh) Trying to convince anyone that you're right about something is just another way of seeking that someone's approval." Bhelen flinched a little, but said nothing. "What did you expect? Did you expect me to congratulate you on your prowess at playing the political game? Why would I? I didn't play with you, so it's not like I lost."

"And yet, here you are. I think you're just in denial," his little brother observed.

"Hey, I'm not the one that came all the way to the dungeon just to try and squeeze out some final measure of praise. Though I'm flattered you'd think me an opponent worthy of your notice. But this is irrelevant. I didn't play your game, Bhelen, regardless of what you think. I didn't conspire to kill anyone and, as you know from eavesdropping on the throne room last night, I had no intention of letting Trian die either. Your attempts of throwing us at each other failed."

"You can try to scream about your innocence all you like, it will change nothing," Bhelen assured him.

"Bah!" Raonar felt his insides churn. "You disgust me! To think you'd feel so proud for having your own brother killed! How far you have fallen!"

"I don't think it's your place to give lectures. You don't know anything about what I did and why I did it! So don't think you can just-"

"I don't know anything?" the former Prince cut him off. "Don't I really? And what will you do with the throne Bhelen? At most you'll just trade a set of problems for another and whatever reforms you make will be undone by future generations because you ended up pissing off the assembly too much."

"Stop acting like you know all there is to know!" Bhelen demanded. "How smug, to think you'd still talk such rot even after losing everything!"

"Ah!" interrupted him with a straight gaze. "But I **haven't** lost everything. I still have my life. And I suppose having all my limbs in working condition can be seen as a bonus. And you can deny it all you want, **little brother**, but even this much was more than enough to make you come down here yourself. Face it Bhelen. You're still afraid I might have some hidden ace, something that will crush everything you've striven so hard to achieve as you plotted and schemed the past two years. Honestly, your paranoia is going to get you killed. And setting aside how much **that** would crush me, I can't help but think of all the other unfortunate people whose deaths you'll cause in the process. None of your reasons will **ever** be good enough to justify even **one** death, not to mention fratricide."

"You'll never understand my reasons!" Bhelen protested.

"Oh really? What makes you think I don't already?" Bhelen just glared back. "I think you want me to understand. I think that's exactly what you came down here for. You have that idea that what you're doing is for the good of our people and necessary and, thus, completely justified. And because it's justified, you expect me to finally see your point and admit defeat, if not even praise you for you '**noble spirit'** and "**self-sacrificial**" tendencies and, of course, for your incredible intellect that made all of **this** possible."

"Trian would have handed Orzammar to the darkspawn with his stupidity!" Bhelen burst out, lashing at his brother, though the cell bars acted as a barrier. "He was weak and you know it! As long as he was alive, no one could ever hope to actually do something worthwhile for Orzammar! And still, you kept saving his sorry hide! You were weak! You still are! You'll never be able to make the tough decisions that our city needs in order to survi-"

That moment, Bhelen was cut off as his throat suddenly refused to let any air come out of his lungs. The muscles on his neck started to sting as a force started pressing on it from all directions. Finally, he managed to notice that his brother's right arm, now outstretched, had reached out from beyond the bars and was choking the life out of him. He gasped and used both hands to try and loosen the grip, but it was firm and resolute. He could keep the hand from crushing his throat, or was being allowed to, but he couldn't undo it. That moment, his eyes met Raonar's, and the two brothers were locked in a battle of wills that would not relent. Both gazes were feral, both stared with passion and even as terrible as the elder's gaze was, Bhelen didn't even show a glint of fear. There was only an unmistakable disapproval on Raonar's part, and just as much defiance on Bhelen's.

"So I am just an obstacle to be removed, am I?" the second son asked as his hand was slowly crushing his brother's neck. "And what if I suddenly did decide to make those so-called tough choices? Take this situation for example. I am already considered a kinslayer. What would one more dead brother mean?" his tone was completely cold. "How would it feel, **little brother**" he continued with utter sarcasm "what if I just killed you here? How would you like to see all your grand dreams shattered and all your plans ruined? How would you like to see me make one of those tough choices and just disregard your life as worthless trash?"

The next moment, Raonar threw Bhelen against the wall behind him. Bhelen collapsed to the floor and started to choke and cough, barely even able to utter a word.

"You (cough) bastard," he sneered as he struggled to catch his breath.

"Right," the second son blankly stated. "Don't blame me for this. For all your subtlety, it's your own fault for getting so close to the cell."

"Ha! (wheezes) I knew you didn't have it in you! You're a weak, weak fool who can't do anything, even when he has nothing to lose!" he declared in triumph.

"Fool, **right**," Raonar retorted with an indignant snort. "As if I didn't realize you got close and feigned rage on purpose just to see if I'd try to kill you. Like I'll play into **that**. You think I didn't notice how the guards were uncharacteristically 'absent'? I know they're hidden in the cell next to me." He then noticed the slight surprise that his little brother, choked and breathing heavily as he was, could not completely mask. "What? You're surprised I realized that much? Come now Bhelen, you and I already know that we're both beyond the realm of measurable intelligence. That is, after all, why you came down here. You want to see me admit defeat, to stroke your conceit, as Trian, ancestors catch him, so slyly put it. And you're also nostalgic because you know you'll not have a worthy 'rival', once I'm eaten up by the deeps. Though the idea that I'm your rival is, in the end, just a delusion of yours."

"Hmpf!" the younger Prince pouted as he got up. "You're just as self-important as ever."

"And you know what's funny about intelligence?" the second son asked, getting only a sideway glance in response. "It's dependent on creativity. And the more wicked one gets, the more one's paranoia murders of that creativity. Take care, little brother, or you may end up losing all of it. The signs are already showing."

Bhelen gave a last glare at his brother, though he received only a raised eyebrow of boredom in response. He turned to leave before letting the annoyance cover his entire face. Then, his brother called out to him one last time, the incredibly sad and compassionate tone stopping him in his tracks.

"Little brother..." Bhelen looked back over his shoulder. "How far you've fallen... even from just this little ambition. Father's crown of thorns... you cannot handle it."

Bhelen stormed off, even as his brother quaintly sat back down. The prisoner placed the mouse back on the top of his head and resumed his meditation, waiting for the hour when he would be picked up by the guards and finally made to walk the deep roads.

'-. It's not that I didn't kill him, it's that it wasn't I who killed him.-

Lord Pyral Harrowmont waited near the barrier door that was to be the sentence of the former Prince of Orzammar. He gazed upon it and just couldn't understand how that situation had come to be. Then, he remembered the former prince's words, the ones he had spoken that grim night, when he practically foresaw all that was going to happen. "_Tomorrow, after the battle, I think I'll leave Orzammar... permanently."_ The lord could not decide whether the situation was ironic or tragic.

"The prisoner has arrived," the guard's voice was heard, almost startling the thoughtful noble. Harrowmont slowly turned around, though the sight he saw was not particularly predictable. Raonar was stretching his arms and yawning, almost completely unimpressed with the fact that he was being sent to his death. It seemed like he was more concerned with how sleepy and possibly satisfied he was after publicly berating the Assembly. Harrowmont didn't know what to say, so he just looked at him, his hands behind his back, trying to put together at least a worthwhile line of farewell.

"Duncan and the grey wardens are still in the Deep Roads right?" the Prince bluntly asked, stroking his moustache as if he was plotting some other new scheme.

"I... Yes, they are child."

"Good. Then let's just skip the formalities and get this over with. I've had a long two days."

"Is that really all you have to say?" Harrowmont asked in a worried tone.

"Hmpf!" the former Prince scoffed. "Actually, I have a lot of things I want to say. But none of them will make any difference."

"But they might to some," the lord said in disagreement. "Please child, you've already abandoned all of your chances to avoid this fate by berating the Assembly. At least tell me the truth."

"Truth! Bah! You're asking if I committed high treason? Killed my own brother? Had him killed by castless thugs? Seriously, as if Trian were as weak as to die by something like **that**."

Harrowmont looked at the former most popular figure in the entire city and was glad to see that, at the very least, his spirit was not broken, that some fight was still left in him. But even he was not completely sure of what to believe and, as all wizened old men, still looked for some type of reassurance.

"Child, look me in the eye and tell me you didn't do this." His voice sounded as though it was pleading for mercy. Needless to say, this caught Raonar's attention, though the look he gave the elderly noble was not at all warm and loving. The former prince sighed, deeply.

"Have you been by your estate today?' he unexpectedly queried.

"Why would you ask something like that?" Pyral asked in confusion.

"Just tell me."

"No. Ever since we returned from the deep roads, I've been in the assembly chamber. I only left briefly in order to accompany your father to the Royal Palace. He's taken ill, as you probably know by now. He couldn't bear to lose two of his sons at once." The man's voice was grave, almost mournful.

"I see. Well, to answer your question," he began, coldly. "I, of course, did not kill Trian. And if you had any mind of your own you wouldn't have needed me to tell you that."

"The way you say it reeks of arrogance, but for some reason, I believe you. That means that Bhelen planned this from the start! Believe me! I will spend the rest of my days making sure he doesn't profit from his deeds."

"I know," Raonar cleanly assured him, slightly taking him by surprise. "But I have one last request before I go."

Harrowmont was a bit surprised, though he somehow managed to notice the dark shadow of regret and pain that suddenly loomed over the young man's brow. But even so, the majesty of house Aeducan still lived on within him, and even the tattered prison clothes and the mouse playing around in his hair couldn't take that away. "Very well, let's hear it."

"When you meet my father... Don't tell him I didn't kill Trian. Instead, tell him that it wasn't I that killed Trian."

Hrrowmont was stunned. He couldn't even understand what difference it would make to choose between the two sentences and started considering that the mouse may be a sign of something less fortuitous than he originally thought. Then again, there were a lot of things that caused him to question the sanity of other people during the same day, so he resigned himself to just asking the obvious question.

"What do you mean?"

"You'll either understand when you get back to your estate, or you won't, case in which I will truly have failed. But I doubt it. Either way," he continued, with a shrewd glance, "I've softened up the field for you. I made a small crack in the assembly's unity today. Over time, that crack will widen. This is my last gift to you. The field is yours now."

With that, Raonar picked up the sword and shield that had been supplied to him and bravely strode past the gates, even as the Deshyr could do nothing than helplessly look at his back, starting to grieve as if for a lost relative even before the gates had closed behind him. And as the child disappeared off to his uncertain fate, Harrowmont himself took off and slowly made his way towards his own home, knowing that he would not be able to sleep at all that night because of the unusual last request. He had no idea how much more complicated the entire situation really was, and how dangerous his life was going to become.

As Harrowmont returned to the Diamond quarter, he had half a mind to go straight to the Royal Palace and at least give the king the confirmation that his son was innocent. Still, he decided to follow Raonar's last wishes and stopped by his estate first, though he didn't exactly know what to find. Fortunately, what he needed to find managed to find him first. For as he entered and made his way to his quarters, a very familiar figure greeted him in the hallway.

"Greetings cousin," Baizyl Harrowmont uttered as he saw the elderly noble nearing. Pyral was more than a little surprised to see him, especially given the way he was dressed. He was still clad in the leather armor he had on during the mission, now worn and torn, and he also wore a dark grey cloak. The warrior also looked exhausted and, if the noble could read his face right, somewhat astonished, as if he'd been witness to some incredible event and had still not gotten over the experience.

"Baizyl? What is the meaning of this? What are you doing here?"

The soldier simply turned around, gesturing to him to follow. "You have to see this."

Baizyl led Harrowmont straight to his own quarters, after which he made his way to the far wall and pressed on the switch that only the first members of the house, as well as a certain select others, including Baizyl himself, knew about. The switch opened up a passageway that led to a hidden section of the estate. All noble houses had areas like these, where a member, or several, of the family may take refuge from some enemy assassin or, ancestors help them, an inter-house war, if the need should arise. Essentially, those parts of their domain were spacious and supplied enough that they could actually serve as substitute residences. Members of the family could spend months there, even years. Mostly, they were secure because that secret path was the absolute only way by which that space could be accessed. Pyral had a mind to ask what was going on, but the look on his cousin's face threw him off. He had never seen him in such awe and so determined, though the noble still did not know the cause. Eventually, the two reached one of the dormitories, the one buried deepest into the stone, and entered. And what met Harrowmont's eyes that instant was so shocking that he couldn't help but gasp.

"By the Stone!" he cried out as he ran towards the bed. "This... this is Trian! He's alive!"

It was indeed Prince Trian. He wore only a pair of white silk trousers, as his upper body was bare and his abdomen was bandaged, to keep what seemed like a stab wound under pressure. He looked tired and in pain, but his breathing was steady, though he was obviously unconscious. Pyral was stunned, which was understandable considering that the last memory he had was that of the king turning around the heir's supposed burnt corpse and almost vomiting from the sight.

"What is the meaning of this?" he asked with a mixture of disbelief and relief as he turned around, finally noticing that another cloaked figure stood to the side of the entrance. Pyral was started for a moment, until said figure also threw back its cowl, giving the noble a real reason to be completely confused.

"You... It can't be! Ser Gorim! Gorim of House Saelac!"

It was indeed Gorim, though he wore a low quality steel scale male instead of his own attire. Otherwise, he looked quite lively, if a little grim.

"But how is this possible!" the Deshyr asked in astonishment. "I saw you! You were both dead!"

"Well..." Gorim began, dryly, but just as solemn as Baizyl was. "Technically, I am dead... in a sense. At least as far as everyone else is concerned. And so is Prince Trian."

"I... I don't understand any of this..." Harrowmont let out, still unable to make sense o the situation.

"I know it's a lot to grasp cousin," Baizyl told him, as if trying to offer him some assurance. "But what we've been witness to..." he broke off, as if he had remembered something incredible and the memory still haunted his mind.

"Lord Harrowmont," Gorim took the word, "We have a very..."

"Weird," Baizyl suggested.

"Weird indeed," Gorim approved. "We have a very weird tale to tell you. And some rather nasty news, for you personally at least."

"What do you mean?" Lord Harrowmont asked, actually becoming concerned.

"Cousin, you have just become one of the main players in the greatest political scheme our people have ever seen," the warrior spoke with a straight face.

"I now ask," Gorim added "that you allow us to relay my Lord Aeducan's last will and testament."

Pyral Harrowmont looked petrified, but immediately understood some of what the prince told him just before he left. _"The field is yours now."_

"Then tell me. I want to hear all of it."

...

_Do write a review if you will._


	7. Prelude 6: An Honorable Lie

**Chapter 6****: An Honorable Lie**

"-. A stab in the gut can save your life, so long as you don't struggle .-"

Raonar slowly drew the dagger out of Trian's abdomen and gently laid his brother on the ground.

"By the ancestors! What are you doing?" Baizyl cried out in horror.

"Calm down Baizyl," Raonar asked with an air of boredom, though he seemed to be in quite a hurry to unfasten the chest piece of his brother's armor.

"Dude..." Faren uttered in surprise, though the look he had was not one of confusion. If the other three, Gorim, Baizyl and Frandlin Ivo, would have deigned to look at him just then, they would have seen how intrigued he appeared as he gazed upon the scene in front of him. Eventually, he saw Raonar take off Trian's upper armor piece, leaving the Heir bare-chested, his stab wound plain to see for all the ones present.

"Good," the second son uttered as he inspected the injury. "He didn't strain his muscles overmuch."

"My lord..." Gorim began, obviously uncertain of how to interpret the situation. "What exactly do you intend? Why go through all the trouble of keeping your brother alive just to... just..."

"Oh, seriously Gorim," the Prince cut him off, "I am perfectly capable of stabbing someone without hitting anything vital. Though Faren's probably even better at it." He spoke with such certainty, even though doing something like what he had done was incredibly risky, or so it seemed. Meanwhile, Frandlin Ivo tried to look away, as if trying to prevent the Prince from seeing his expression. "I only hit him lightly, as you can see from the very little blood coming from the wound. I just pushed the dagger into his diaphragm and discharged some of the electricity from the weapon directly into his respiratory system. This should throw his breathing off enough to keep him unconscious for a while and, thus, prevent him from becoming a nuisance."

"Wait," Frandlin asked, confused. "You stabbed your own brother just to get him to lose consciousness? Why?"

"My lord," Gorim argued, "the incredible degree of madness that this entire situation screams of aside, your brother is not exactly in his best condition. And why would you even stab him after you almost died trying to keep him alive? There are other ways of knocking someone out..."

"Oh, don't insult Trian, Gorim," the Prince shot back with a tint of solemnity, "you really think he'll die from this much? He may be a fool and a hardhead, but if anything, my brother is strong."

"Oh, I see... "Faren observed from behind, "this is for his own good. You just stabbed him for his own good. Ha! I just love practical people like that!" he declared with an earnest, but ironic, tone.

"(scoff) For his own good?" Frandlin protested. "How can stabbing someone be for his own good?"

The Prince didn't mind them and simply saw to the task of bandaging his brother. It was just as he had said. The blade had only pierced his skin and his diaphragm enough for the pure electricity from the dagger to numb the organs in his thorax. Also, the small incision in the muscle was sure to reduce the efficiency of the act of breathing itself. Basically, the second son had put Trian into a state where he couldn't supply his body with enough oxygen to stay conscious.

"Ok, he'll be fine," the young man declared after he tied the last knots on the bandages. "Actually, something like this will probably only keep him unconscious for about sixteen to twenty hours at most. Normal people would stay out cold for about three days and a half." Immediately after that, he got up and surveyed the scene, staring at the thugs' dead bodies as if measuring them up according to some kind of standard.

"Why would you do something like this?" Baizyl asked in disbelief.

"It is necessary for him to live past the day," Raonar bluntly replied, immediately notifying everyone present that he was ready to explain the situation. "Now hear me out, since I'm about to explain just what I meant by having planned for this situation."

"Yes, you did say that," Frandlin Ivo concurred.

"Actually," the Prince seemed to change his mind. "Something must come first. " He turned to the castless rogue. "Faren, why are you here? Didn't I tell you not to get involved in the affairs of nobles?"

"Ha! And you even asked me 'Are you here already?' when I saved your ass just now," he noted priggishly.

"My lord, you did just say that things had just come to fruition according to your plan..." Gorim remarked.

"Actually, I just said I planned for this situation, not that things had happened according to my plan. I didn't plan this, only **for** this."

"You're speaking in riddles," Ivo protested, somewhat bugged by the entire affair.

"Fine," the prince put forth. "I'll spell it out for you. I, indeed, hoped that all of us, or at least Gorim, Baizyl, Trian, Faren and I would somehow wind up in the same place today. Well, not this exact spot in the Deep Roads to be sure. Anyway, getting Trian and Gorim here, and Baizyl in some measure, was the easy part. The biggest difficulty was with Faren because I half didn't want him to show up."

"And I suppose you didn't want me here because your noble spirit wanted to keep me away from your ever so complicated political intrigue," Faren put forth superciliously.

"On the contrary, my reason was completely selfish," the second son countered warily, "it was because I didn't want to lose hours of my precious sleep worrying I may have done something to make your life more complicated. As you can see, I don't exactly look all that glamorous if I skip sleep, what with my bloody hair and beard and many creases. And I end up stabbing my brothers in the gut, among other things... But enough, I suppose I should spill the beans now, before Trian catches a cold from lying on the ground in little besides his pants. I suppose you, Faren, couldn't help but get involved when you heard someone was hiring mercenaries to kill someone of 'high birth' during today's expedition, yes?"

"Yes," he curtly confirmed.

"Does your sister even know where you are?" Raonar requested, sounding a bit concerned.

"You think I'd tell her? Are you mad?" Faren protested.

"Well, did you look at the situation? Does this look even remotely sane to you?" the Prince inquired, with a remindful wave at the unconscious Prince Heir that lay at their feet.

"Point,' Faren folded.

"So why did you get involved?"

"Because I felt like it," he simply told him, his straight face unchanged.

"Would you have gotten involved if you didn't know I was one of the targets?" Raonar pried.

"Yes."

Raonar was surprised. "You... you would have..." he repeated, unsure of how to interpret. If Faren would have agreed, it would either have been in order to simply carry out the mission and, thus, gain some gold, or to do something else, though the second son could not dare hope to think it really was that other reason. "Why?"

"Because some ass noble was hiring goons to kill your brother. Don't get me wrong, I don't really care about this Trian (points uninterestedly). Actually, if he were any other noble bastard I'd have had no issues with slitting his worthless throat. But I owe you and I won't lose sleep knowing I could have gotten even sooner rather than later. Really, it's just a selfish reason, since I don't look much better than you do if I skip sleep."

"There's more to this than you're saying," the Prince shot back, getting only a suggestive raised eyebrow in response. "The master schemer couldn't have hired these grunts just yesterday. He's been planning this for a longer time than that. Which means you actually did some inquiries, likely cracked a few skulls and caused a few nosebleeds in the process, just to find out about the hunt, who was hunting whom and when it was going to happen. And you probably spent the entire night tracking down the thugs, leading to your remarkably tired demeanor that mirrors mine. Am I right?"

"Yep, that's about it," Faren simply conceded with a straight smile.

"Duncan said something, didn't he? I did forget to tell him not to tell you where he got the info about you from."

"Well... yes, he did mention you in passing, What did he call you again? The unusually lighthearted youth that was too honorable for his own good? Still can't decide whether that was just a euphemism for naive. He also expressed some concern about that not being exactly... in tune with the other nobles... or something... Regardless, it was just one more reason for me to jump in and save your hide."

"Didn't he conscript you?" the so-called rash youth asked, placidly ignoring the obvious irony.

"Actually, he formally invited me to join his order, with all the honors too. And he didn't sound haughty at all either, even offered me a mace. Told him I didn't do maces though. I can't tell you how surprised my sister and that useless woman of a mother of mine were when those Grey Wardens just showed up on my doorstep. Granted, she probably already forgot about it, so drunk she was, but still..."

"Grey Warden? You?" Ivo asked in obvious disbelief, though his voice betrayed a measure of worry. Faren's earlier performance, killing nine people like it was nothing, definitely confirmed his skill, at the very least.

"So how come you weren't with him this morning?" Raonar asked, seemingly ignoring the other.

"Well, I couldn't be with him **and** pretend to be part of the squad meant to take you down, could I?"

"No you couldn't..." the noble ceded. "Well, I'm glad it was your so-called group that tracked us down at least."

"Actually, I'm the one that tracked you down," the duster clued in. "For all their bluster, these guys wouldn't be able to track down the place where they last relieved themselves."

"Did you** have** to use such a disgusting analogy?" Gorim could not help himself from asking.

"Nope, but it was still fun to see you get nauseous," the mercenary admitted.

"You guys are incredible," Frandlin protested. "What in the world are you going on about? Prince Trian is lying on the ground, stabbed in case you forgot."

"Ah, but why would that matter to you? Doesn't that make your job easier?" the second eldest of King Endrin's children asked with a glint in his eyes.

"I... what do you mean?" the warrior asked, obviously defensive.

The Prince simply looked at the others. "Frandlin Ivo is Bhelen's lackey," he blurted.

Baizyl gasped, but Gorim did not hesitate for a minute and put his sword to the man's throat before he had a chance to ready his own weapon. "Don't move," he advised, coldly, after which he turned to his lord. "You're saying he's your brother's spy, my lord?"

"Indeed," Raonar said. Frandlin uttered nothing, but looked alarmed and somewhat spiteful, though Gorim's blade pressing against his gullet likely contributed to his overall indisposition. "Come now Gorim, no need to be so violent. Withdraw your weapon. Faren is perfectly capable of throwing a pair of daggers into his heels if he tries to run." Gorim reluctantly obeyed, though he still disarmed the traitor, and Frandlin reluctantly held his position. "He was instructed to follow us and pretend to be on our side," the prince then continued. "Most likely Bhelen wanted him to make a false statement in case Trian did die and, thus, would make it possible to frame me for his murder. He was also, probably, meant to instigate a violent encounter in case things looked like they could be resolved peacefully."

"This is insane," Baizyl let out in astonishment. "How can you even be sure about that? isn't it a little far-fetched?"

"Of course it is far-fetched," he confirmed. "If it wasn't, his testimony wouldn't even be remotely called believable now would it? That scout that led us into an ambush was just the backup ploy, plan B as it were. Since Bhelen listened in on part of my discussion with Father and Trian last night, he would have known I planned on saving this guy's hide yet again. And I never really failed at anything I tried before, so of course he had a real reason to take drastic measures. If I fell there, in my ancestors' Thaig, Trian was left to be taken care of at the 'discretion' of that worm Vartag and his castless minions and, if things got complicated, Bhelen could simply let that Gavorn fool end up with the entire blame for it, a scapegoat as it were. It would have also been a much easier plan to carry out too, but just killing Trian, especially with the darkspawn cleared out, would have screamed of foul play since all the other, real troops would have known exactly that Trian left with Vartag and so on and so forth."

"That still doesn't explain why you suspect Frandlin Ivo of being in league with him," Baizyl noticed.

"House Ivo is relatively inconsequential," the second son declared without any sort of reservation. Frandlin shrugged, though he couldn't mask his shame. "And Frandlin's reaction obviously shows his discontent with the situation. Bhelen probably promised to uplift his family in exchange for his assistance, once he becomes king after father dies. That, and he may have also threatened to crush him if he didn't. Really, I don't think Frandlin is doing this out of spite at all." The traitor looked up in unmasked surprise as he heard him say those words. "Don't look so surprised, Frandlin" he said with wry a smile. He then turned back at the others and continued his extrapolation. "He's a noble, so the assembly will believe him. And don't feel so disheartened either, Frandlin. Telling Bhelen that I killed my brother is exactly what you're going to do."

"Wait... say **what**?" Baizyl let out, incapable of saying anything more and, instead, letting his utter stupefaction show on his face. Needless to say, Frandlin Ivo was just as stunned, though the other two seemed less confused, if just barely.

"My lord..." Gorim uttered, allowing all the concern he felt color his voice. "You can't mean... then what you said yesterday... "

"That's exactly what I mean my friend," the prince told him as he let his own lack of enthusiasm with the entire idea show on his brow.

"What exactly did this strange guy say last night?" Faren directly asked Gorim, knowing that the warrior would be more willing to give a direct response while the guy he had helped save would just speak in more riddles. Gorim eyed his master inquisitively.

"It's ok, Gorim, you can tell them," Raonar assured him with a smile.

"My lord Aeducan... he... well..." the Prince's second tripped on his words, as though he couldn't exactly bring himself to say it, hoping it wasn't true. Sure enough, he turned back to the Prince and tried to talk him out of it. "My lord, please, you can't be serious about this! Your brother is alive. If we go to the city now, we'll clear this all up. This doesn't have to be so complicated."

"You might think that," his liege retorted, "but if I do just get Trian back home, then this would all be just a stay of execution. Bhelen would just become more ruthless and my big brother wouldn't live past a week. My father would never reveal what was going on within the family to the Assembly. Such a disgrace would cost house Aeducan the throne. And even if Bhelen did get exposed, he has many allies. At worst, we'd all get marked by assassins as his final act, or he'd get exiled and just be smuggled back into the city, free to strike at his enemies, me and Trian that is, from the shadows. And yes, I probably would be able to take him on in this game, but it would be either an even match or I'd eventually lose."

"Why do you say you'll lose?" Faren asked, somewhat surprised.

"Bhelen's good. No, he's **really** good. Even if I did manage to somehow match him - and that would only happen because his paranoia has begun to eat at his imagination and mine is still very much unlimited - I would definitely not be able to keep up with him **and** keep Trian alive at the same time. And that would be assuming Trian doesn't go off trying to take matters into his own hands, which never ends well, as you saw." Raonar paused, noticing the conspiratory glance that the castless bruiser had given him. "You probably think that I'd be better off getting my little brother out of the picture entirely."

"Yeah, that's pretty much what I'm thinking..." he confirmed.

"And what if you were me and he were your sister?" he mercilessly rammed him

"I... point taken, again..." the duster conceded, somewhat surprised at having allowed himself to be caught off guard.

"And this is why I'm going to do what Gorim was about to tell you I was going to do, before he so heartwarmingly tried to convince me otherwise." There was an unmistakable air of praise and gratitude in that statement that didn't escape the notice of anyone present, anyone that wasn't lying on the ground unconscious that is.

"Yesterday, my Lord went to see the King and Prince Trian and told them of Bhelen's plot," the loyal second finally revealed.

"Wait," Faren cut him off, scratching his forehead. "You told them, and it still came to **this**?" he asked in disbelief.

"Don't look at me like **that**," the Prince insisted. "Nobles are nobles. Of course they didn't do anything about it," he bluntly added.

"Your family has issues man..." the duster noticed, slightly peeved.

"No kidding," the Prince deadpanned.

"So what master plan did this white-haired guy hatch that is throwing you off so badly?" Faren pried out of Gorim.

"My lord... said he would leave the city... permanently, in order to end the bad blood that had accumulated in his house."

A period of silence followed, during which Faren, Baizyl and even Frandlin Ivo tried to swallow those words and actually understand what Raonar was thinking. Gorim of course, already understood, which is why he was so distraught, and Faren managed to pick up on it just about as quickly. Baizyl seemed less inclined to actually go along with the idea though, and Frandlin had a mind to convince himself that the second son was lying. After all, logically, it made no sense, at least to them, though the duster didn't look as confused as the others. By all accounts, the situation was already under the Prince's control. He had exposed all the traitors and could simply slay Frandlin right there and make it look like the mercenaries did it. With that, there would be no danger of getting framed and, indeed, with Trian alive, there was nothing to actually get framed for. And yet the mere fact that the Prince had spoken with such finality, even though he had apparently won this round, make them actually wonder just how much of Bhelen's reach and influence they really were acquainted with.

As the men mused, Raonar ignored them and took advantage of the reprieve to strap his brother's armor back on, if only to just prevent him from catching pneumonia from lying with his bare back against the cold granite. The heir was breathing softly now.

"You can't be serious!" Frandlin ivo finally pretested in disbelief, his tone colored with a tint of anger and insecurity. "You're saying you'd impose exile upon yourself just out of altruism? Don't make me laugh! As if anyone would actually be willing to go so far!"

"Yes yes," Raonar dismissed him with a prompt wave of his hand. "Really Frandlin, I couldn't care less about your preconception that all people are as willing to backstab everyone else as you are." That sentence struck swiftly and mercilessly and, for a moment, Gorim noticed that Lord Ivo's own second son felt actually hurt. "This is your own fault you know," the Prince continued. "Because you looked for a shortcut to greatness. You think you're doing this for your house, but you're just doing it for yourself. If you really cared about the worth of your kin, you would have just waited until you got your own first command, which would have been about two months from now if I'm correct, and gained real glory. And it wouldn't have been just a moldy imitation of it. It would have been earned, the way it's supposed to be gained: through skill and devotion to your city. Seriously, you're good in a fight, so what would you have to worry about?"

"Don't just act like you know everything! Not when you've had it easy just because you were lucky enough to be born an Aeducan!" Ivo lashed out.

"Bah! Luck! As if there was anything lucky about it, what with all the poison and assassins! Ah, but either way, I'm not an Aeducan anymore, or soon won't be," he said as his irises glinted, though he didn't smile. "Weren't you listening? I'm getting myself exiled."

"Bah! And you just expect me to cover for you? I'd just be trading one master for another!"

"You'd be serving two at once actually, but I will either die in the deep roads in a matter of hours or somehow make it into the Legion of the Dead or to the surface. Either way, you wouldn't have to worry about me more than a **day** or so. Then, of course, Bhelen would believe you did your job and simply follow up on his promises and raise you to be his left hand or some such thing. Really, it's a win-win situation for you, and he keep his promises. Just make sure he never promises you anything particularly horrid and you'll be fine."

"I don't believe you!" Ivo kept protesting, though he couldn't mask the fact that he really did believe him. "You... you talk so coolly about this! About getting yourself exiled! Even dying! How can I just believe you're serious! No one... it's impossible! It's... it's just impossible. No one in his right mind would even consider doing something like this of his own volition!"

"(Raonar disapproves) **Must** I keep pointing out the unmistakable and utter lack of sanity that describes this entire situation? I don't remember ever having claimed to be sane. Gorim, did I ever claim to be sane?" he asked, barefaced.

"Never My Lord," he replied just as candidly. "In fact, I do believe you even proclaimed your absolute mental instability several times in the past."

Faren smirked in approval, he just couldn't stop himself from doing it.

"So, there's your answer," Raonar pretenselessly shot back at the traitor.

"Of course," the duster drew their attention, "getting exiled for kinslaying would imply an actual act of kinslaying. And yet, your brother is still alive."

"Yes, I was getting to that part," he veraciously assured him.

"You're going to fake his death," Faren hypothesized, much to the astonishment of the other three.

"Indeed," the Prince confirmed.

"Without his consent," the duster pointed out.

"Yes."

"And you'll frame yourself for his murder so that your other brother would actually think he died, because he would never consider you would actually choose exile on your own..." the castless bruiser added, only slightly incredulously.

"Sharp," Raonar confirmed, satisfied to see that there was someone cunning enough, and willing enough to take into account the idea of self-imposed exile, as to understand what he as planning. "And before you ask, Gorim, if you remember, I said I'd leave Orzammar while the nobles were still scurrying about the hallway and, thus, Bhelen could not have snuck up and heard what I said yet."

"Wait... please, just wait..." Baizyl pleaded, skeptically. "You'll frame your brother's death and then get yourself framed for killing him. The incredible amount of grief this will cause your father aside, how in the world will people even believe it? Bhelen especially, how will you fool him?"

"I was getting to that..." the Prince tried to assuage him.

"My Lord..." Gorim interrupted, "But what makes you think your brother will just go along and 'stay dead'. With all due respect, he's not exactly reasonable."

"Yes, this is the part of the plan that sucks the most," the second son remorsefully hinted. Then he looked straight at Gorim. "Gorim... remember when you said you'd lay down your life for me? Well, you did say it more than once, but do you?"

"I..." Gorim broke off, a bit shocked to be asked this so suddenly. Still, he got over it quickly and answered without a hint of reservation. "Yes, My lord. And I stand by those words."

"Well, I'm afraid I'll have to take you up on that offer..." Raonar told him. "I'm going to be incredibly selfish right now and... Ah, sod it, this isn't easy." He started scratching his head as he had shut his eyes, as though trying to delay the inevitable.

"You want Gorim to 'die' along with your brother..." Faren curtly said so that the Prince wouldn't have to just come out and say it so suddenly. He got only a deep sigh in confirmation.

"This mad plot is getting more and more astonishing by the minute..." Frandlin asserted with a mixture of confusion and disbelief.

"What good would that even do?" Baizyl calmly protested.

"There are two main reasons," Raonar explained. "First off, Gorim dying would..."

"No, My Lord," Gorim uttered, actually catching him off guard. "Don't say anything more. I understand. I'll do it. I'll make sure your brother doesn't fumble this. I'll keep him dead, though I don't really know what you plan and how long it will take for all of this to settle down." His tone was unexpectedly calm.

The Prince smiled, but he wasn't at all happy about the entire affair. "I'm sorry Gorim, I wish I had another option. I wish I could say you didn't need to do it if you didn't want to but-"

"I said I'll do it!" Gorim declared, sounding slightly annoyed. "it's not like you to second guess, my lord Aeducan."

"Just like that?" his master protested. "I know we're friends and that being loyal is what practically defines you, but you should still care about yourself more than about my selfish wishes!"

"Dude," Faren broke him off, "You just said he kind of had to do it. Make up your mind."

"My Lord," Gorim took the word, "even if I refused and you got yourself exiled anyway, my fate wouldn't be all that different. You know this. Going along with this will just hasten my 'death' by a few hours and, at least, my name won't be stripped from my family's records." No one could doubt the logic behind that assessment. Since a noble's second's fate is strictly linked to that of his or her master, they would, naturally, take the fall along with them as well. So if Raonar were to be convicted of kinslaying, Gorim would either share his fate or be exiled in some other way.

"But what about your father?" he finally decided to pry.

"Bah! You just had to bring that up," Gorim grimaced. "He's a strong man. He'll have to deal with my 'death.' People die in the deep roads all the time." He tried to sound resolute and certain, but the second son still managed to detect the grief his loyal servant tried to conceal behind that stalwart facade.

"You can't be serious!" Frandlin cried out in absolute denial. "What's wrong with you! You're just going to renounce your life because **he** said so? If he told you to cut off your arm and use it to play catch with a hungry nug, would you do that too?"

Gorim wanted to answer but the Prince intervened. "Gorim, if you say yes I'm **so** going to smack you!"

"Ye... No, My Lord..." he obeyed, slightly alarmed, remembering the unfortunate scene were Melec almost fell over from the impact. "For the record, I **was** going to say that if you did plan on asking me to do something like that, I would take you to the nearest physician for a mental checkup because it would be odd for you not to remember that it's infant brontos that are more adept at playing 'fetch the bloody piece of flesh' than nugs, though they don't run very fast."

"You are all mad!" Frandlin yelled, unable to keep control of himself and naturally worried because he had no idea what that insane scheme would lead to as far as he was concerned. "You... (turns at Raonar) You're serious, aren't you... You're actually going through with this."

"Wow, took you a while, didn't it? Granted, I understand why people wouldn't really be amenable to the idea of sentencing oneself to fight darkspawn all alone."

"But why!" Frandlin finally asked, no longer being able to stand the pressure in absence of an explanation.

The Prince looked incredibly sad that moment, though determined. "Because... " he paused, as though he hoped he was wrong. But he wasn't. "Because... It's the only way to keep both of my brothers from becoming kinslayers."

Those words fell like a sword. **Both** his brothers he had said, not just Trian. Frandlin ivo finally understood the very simple feeling that was driving that crazy prince. And as he understood, a shame came over him like none he had ever felt before. He now remembered how Bhelen had described Raonar as a self-important but weak man that squandered his talent on petty exploits. And still here he was, unflinching and utterly fearless, even with the almost perfect certainty of death or, at the very least, exile that loomed on the horizon. And not to mention the incredibly intricate scheme he had hatched for that same simple reason. Frandlin couldn't help but be afraid because, either the Prince really was fearless and valiant or, even more dangerously, incredibly apt at hiding his insecurity.

"This... is **so** not what I expected..." the spy confessed, surprised at himself for actually arriving to this conclusion. "Everything's so... different from what I imagined... From what your brother said..."

"Ah, I assume he said something about how weak I am and how unwilling I'll ever be to make the hard decisions, yes?" the Prince asked flatly.

"He... yes..." the traitor confirmed.

"And yet you just asked Gorim to almost literally kill himself" Faren noted. "I wonder what kind of choice **that** classifies as..." he added indelicately.

"That would be of the ugliest kind, yes," Raonar said.

"And yet he still agreed so easily..." Frandlin observed in awe.

"Come now," the prince cut him off. "I definitely don't expect **you** to just mirror him out of the goodness of your heart and become my conspirator just out of admiration."

"Wh... what do you mean," Frandlin inquired, more than a little alarmed.

"Well, it's really easy. Either you go along with me and frame me in front of everyone, **exactly** as Bhelen wants you to I might add, or you don't, case in which we all expose this entire scheme and reveal you and my brother for the traitors you are. I don't need to remind you that Baizyl is also a noble, yes? And part of one of the oldest and most respected houses in Orzammar? And very close with lord Pyral Harrowmont himself? This **is** one of the reasons I demanded that he be added to my troops. Following so far, Frandlin?" The soldier nodded. "Good. Well, if you refuse and tell Bhelen what I plan, I expose you and him and everyone else involved. Guess who'd be exiled then? Sure, this would lead to the really nasty 'Bhelen striking mercilessly from the shadows' future that I spoke of earlier, but I'd have no other choice by that time, would I? And even if Bhelen is smuggled back into the city, no one will really care about you and you'll just die. And your House will be in disgrace forever." His voice had an unmistakable tint of practicality in it that almost scared the man out of his mind. That tone was definitely **not** what he expected from someone who was supposed to be self-sacrificial. "And sure, Trian would be royally pissed at me for stabbing him, but he'll get over it once I finish explaining it to him in detail. He **will** be receptive to reason considering that I spent my entire day saving his ass."

Frandlin fell to his knees in stupefaction. "This... this is so much more than I bargained for..."

"Well, what will it be? Which is the more honorable lie, in your opinion?"

"I... fine... I'll do as you say... " His concession actually startled him but he knew that it was either that or death. "But if Prince Bhelen realizes..."

"He won't," Raonar rammed. "And even if he will, your fate won't be much better than what will happen if you don't do as I say."

The converted traitor said nothing more.

"Now then," the Prince continued as he strode towards the nearest corpse that lay on the ground ahead and started to drag it as though he were preparing some sort of special lifeless body arrangement. The sight was quite morbid. He eventually grabbed a hold of the so-called thug leader and began to strip him of his scale mail, much to Frandlin's and Baizyl's confusion, though Faren and Gorim had an inkling of what was going on.

"Gorim," Raonar suddenly called out. "Take off your armor and put this on, (hands him the steel scale armor)." The second simply obeyed.

"What are you doing now?" Baizyl couldn't help but ask, though he knew the answer, or at least suspected it.

"I am preparing the scene of the crime," the second son clarified with a shrewd look on his face. "Now since you have enough time to spare for questions, start undressing that guy over there (points at one of the nearby bodies). Don't look at me like that, just do it."

Before long, Gorim had changed his armor for that of the mercenary leader and has strapped his own onto the now cold corpse. Baizyl had also finished up his own 'task'. At that point, the Prince simply walked over to his still unconscious brother and started undressing him as well, even as the onlookers had, by then, given up on asking any more questions that were doomed to be rebuffed anyway. After he was done, Raonar only for a moment wondered why his brother didn't wear anything under his armor besides undergarments. Then, he quaintly walked over to the duster Baizyl had stripped. He then dressed him, or **it** since there was just a corpse there now, in Trian's royal mail. Then he dressed Trian in the shoddy mercenary duster leather.

"This is where you come in Baizyl," the Prince finally revealed. "The Harrowmont estate has that special secret living space like all other great houses do right?" The warrior nodded. "That's where I want you to put Trian. And don't worry about Pyral, I'll deal with him. I just need you to get him there without anyone knowing. Can you do that?" The warrior nodded in confirmation, resolving to no longer ask anything unnecessary. "If anyone asks, you weren't with us at all because we got separated by the darkspawn."

"I can help him out with that," Faren let out. "I can sneak into the city on my own and come back with some cloaks or something. That or I'll make sure no guards get a whiff of their passing."

"Good. Ok, the bodies are almost ready." He then noticed the inquisitive looks that the others were giving him. "What? I'll need dead bodies if I'm going to persuade everyone that Trian and Gorim are really dead." He immediately followed up before they had a chance to state the obvious fact that the bodies looked nothing like the two.

"Gorim, you still have that fire bomb I saved up 'just in case' right? This is the just in case I was talking about."

The three immediately remembered that, truly, they had a fire bomb, the same one they planned to use to cover their escape. The next moment, they realized, in horror, that they had handed it to Frandlin earlier, when the mercenaries ambushed them and Baizyl, along with Gorim, intended to stay behind. All of them suddenly glanced in the traitor's direction, who was still on his knees but had, by now, taken out the glass bottle and was inspecting it thoughtfully. That was when Gorim and Baizyl almost panicked, because that bottle of magic was the one thing their plan depended on in order to succeed.

"Don't even think about it!" they both shouted, causing him to look up and just blankly stare at them. It was obvious from his face that he knew he had an incredible advantage and could actually use it as a leverage to make an escape or even make a better deal.

That would not happen that day, though, because the Prince decided to state an obvious fact of his own.

"Don't panic guys," he said dryly, "You know that thing explodes at the smallest impact. I doubt our new friend here wants to die in flames just to risk trying to blackmail me. After all, that would just give us another body and make this whole mess even more believable. That, and the flames would last more than long enough for us to throw these other corpses into them."

"He could just throw it straight at us though," Baizyl noticed.

"Well yes, but that would leave Faren," the Prince pointed out, "Who is still very much ten paces behind Frandlin right now and with his throwing knives trained on the back of his head."

Needless to say, the resigned traitor backed down and just handed the magic over to the others. The next moment, Raonar threw it straight in the middle of the scene of carnage and watched as the bodies lost all semblance of recognizability as the blazes ate through their flesh. Eventually, the corpses were so disfigured that there was** no way** anyone could just assume they weren't Trian and Gorim without knowing about the scam beforehand. However, the Prince, Gorim and Baizyl were immediately woken up from their morbid fascination with the burning men when they heard Faren scream in pain, horribly. They recoiled, turned to the side and saw that he had pushed the upper part of his left arm into the flames on purpose.

"By the stone!" Raonar cried out as he ran up to him. "What are you **thinking! **No, better yet, are you even **thinking **right now?"

"Bah!" the rogue pouted, wincing because of how his burnt skin stung. "I'm the duster that has to go back to Dust town and report to that scum of an envoy that the mission was accomplished and the guy is a goner, right? That's why you wanted me to show up, even though you never asked me to. You know as well as I do that it'll be more believable if I have some injury to show for it."

"You..." the Prince was astonished. He had only known this man for one day and he was already willing to do such a thing.

"Heh..." Faren continued, trying not to shrug from the pain, though cold sweat drops had already started to decorate his forehead. "We can't let you grab all the attention right? That would make you look way cooler than the rest of us, and we can't have **that** now can we?"

"Cool is not what I'd describe that arm of yours, not just after you took it out of the fire. You'll get a nasty scar, you fool," Raonar corrected. "(sigh) Fine, then at least make it count and don't do anything so rash again." He then whispered in his ear "let them see your scar, but not your face."

"I don't understand any of you!" Frandlin Ivo burst, oblivious to the fact that he was not being watched and could have run off, for all the good it would have done. "Just what is it about this guy (points at the prince) that makes you all behave so irrationally?"

"You're asking us that **now?**" Gorim inquired, seemingly confused for real. "Sorry, it would take too long to explain it to you. But stick around enough and you'll figure it out," he told him with an honest smile.

"Unbelievable..." he went on. "This isn't even a matter of honor or charisma anymore..."

"Indeed not," Baizyl concurred.

"It doesn't matter," the Prince once again took the word. "Now I just have one more thing to take care of." From some unknown compartment in his armor, the Prince pulled out, unexpectedly, a quill and a small ink vial, as well as a few sheets of paper that looked as though they had been prepared beforehand. "Now I'll ask you to wait a while until I write some messages for the other three people involved in this. And please don't ruin this solemn moment by asking how I managed to hide and keep these instruments safe throughout the entire day, will you?"

The three nodded in acknowledgement and patiently waited for the youth to write his words down, though they all knew that he was really writing down his final wishes, aware of the probability of death that loomed on him from behind already. After he was finished, he thoughtfully glanced over them one last time, rolled them up and gave them to his second, along with the instructions regarding who they were for and when to give them. Then, he looked at his companions and, in his own words, bid them farewell.

"Well, now that that's over with we can finally get this thing going. I'm glad to have fought alongside you all and I hope I don't die like a rat in those deeps and make this all look completely stupid and sadly irrelevant to the larger scheme of things."

They chuckled, but that sentence hit everyone emotionally involved hard, especially Gorim. Until that day, the most he had had to hear from his lord was "I'll see you tomorrow" or "Try not to get lost again like last time" or "Make sure you get here more quickly next time." This time, the loyal second realized there may not be a next time at all. Even though the Prince looked as though he had this all planned out, he had never even once excluded the possibility, the high likelihood in fact, of not surviving the Deep Roads if he did get himself sentenced. The dwarf was shocked at first, when his lord asked him if he was willing to renounce his life for him, and he now regretted that he actually let that small shock be seen on his face. He realized that that look would come back to haunt Raonar after the entire deal was done. But what most wore on him was that he had absolutely no idea what to say. And the worst part was that, as always, the new Commander was going to simply take it upon himself to compose a witty one-liner in order to make the parting easier. But no, not this time. He would not just let the prince do everything on his own, especially knowing he may never have the chance to make it up to him afterwards. It was time for him to actually speak up for a change, now, when all seemed to end, for better or worse.

"My Lord..."

The prince looked at him and smiled from the corner of his mouth, signaling that he had guessed his second's thoughts. "Go ahead Gorim," he told him in an encouraging tone.

"I had half a mind to say that it was an honor to serve under you, that I couldn't imagine any duty that could have ever lifted me higher... But that would sound completely cliched and ridiculous and you'd probably scold me for being so overly sentimental when I'm supposed to do my best to not turn this into a sappy farewell."

"Yes, that **does **sound like something I would say," Raonar confirmed, flatly. "But really, I'm not one to complain when people actually do me the courtesy of being square."

"Nevertheless, I'll just say this: I will wait for you until you return."

"I see..." his master uttered as he gazed him straight. "Then... I will be shameless one last time and give you one final order: look after Trian. He is no longer a Prince, nor you a second, not even a warrior caste. The dead are beyond class distinction. So keep him alive. Keep him dead. Do both. Do whatever it takes! I leave him in your hands, Gorim. This is the final command I will give you as Lord Raonar Aeducan, do you understand?" His voice was direct, determined and unwavering, and his gaze was bright and solemn.

"I have already staked my life on it," the loyal second declared with a bow, just as directly. "I will watch him, my lord, I swear it!"

And that was to be the subtle driving force that would propel both forward. Until that moment, their wills were frail, debilitated by uncertainty and fear. But now the two had sworn to live through whatever would be thrown at them. Gorim swore he would keep the heir alive, no matter what, and that meant that Raonar could **know**, not just **believe,** that his plan would work and Trian would actually live on. After all, neither had ever lied when making an oath, and they always kept their word. And by **knowing**, the second son could be sure to have a strong motivation for survival, regardless of what happened. They still had something left to do, both of them.

"Then I will see you when you come back," his second concluded. He had dropped the My Lord part. He had already embraced his new role and was no longer Lord Aeducan's second. He was now the master of Trian's fate and it almost scared him.

"I guess I'll see you soon then, since you obviously intend to escape with the Grey Wardens after this is all over with," Faren added with no small mix of worry and excitement and, of course, pain caused by the burn on his arm.

"May the ancestors look kindly upon you, old friend," Baizyl said as he and Gorim lifted Trian up by either arm. "Atrast nal tunsha - may you always find your way in the dark."

"Don't look so worried," the Prince asked of him. "I'll deal with Frandlin. I already considered the possibility that he might just tell Bhelen everything that happened here. I won't ask you to trust me, but don't worry either. Can you at least do that?"

"Alright."

With that, Gorim, Faren and Baizyl took off, leaving only the betrayer and the betrayed-to-be to wait and see what would be decided when the time came.

"-. I am offering you the choice between having a choice and having none at all .-"

Once the three were out of sight, the Prince finally addressed Frandlin Ivo directly and told him what would go down in the soldier's memory as the single, most stupefying thing he'd ever heard in his entire life.

"I don't intend to follow through on those threats I made earlier," Raonar simply told him, causing him no small amount of astonishment.

That was it. No, **it** had been **it** for a while, this was even worse. Frandlin ivo had never been so confused and incredibly uncertain of what to do in his life. He had just been witness to the most unusual scheme he had ever seen. At first, right after the Prince revealed that he knew of his treachery, he thought he would die immediately. Then came the part about the self-imposed exile that completely threw him off and made him think he should revise his opinion of the Commander, and of Orzammar nobility in general, because, (and oh, how he hated to admit it!), Raonar's decision to lay down his own life was genuine. Then the Prince ruined it for him by so tactfully laying out how bad it would be for him if he suddenly decided to **not** support him in his mad scheme and how he would end up dead and his family would be ruined. The worst part about that was not that it was said up front, since it sort of made Frandlin think that Raonar was not much better than Bhelen and, at the very least, this idea brought him a measure of reassurance. The bad thing was that those threats were genuine and completely pertinent and, thus, a very, **very** serious reason for him to switch sides, even though, in a sense, he wasn't **really** switching sides.

And now, Raonar had just slammed him by saying that that reason doesn't really exist. By the stone, how horribly confused he felt. And oh, how he hated being confused!

"What in the Ancestors' name do you mean?" he asked, unable to completely mask his outrage.

"I am not a shortsighted fool. I know you agreed to be my accomplice for now, but there's nothing stopping you from just telling Bhelen about what happened here, even where Trian might be. And it would probably help your case too, since doing so would alert Bhelen and, with me gone, finally killing Trian, and maybe Harrowmont too, would only be a matter of time."

The truth, of course, was far more complicated than that, but the Prince had no time to get into the thick of it. The fact of the matter was that, even if Frandlin Ivo did spill the beans, Bhelen would have to be especially cautious about his next move. For one, actually reaching Trian in the bowels of the Harrowmont estate, whose secret area was known to but a few and was only accessible via a single passage, would be an incredibly difficult task in itself. And even if he did manage to pull it off, questions would start to arise as to what really happened when the body eventually turned up. The main reason for this is that, even if an assassin were to get to Trian, it wouldn't have a very easy job of getting rid of the body, though a total disfiguration may solve the identity problem. Regardless, it was a very big gamble. If Bhelen's attempt went awry and Trian was found dead a **second **time, Raonar would be exonerated, alive or no, since no real kinslaying had occurred in the first place, and a veritable scandal would start up, making it very hard for Bhelen to even think about getting any closer to becoming the ruler. The same would occur if Trian were to reveal that he was alive, though getting killed would come all the quicker if he did. On the other hand, Bhelen could just focus on getting Harrowmont out of the picture and just bide his time until the rash Trian inevitably lowered his guard. Then again, there was always Gorim and he was definitely not an easy pest to get rid of.

"I... hadn't even actually thought about that..." Ivo uttered. And it was true, between being completely confused and outraged at his situation, he hadn't exactly managed to start schemes of his own. "But what do you want from me then?"

"I just want your help." The Prince's plea sounded so earnest that Frandlin's rage somehow immediately disappeared, replaced by a feeling he wasn't really acquainted with. "Frandlin... I am not Bhelen," he added, with a sad tone, mixed with the sort of disapproval that a parent would show to an unruly child. This caused the fighter's demeanor to change and, now, he was no longer even upset, though he couldn't really understand why.

"I don't understand you..." Ivo let out. "I am the one big, no, **very** big loophole in your entire plan and still you say such unusual things..."

"I know you don't really want to play into Bhelen's hand."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because my brother, though he is a predator, doesn't like to run after his prey. He prefers it when his quarry is helpless against him. I'll tell you this: when you have seemingly become one of his more prominent tools, it will mean that he has already swallowed you whole and that you may as well no longer have a will of your own, so little choice you will have in your actions." Raonar spoke with such seriousness and sincere concern that even his betrayer couldn't completely dismiss the idea that what he said may actually be true.

"It doesn't matter..." Frandlin told him as he stared straight down into the ground. "I already am deprived of all choice."

"That's not true, and I know you know it. You have a choice right here, do you not? Between spilling the beans at Bhelen's feet or not doing it, knowing he wouldn't even think to ask you about it anyway."

"It's still a betrayal."

"Not if he's also a traitor," he reminded him. "By betraying a traitor you actually do the honorable thing. You know this."

"It's not that simple, your highness..." By now, Frandlin's tone had become so pathetic and helpless that the Prince could not stop himself from pitying the poor man. Here was another promising young fighter, now made into a blood offering before the serpent whose venom had come to pollute the Dwarven People.

"I'm sorry," the Commander suddenly said, instantly capturing the other's undivided attention. "I'm equally to blame in this. If I had done things differently... maybe Bhelen wouldn't have become what he is and you wouldn't have had to suffer for it."

Those words rung true. Oh, ancestors, how Frandlin hated that situation, how he wished Bhelen had never approached him. He knew it was wrong, he knew he shouldn't do what Bhelen said, but what could he hope to do differently? Then he slowly remembered that the one in front of him did actually mean it when he said he would get himself exiled, all for his brothers' sake. And the only sentiment that emerged when he thought that was an incomparable shame. He knew he wasn't nearly as brave as that. So he looked around, saw those burnt corpses and reasoned that, indeed, there was no reason not to assume that they were Trian and Gorim. But he was still uncertain. He still wasn't sure he actually had a choice.

"I know my brother strong-armed you," the second son told him, interrupting his thoughts. "But I can still do something for you, at least to make things right, though only a little. I am offering you the choice between having a choice and having none at all. I can let you do as he says without feeling guilty. Your honor need not be murdered here."

Guilt. Yes, that was it, that was the feeling he could not exactly classify. And how wretched it was, how it gnawed at his chest him from the inside. And yet, just as soon as it got its name, this new sensation actually brought clarity to the soldier's mind for the first time since Bhelen threatened to crush him and his House if he didn't follow his orders. _"Very well"_ he thought to himself, _"I'll follow your commands, and it will be your own undoing."_ His thought had no spite. There was only pity, and an unmistakable gratitude towards his torturer's brother, he who had gone so far for him as to place his and Trian's fate in his hands.

"I do not deserve this grace, your highness." His face was grave but honest. "But I swear I'll make it up to you somehow."

Raonar smiled warmly as he pat him on the shoulder. "You already have, my friend."

_"_Friend_" _is it? Suddenly, Gorim telling him that he would understand their behavior if he stuck around long enough made a great deal more sense than before.

"-. You don't need your arms in order to run .-"

Dust Town was just as Vartag Gavorn had remembered it, full of trash of all kinds, though some of it had the audacity to actually beg for a copper or two. He and his two guards walked hurriedly, but carefully, among the derelict buildings (it would have been a scandal if his boots got more castless dust on them than was necessary), as they made their way towards the meeting place. But as they arrived, the so-called noble and one of his escorts suddenly realized that the other guard had mysteriously disappeared.

"Stay alert!" Vartag ordered but only saw as his other guard was pulled into the shadows and apparently knocked out, judging by the noise. "Who's there!" he predictably yelled, unable to mask his panic. "Show yourself!" No one answered, so he just waited there, fidgeting and unable to stop his hands from trembling, even though his sword was drawn.

"You lied, little snitch," a whisper was heard in his ear, just as he suddenly realized that a dagger's pointy end was already pressing against his throat. Another hand had grabbed onto his hair and, thus, he was completely immobilized and helpless. "You and your goons said it would be an easy game, killing a snotty prince. And we went and did it, but that other prince, a real monster, somehow killed all my guys and even made me get burned in my own trap." Vartag noticed the fresh burn that the bandages on the hand holding the dagger couldn't completely obscure. That was when he realized that this cloaked figure was the one he was supposed to meet, though he hadn't expected to be greeted in such an unusual fashion. He was scared.

"You've got some gall threatening me..." he barely let out, though he didn't at all sound intimidating, as was made plain by the smirk his assailant let slip. The next moment, he was immediately thrown to the ground, his face getting covered in the scandalous dust town dirt he had so carefully tried to avoid. "I'll remember this," he said in spite. "My Lord was your best chance of leaving this squalor!"

"I want double what you promised," the figure from the shadows demanded.

"Bah! You think I'd let myself be cowed by some worthless castl-" he was cut off as a knife flew right past his neck, cutting him slightly and sinking into the dirt just next to him. "Gah!" he gasped in horror.

"You'd better not try to mess with me, duster..." the figure coldly advised as it allowed its hazel eyes to glint in the darkness and another knife to dance on his fingertips in the lava's light. "I'm in a really bad mood."

"He-hey l-look..." Vartag was scared witless and could barely even link two words together anymore. "I don't have anything else besides what you guys agreed last time. Really, this is all of it!" he pleaded as he threw a pouch of coins in the bruiser's direction. The castless man slowly picked it up and looked inside it.

"20 sovereigns is it? So this is what a prince's head is worth these days. You nobles are so cheap." His voice screamed of disgust. "So you're saying this is all you've got?" he continued incredulously.

"I swear, it's everything!" Vartag responded, warily.

"Hmpf! That's not what **this** little one says..." he retorted as he held up another, apparently heavier pouch which notified Gavorn that his own bag of coins, which he had so foolishly brought along intending to flaunt it in front of the thugs (as a 'reminder' that he was their better), had also found its way into the rogue's hands. "There are probably at least 40 more sovereigns in here, by the looks of it. So I guess I get paid triple. How generous of you. You'd think people would have more brains than to come into Dust Town with so much money on them. It's practically the same as screaming 'kill me and loot my worthless corpse' you know."

"Bastard!" Vartag spit out.

"Get out of here," the duster demanded, not bothering to mask his scorn, "and tell that scum of a master of yours to come himself if he's so sure **we** need his good graces."

"You'll regret this!" the 'noble' protested as he got to his feet. "And you're a fool if you actually think he'll stoop to you worthless level! You're trash and should know your pl-" his words were cut off as he couldn't stop a cry of pain from leaving his lungs when the rogue's throwing knife sunk deep into his right shoulder. "Ack!"

"I said **scram**," the assailant commanded. "You don't need your arms to run, or do you **want** me to decorate your other shoulder?"

Vartag sneered but promptly ran off, not even bothering to think about what was going to happen to his two unconscious guards.

"Heh, that was fun," another voice was heard from the far right, where a dwarf cloaked much the same as the other one leaned against a wall. "Come on, the others finally made it."

The two walked along some moldy streets and arrived at a back alley that was less easy to find than the others. There, another two men, clad in the same way, waited. As the four got together, they threw their cowls back and started their meeting.

"What's my lord's condition?" Gorim asked of Frandlin Ivo.

Frandlin Ivo went ahead and related everything that had occurred between when they split up in the deep roads and up to when the Prince was taken back to his cell, after the so-called trial. By all accounts, everything had gone exactly as Raonar had hoped, which gave the entire situation a perfect bittersweet flavor. None of them ever expected to be glad that the Prince was getting exiled, as he wished, but there it was.

"That guy is odd," Baizyl noticed. "He actually turned his own trial into a chance to publicly humiliate the Assembly."

"With any luck, it won't be his final act," Gorim hopefully suggested.

"Anyway," Faren broke them off, "I don't have a lot of time. Did you bring them?"

They all nodded and they used a nearby stone slab as a table. They each placed an item or more in the bag that lay on it. After they were done, Gorim took out a scroll and a writing instruments and they all took turns writing something. Then, they added the letter to the bag's contents.

"Ok, then I'll be off," Faren said as he picked up the pack.

"We'll get back to the estate. My cousin should get back soon and that other one shouldn't stay unconscious for much longer," Baizyl concluded.

"Look after my Lord Aeducan," Gorim asked Faren, getting only an earnest, but playful, smile in response. Then, they all went their separate ways, knowing that they hadn't seen the last of each other.

"-. Think of me, and know that I am cruel. For I am using my own father as a means to an end .-"

It had been well over an hour since Pyral Harrowmont had let out even a word, so astonished he was as the supposedly dead Gorim and his cousin related that incredible tale. For one, the entire scheme was so astonishing by its very nature, but the Deshyr still couldn't get his head around the idea of self-imposed exile. Still, what ate at him the most was that he had just seen the Prince of Orzammar be swallowed up by the deeps, not for killing his brother, but for saving his life yet again. Had Trian not been there under his very eyes, he would have not believed it. Eventually, the silence was broken as Gorim took out two letters and handed them to the noble. One was meant for King Endrin, whereas the other one was meant for him.

"My Lord Aeducan asked me to give these to you," Gorim informed him.

Harrowmont unfurled the letter with his name on it and carefully read each word.

"If you are reading this, then I am probably already in the deep roads and Gorim and Baizyl managed to get my brother into your estate safely. My obvious reluctance to die fighting darkspawn aside, that is good, because it means my brother is alive.

Bhelen will not suspect that Trian may still live because he would not even remotely consider the possibility of me getting myself exiled just to frame myself for Trian's equally framed murder. He is subtle, but wicked, and the wicked will never consider that true nobility of spirit really exists, never mind prompt such a mad act. And indeed, I wouldn't normally do this, but it is the only way I can keep Trian alive **and** prevent Bhelen from becoming a kinslayer for more than a week.

As I write this, I do not know if I will get a trial. Probably not. But if I do, I will have likely said some very interesting things and thrown my siblings' pet nobles at each other. If I did, it wasn't because of spite, but because it would prevent Bhelen from taking over the assembly completely and will give you a better chance at stopping him. Don't get me wrong, I don't really approve of your traditionalism, but it should help you rally the other lords against my brother and prevent him from taking the throne and inevitably becoming a murderous tyrant.

This is what I ask: Become one of Bhelen's official adversaries. Your house is strong and you have my father's favor. Facing my brother directly will prevent the more obvious assassination attempts because it would be too obvious if you suddenly died.

Mark my words Harrowmont, **no one** must know Trian lives. Keep him locked up in the deepest reaches of your estate if you must. He must** never** be revealed, not until Bhelen's plans have begun to crumble. I know not how long it will be, a month, a year, but I will try to come back in time to see it done. Meanwhile, Gorim should be able to keep the former heir in line, dead as it were.

I will try to escape with the Grey Wardens to the surface. Pray to the Ancestors that they help me in this.

And now comes the part of this letter that is hardest to write.

My father must never even suspect that Trian is still alive. If he does, and Bhelen learns, Trian, and you Lord Pyral, will die. Do not even **remotely** doubt that. Yes, think of me and know that I am cruel beyond measure, for I am using my own father as a means to an end.

P.S. Give father my letter before you tell him I'm innocent. At least knowing I didn't do it will ease his suffering, though he is partly responsible for all this himself.

P.S.2: Burn this letter **now**."

The lord was silent for a time, still trying to completely grasp the gravity of what was happening. The first thing he considered was that he should just reveal the entire deal and send a squad to retrieve Raonar from the deep roads, now while there was still a chance of him being alive. But then he realized that, if that happened, Bhelen would, indeed, become as ruthless as the Prince suggested. And it also struck the lord that he should, at the very least, respect the second son's wish to preserve both of his brothers, not just Trian. Then, he finally understood what the exile told him just before he left. _"Don't tell him I didn't kill Trian, tell him that it wasn't I that killed Trian."_ Raonar was asking Pyral to not allow even the smallest possibility of the King suspecting that his eldest may still be alive. And as he realized that, the noble understood the incredibly regretful expression the Prince had show just then, and how disgusted he really was that he had to make such a choice. He chose saving Trian and Bhelen in a way, at all costs, even if that meant striking his father so deeply that he may even die of regret.

"I don't understand what drives that child at all..." he thought out loud as he held the letter over a candle until it turned to ashes. "But... very well. Trian will stay here, under your guard ser Gorim."

Gorim was relieved. "Thank you, my lord."

Harrowmont and his cousin left the other two in that deepest dormitory. Not long after, Baizyl himself took his leave, leaving Pyral to ponder on his own. There was nothing really unexplained, however, so the noble simply decided he would just go to the Royal Palace and finally see the King, painful though it would be, for both of them.

"-. I knew Bhelen and I had to get our incredible minds from somewhere .-"

"Tell me, Pyral," the King began as he heard his old friend and advisor walk into Raonar's former bedroom. "Tell me, how much of a weak fool am I?" Endrin looked even older than Harrowmont, even though the latter was about ten years more aged than himself. Endrin stared at the crystal representation of Orzammar that his late wife had, long ago, sculpted for his second eldest, and the Hourglass Wall was putting on its light show as it had done every other night. But in the king's eyes, everything looked dead and stale, as though the soul of that chamber had left along with his child towards his uncertain fate.

"Your son asked me to give this to you," Harrowmont cleanly told the distraught monarch as he handed him the rolled-up letter.

The king was almost startled, but eventually gathered enough courage to take the scroll into his hands. Then, he stopped. He dared not open it, fearing what words may be inside. he wasn't even sure he knew his son anymore and, thus, didn't know what terrible confession may lie within that missive. He grew pale and, with some difficulty, made his way to his son's former bed and let himself sit down, only just before feeling lightheaded. Unlike previous occasions, however, Harrowmont did not approach to offer him support. This was one instance where he didn't deserve it.

Endrin opened the letter.

"Greetings, father,

If you are reading this (by the Ancestors, I hate beginning notes with "if you are reading this" but there you have it) I am probably already in the deeps. You know, you really are sly. The way you made those subtle changes to the battle plan, how you snuck Melek Medra into my contingent in order for him to keep an eye on me. I always did think you were more practical than you let be seen, but this even took **me** somewhat by surprise, even after I went ahead and told all of you those things that night, before the battle.

You never really trusted me, though I guess I shouldn't blame you. Even then, that morning, as you said that you wouldn't lose all your children in the same day, you still suspected I may be planning to play all of you.

Cunning, father. I knew Bhelen and I had to get our incredible minds from somewhere. And you're a great actor too. I don't doubt you still loved your children but I really didn't see all the way into your suspicions of me when you practically told me you had given up on Trian and Bhelen.

Was that also a lie? Because I really would like to hope it was.

Regardless, since you clearly didn't trust me thus far, I'm not going to bother telling you I didn't kill Trian. As always, you'll be more receptive to what Harrowmont tells you than anything else.

And one last thing: Don't you **dare** use this whole situation as an excuse to give up on life and take the easy way out. Your fault in this entire mess is just as big as that of everyone else involved.

Deal with it."

Endrin was shell-shocked after he read the last words, and what struck him most deeply was that it was all true. He really was responsible for letting things progress the way they had. He could lie to himself, squirm and pout, but it wouldn't have changed anything. His son was right, and he was now gone.

"Tell me Pyral..." he barely managed to whisper. "What did my son look like, what did he say when he was sent to his fate?"

"He looked tired but resolute, and was actually satisfied he had gotten a chance to berate the assembly," Harrowmont replied, remorsefully.

"What?" Endrin asked in surprise. "He did **what** to the Deshyrs?"

Harrowmont proceeded to relating the exact events that occurred during the so-called trial, doing his best to remember each detail and each word. Endrin was astonished, just as the noble himself had been.

"Unbelievable..." The king was absolutely marveled.

"And foolish," Harrowmont retorted, "He could have used that chance to prove his innocence. He could have asked for an honor proving, or just swayed them with pure logic. He could have done it, I know it. Instead, he just... threw the nobles at each other."

"So..." Endrin looked hopeful and fearful at the same time. This was the moment he had been waiting for, the same moment he feared the most. If Raonar was guilty of fratricide, then at least this was justice and everything could be dealt with easier. Endrin was ashamed that a part of him, that part that could not escape the venom, almost wanted this to be true. Yet he still hoped for the other possibility, even though it meant that Aeducan had fallen and he had failed not only as a father, but as a king as well. "... what truly happened?"

That question smashed Harrowmont. Hard. If the king had simply asked "Did he kill Trian", the faithful advisor would have only to say "No" and that was that, easier on both of them and the lie would not have been so horrible. But "Tell me what truly happened..." was the very worst possible formulation the King could have chosen, since it meant Harrowmont actually had to lie to his face. That moment, the entire events of the day condensed into his mind and the last thing Pyral saw was the Prince's last glance as he entrusted the fate of everything to him.

"It... wasn't Raonar that killed Trian..." he managed to stutter. He would not be responsible for the ruin of everything. He then moved close to the king and held him up as the latter's shame and regret finally caused him to burst into tears.

"-. We are dead now, both of us. Equals, as it were. .-"

The ceiling was a bit lower than he remembered and he felt a bit chilly, even though he wore a thin silk shirt, but the bed was soft and comfortable. That was what first struck him as he stirred and opened his eyes, finally realizing the obvious fact that he was not in his quarters. He wanted to gasp, but a sharp pain in his abdomen made short work of that impulse and finally caused him to get a grip on reality. The last thing he could remember was his brother looking flatly at him, just after he had driven a knife into him. He barely believed it, but the pain he felt, just above where his stomach was, readily confirmed his fears. It took him a while to regain his breath, at which point he was finally able to try and sit up. He then looked around and inspected the strange chamber he was in, until his vision was drawn towards the door, next to which, on a stone bench, sat a cloaked dwarf, holding a sheathed blade in his left hand as he leaned against the wall behind him. He could not decide whether to first ask where he was or who that person was. Fortunately, the man didn't seem to notice him, either because he was sleeping on the job or he was deaf.

Trian inspected the bandages on his abdomen and was quite annoyed at not being able to breathe properly because of the hole beneath his sternum.

"Don't move around too much," the cloaked figure emotionlessly suggested, startling the heir.

"Who are you? Where am I?" the Prince predictably asked.

"Where you are... I shall not yet say. As for who I am, you should already know. Unless stabs to the gut can cause loss of memory," the figure smugly told him, annoying Trian to no small extent. He wasn't all that in the mood for jokes, however, so he simply threw back his cowl and stared at the newly-awakened victim.

"You! You're my brother's second!" he gasped, though he did not exactly understand why he was so surprised.

"**Was**... your brother's second in fact," Gorim corrected, flatly.

Even Trian could not miss that remark. "Was" either meant his brother had released him from his services or...

"What do you mean? Did... " suddenly, he felt inexplicably worried and, even though he was outraged at having been stabbed, he couldn't stop himself from asking. "Did something happen to my brother?" Even he was surprised at how earnestly concerned he was.

Gorim stared at him for a while, as if trying to decide whether the heir really was honest in his supposed worry. "Your brother was convicted of fratricide and made to walk the Deep Roads," he cleanly reported.

Trian was stunned. He frowned in disbelief and couldn't immediately make sense of that declaration, nor could he understand how Gorim could so calmly talk about it. Fratricide, and yet he was still alive. Had Raonar suddenly decided to just kill Bhelen? "Fratricide? You mean he killed-"

"Don't insult him," Gorim cut him off in an uncharacteristically commanding tone. "Hmpf! To think even now, you'd so easily assume he'd go around killing his brothers! No, my prince, he didn't get convicted of fratricide for killing Bhelen, he was convicted for killing **you**."

"Wh-what!" the heir was stunned, not to mention more confused than he ever remembered being. "But I'm not dead!"

"Your grasp of the obvious is as remarkable as always," Gorim said with boredom.

"Explain yourself!" Trian demanded, his outrage eclipsing his annoyance at being talked down to in such a manner. "What is the meaning of all this!"

"Bah!" Gorim scoffed. "My apologies, but you'll have to wait until I become more amenable to the idea. Like, say, **after** you read that letter my lord left for you." he pointed at the counter that lied next to the bed.

There was indeed a rolled-up note there, but Trian had no idea what to expect as he picked it up. He stared at it for a while, realizing that he might actually end up regretting ever having read it. Nevertheless, his unrelenting desire to at least be able to make sense of things won and, grudgingly, he opened the note.

"Yo,

So, on a scale of 1 to 10, how pissed off are you at me for stabbing you so suddenly? I'd guess it's a strong 12 but, then again, I'm probably in the Deep Roads by now so, unfortunately, I'll have missed the priceless look on your face when you awoke.

How does it feel? To have my blood running through your veins? Kind of gives the terms "one's own flesh and blood" and "brothers by blood" a completely new meaning, doesn't it?

Ok, this is the part where I'm supposed to explain why I stabbed you. **Read** **carefully** brother, because this letter will have to be burnt immediately after you do.

I framed your death and then myself for murdering you.

(this is the part where you gasp and are astonished for about a minute before you continue reading)

Bhelen is out to get both of us and, whether you like it or not, you are an easy target. I will not waste paper explaining my various reasons for doing this. Gorim **might** eventually agree to spell it out for you if you don't give him too hard a time. Suffice to say, this is the only long-term solution I could think of for keeping both of you from becoming fratricidal fools. And by removing myself from the picture, Bhelen will lose practice in absence of a rival and will eventually lower his guard. Maybe then I'll be able to reach him, if I survive that long of course.

Gorim framed his death as well in order to become your guardian.

(this is the part where you gasp again and stare at him in disbelief)

He did it because I shamelessly asked him, but don't think he'll go easy on you. You are dead now, as is he. Don't expect him to be submissive. Right now, you are not a prince anymore, nor even an Aeducan. I told him to keep you dead and hidden, and he will do it. I don't know how long it will take for this whole mess to sort itself out. It could be months, years, I don't know but at least you'll live to see it.

So there it is. Sorry for framing your death without even asking for your permission, but this is how things are. Hopefully I'll survive the deeps and eventually fix this whole mess. Until then... stay alive, train your body and your mind, grow stronger, grow wiser.

A king is more than bluster."

Trian couldn't believe his eyes, so shocking those words were. And yet, and he hated admitting it, they made perfect sense. After almost being backstabbed by Bhelen's lackeys, and only making it out alive because his other sibling came to his aid, he was no longer so determined not to believe what Raonar had said the night prior to the mission. Bhelen really was out to get the throne. And yet, Trian, of course, couldn't accept, refused to accept, that this was the only way to go. He struggled to his feet, got out of the bed and wobbled towards the door, clutching at his middle, determined to do something about this entire mess, though he knew not what. But as he almost reached the entrance, he felt something pressing against his neck. And as he looked down, he saw that Gorim had extended his sheathed blade as a barrier, to prevent him from going any further.

"You shouldn't be moving in your condition..." he advised, coolly.

"Stand down," Trian demanded, "I order you!"

Gorim promptly got up, grabbed the injured prince by the collar of his shirt and practically dragged him and back and threw him on the bed. Trian was stupefied at this audacity and it took him a while to get over the shock.

"You... you dare!"

"Pfah!" Gorim snorted as he grabbed the heir by the front of the shirt and leaned close. "Don't even think of ruining this with your impatience," he told him, his menacing voice causing Trian to worry. "Do you** want** that wound to open up?" He pushed him on his back. "Don't even dare to ruin this. Your brother made himself walk the Deep Roads just to keep you alive!"

"I can't just go along with this!" Trian protested. "This... this is madness!"

"That it is," Gorim conceded. "And you should count yourself lucky that someone was actually willing to do something so insane just to keep you alive, despite the fact that you actually considered killing him no earlier than **two days ago**." The loyal dwarf saw that his words had struck as deeply they should have, as the 'dead' heir said nothing. "My lord may even be dead, and you only think of how much you dislike your own predicament. The nerve."

Gorim snatched the letter and threw it into the nearby fireplace. "It is my lord's will that you live, and staying 'dead' is the only way you will live past the week," he added, not taking his eyes away from the letter until it turned into ashes completely.

"This can't be happening..." Trian, by now, was lying on his back and had covered his face with both his hands, as if trying to prevent himself from seeing the ugly truth. "Does my father even know I'm alive?"

"No, your brother made sure of that, since Bhelen would inevitably find out if he did. And, whether you believe it or not, he even persuaded lord Harrowmont not to tell him. This is his estate, by the way."

"I can't just sit by and just let this happen... I at least have to tell father..." he protested, though his voice was weak and uncertain.

"You will not, unless you plan to get through me. And you don't look like you have a chance at that," Gorim assessed, candidly.

"You really aren't worried that what you're doing may end up worse for you in the long run, do you?" the heir asked incredulously.

"Don't start spouting threats,," he warrior retorted, barefaced. "You are no longer a prince, nor I a manservant. We are both dead now, equals as it were." The word equal threw Trian off. "And maybe you didn't realize this yet, but you really have no choice in the matter. So at least try not to make a nuisance of yourself and, for **once** in your life, listen to what your brother is actually asking of you."

A realization finally came to Trian as he listened to Gorim bossing him around (and the sensation wasn't so much outrage as it was astonishment). 'A king is more than bluster' the letter had said. Raonar had meant it when he said he would make him king if he could. And still the eldest couldn't bring himself to believe it.

"You really don't plan on backing down, do you?" Trian finally uttered in resignation while staring at the only other dwarf present.

"Indeed not. For better or worse, and I'm still thinking worse, you are my lord Aeducan's legacy now. And I will do **whatever it takes** to preserve that legacy, even if it means tying you to the bed and beating you into submission, though I admit, the thought did come to mind several times in the past." Gorim noticed how obvious it was that Trian definitely didn't expect to be told something like that. "So do not test me, prince of the dead," he concluded as he looked down at the former heir to the throne "unless you want to see just what the meaning of 'whatever it takes' really is. You never did seem to grasp it."

With that, Gorim tactfully walked back and sat back down on the bench next to the door, leaving Trian to sort out his astonishment, and brood over his helplessness, on his own.

_Review please!_


	8. Joining Arc 1: Deeps and Skies

**Chapter 7: Deeps and Skies**

"-. Don't worry, it's just nug, not darkspawn flesh or some other weird prank you just considered .-"

The caverns looked just as dull as they had the same morning and the fact that he was barely standing didn't exactly make Raonar any more receptive to the droves of spider webs and rubble piles that littered the long since collapsed underground highway. The prince walked on, almost dragging his feet, and started to regret having dropped off that lively mouse of his just before walking through the barrier door. He regretted it because that little creature was the only thing that was keeping him awake by tickling his skull.

Needless to say, the Prince wasn't exactly thrilled with his state. He was tired from having practically fought for two days straight, with some interruptions, and he still hadn't recovered all of his vitality after Trian so greedily drained him of his blood. That, and his energy was so spent that even his empty stomach didn't have enough energy to grumble anymore. Normally, he should have gotten a last meal, not because of some ideal of mercy for the fallen, but because it was simply not practical to send a famished 'criminal' to fight Orzammar's enemies. The whole idea of this Exile was to make some use of such criminals, since it was a waste to actually execute warriors when they could go into the deeps and kill some darkspawn.

Granted, for any other person, this exhaustion would be, to some extent, compensated by fear, since fear, for all its drawbacks and complete lack of logical justification, at least sharpens one's senses and keeps him aware. This didn't apply to Raonar, though, since he was completely fearless, and this gave the whole situation a totally new flavor of irony.

The prince had never expected that being fearless could suck so hard.

"Sod it..." he let out as he stabbed his own left leg with the tip of his sword. The pain immediately chased away his slumber. "I've already got little enough blood as it is..." He ripped his tattered shirt and improvised some bandages to tie his wound up. He was more aware now and he could actually pay attention to his surroundings.

Those tunnels were supposed to have been cleared earlier that day, but already there were fresh new tracks and webbing formations. This was problematic, and somewhat sad, since it kind of suggested just how badly overrun the old empire was. The issue that Raonar had to deal with personally, however, was that those signs hinted at the high likelihood of him running into something sooner rather than later. This probability increased when he was forced to take a turn through a dark side tunnel because the highway itself had been closed off by a rockslide.

The first cavern crawler wasn't too much of a hassle, at least not after it jumped straight on top of the prince and almost bit his eyes out. At least that shield he got wasn't of the worst kind, since it managed to crush those fangs when it slammed into the arachnid's 'face'. Not long after, the Exile managed to get to his feet and half of the spider's head flew into the distance. Raonar judged that he must be truly crippled if he actually ended up making such a dirty and messy kill as that. On the bright side, if the sight of death can be seen as the bright side, there was a somewhat fresh dwarven corpse not too far off, no doubt belonging to some scout that had been lost during the earlier expedition.

Grudgingly, the lone dwarf stripped him of his studded leather armor, gloves and boots and put them on, after which he went on with only a very small confidence boost. It should probably be noted that said confidence didn't come from the added protection, but from the fact that the suit of leather kept him warmer than his previous rags did. One should remember that blood loss easily facilitates hypothermia, a condition that the Grey Warden-to-be begun to think he was getting too well acquainted with.

Ironically, it was the next hostile encounter that solved his bodily heat deficit problem, since it got him to work out somewhat. Raonar was forced to take cover inside the tunnel when two genlock rogues and an archer beset him at once. Normally, they wouldn't have been much of a problem, but he was already weary and, having stabbed his left leg, he wasn't exactly as quick on his feet as he used to be. He did manage to decapitate the one that charged him the fastest, but the other rogue managed to land a hit and cut him across the chest, though the armor absorbed some of the power behind the slash.

The darkspawn followed up with a few quick strikes that put the exile on the defensive and even knocked his sword out of his hand. But the annoyance at being so dead tired eventually won Raonar over and he just grabbed his attacker by the wrist, disarmed it and shoved the short sword it was wielding straight through its bowels, causing it to keel over and die with one of the most interesting gurgles the former Prince had ever heard. He even took advantage of the extra morale given by the amusement to focus enough so that he was able to pick up his own blade and throw it straight into the chest of the archer as soon as it came into view. He then simply retrieved his weapon and went on his way.

Finally, after about two hours of wandering and killing stragglers, though just barely, the exiled prince started to feel anxious. Some measure of sanity at last, he reasoned. He thought of stopping and trying to rest his feet, but he was worried he might just fall asleep and just be gutted while unconscious by whatever creature happened to stumble upon him first. So he pressed on, walking down those tunnels and no longer being able to keep track of how much time went by with each new step. He knew he hadn't really been in the Deep Roads for overly long, but one could never really tell in those caverns.

At least he recognized some of the passages from having traveled through them while looking for Trian earlier. And this, at the very least, gave him a vague idea of which detours to take in order to arrive at the path that his elder brother's forces had traveled through during the military expedition. Once he reached that, he could be sure that the Grey Wardens wouldn't be far ahead. Eventually, he reached a section where the tunnels he was in divided into several others. He knew this would be an excellent place for an ambush, so he tried his best to approach silently, not knowing what to expect. What he found was definitely not his first guess at all.

There were some darkspawn there, five if he still knew how to count, but they were already lying on the ground and their blood had already poured out of them. Obviously someone had killed them, and recently. And to the right, behind a pile of boulders, the dancing light of a fire could be seen. The former prince slowly approached it, not exactly sure of what he was going to find, though a mixture of hope and logical deduction did give him an inkling of what his eyes would meet. He readied his weapon and rushed around the corner.

There was nothing there, except some coal that looked as though it has only recently been ignited. And right next to the fire lay a backpack and a steel dwarven longsword.

"Dude, someone must have really done a number on you..." a playful voice was heard in his ear, just as he realized that a dagger's blade was pressing against his neck. Raonar was startled for half a moment, quite alarmed at not having even sensed the man approaching him from behind. That, and the mere fact that the blade had enough time to so quaintly take its position near his jugular gave him no confidence in the sharpness of his senses. He smiled, relieved.

"Thank the ancestors..." he barely let out as he fell to his knees, almost fainting if not for Faren grabbing a hold of him.

"Man, what happened to you...?" the castless rogue asked with no small measure of concern in his voice. He then noticed the blood tickling from the cut on his chest and from his leg, just as the new arrival finally drifted out of consciousness. "Incredible... How in the world did you survive this far?"

When he finally felt himself stirring, the exiled Prince was slightly confused at seeing raw granite loom above him and sensing the foul stench of darkspawn from every direction. On the bright side, that stench shot him back into reality and he remembered having been exiled and, vaguely, having somehow traveled a myriad of caverns. Though that could barely be called the bright side in this case. He then noticed he'd been stripped of his leather armor and that his chest was now bandaged, with real bandages not just some tears of his old rags. A cloak was under him, to prevent him from lying with his bare back against the cold stone. His vision finally cleared and the vague dwarven silhouette that he could distinguish in front of him finally took an actual form.

It was sitting, cross-legged, just in front of him, on the other side of the fire, and munching on something that looked like an incredibly appetizing piece of fried meat. Faren looked up and noticed him staring.

"Wow... you must really be hungry man. Here." The dwarf threw a piece of steak his way and Raonar caught it readily enough, though he still shot the other a questioning glance. "Don't worry," Faren assured him smugly "It's just nug, not darkspawn flesh or some other odd prank you just considered."

The castless bruiser watched with great amusement as the former prince gave up all notion of protocol and manners and gobbled up the food. He was even quite intrigued at how completely he stripped the bones of any semblance of flesh. He then passed him another one and watched the same scene unfold. Eventually, the injured young man leaned back against the rock behind him and gave out a sigh of satisfaction. Then, he sat up and finally managed to start a discussion with he who would become his closest companion.

"How long was I out?" he queried.

"Yes, I'm glad you liked the nug. You're quite welcome..."

"Right, thanks for the meal. Sorry. So how long was I out?" Raonar insisted.

"Not long, an hour at most."

"Sorry you had to come and save my hide again," the former prince earnestly apologized.

"(smirk) I was going to wait for you closer to the city, but I wasn't sure I'd be able to track down the others if I stayed too far behind," Faren explained.

"The others? So the Grey Wardens are near here?" the Exile asked, hopefully.

"I think they'll be somewhere near the crossroads ahead, at least that's where they said they'd meet up after the mission was over. I haven't seen them since yesterday either and they might have given up on recruiting me for all I know. Still, we should probably head there too." His tone was slightly humorous, but what he had said was no joke.

"Ok, then we should get going," Raonar conceded as he tried to get back to his feet, but the other waved at him to stop. Then, Faren pointed at the backpack that had gone ignored since the Prince had started eating.

"We've still got some time. You check out what's inside that pack until I finish my own meal," the rogue warmly advised.

"What is it?"

"A parting gift," he explained as a sincere smile decorated the corner of his mouth.

Now that his stomach was actually full and he no longer felt like he would fall over if he tried to even move, the former prince was quite interested in finding out just what the backpack contained. So he dragged it closer and opened it. He was quite surprised to see it contained pieces of equipment, high-quality armor in fact, but what caught his eye was a rolled-up note that rested on top of the suit of veridium heavy dwarven plate mail. He picked it up and, after Faren pretended to ignore his inquisitive glance, unfurled it.

"Greeting My Lord Aeducan,

I figured since you took the time to write those messages we could at least do the same. I would not have you go into the deeps without even knowing how things actually turned out. Granted, our castless friend would probably tell you all about it but I'd still be more comfortable knowing you read this.

We managed to get your elder brother to Harrowmont's estate safely. Baizyl and I actually didn't have much trouble remaining unseen, in no small part thanks to Faren himself, though he did seem to enjoy playing tricks on all those guards and servants. So I ask that you rest easy My Lord. Your plan worked exactly as you hoped. Baizyl also ran into Frandlin Ivo after your so-called trial and it appears your legendary charm has struck again. He even contributed to this parting gift from us.

This pack contains whatever equipment we managed to scrounge up on such short notice. It isn't as good as what you had on during the expedition but it is still more than decent. Baizyl chipped in the suit of heavy armor, since he prefers to travel light himself. The sword is, or was, mine and should be better than whatever cheese knife you were given. The helmet is the same one Frandlin received for winning the proving in your honor. Take them My Lord, and our best wishes.

I will always be your man, My Lord Aeducan - Gorim Saelac.

P.S: You are completely insane, you know that? - Baizyl Harrowmont

P.S.2: I'll always be grateful for what you did. And your highness... you're scary. - Frandlin Ivo

The exiled prince gave a sigh of relief as he finished reading that letter, and Faren could swear that he could actually see the lines on his face fading away. "Ah... those guys..." Even though he was sent to his death and was practically now one of Orzammar's rejects, Raonar still felt glad as he scanned that paper.

"Come on, get up," the rogue asked him as he got to his feet. "I'll carry the bag, since you'll probably ask me to do it anyway, knowing you're too tired and lightheaded to actually walk with so much metal on right now."

"Alright."

They both got up and, after they put the fire out, the former noble put his leather armor back on. He then strapped both his and Gorim's red steel sword on his back and, along with the rogue, went on his way, eager to meet up with the rest of what will soon be known as their group. It didn't take long for them to clear the final passages and, finally, they had arrived at the underground highway once more. The lava flow gave out its warm light now and, even in spite of the mangled corpses that littered the area, as a result of the day's expedition, some semblance of the old empire's majesty could still be felt.

That moment, Raonar felt a bit of melancholy at realizing it may take quite a while for him to get a chance to set eyes upon that magnificent construction again. The feeling passed quickly though, chased away by lingering fatigue and the sound of Faren's sure steps as he quickly distanced himself, seemingly in a rush to catch up to the Grey Wardens. After a few more turns, the group of five finally came into view. Duncan, along with three others, as well as the elf from the feast, were apparently packing up camp.

"Holy Maker! It's a dwarf!" one of them cried out in surprise as he saw Faren draw near.

"Actually, it appears there's two of them," the elf corrected him as he noticed the white-haired one coming up from around the corner. "And it's not exactly who I thought I'd see again so soon," he added with a tint of disappointment that the ex-prince decided to ignore.

"My lord Aeducan!" Duncan gasped. "What are you doing here without your troops?"

"Right, thanks for noticing that I'm here too," Faren let out with slight annoyance.

"But why are the two of you here together?" the Warden Commander insisted.

"It's complicated," Raonar began, scratching his forehead. "Suffice to say, for now, I am Lord Aeducan no longer, at least in the eyes of... most... of my people."

"You mean you were exiled?" the other warden inquired, confused, as the elf raised an eyebrow. "What happened?"

"You need not answer, friend," Duncan intervened, after which he turned to reprimand the other. "I doubt matters of dwarven honor are any concern of hours."

"You say that, Duncan, but it's obvious you know a great deal more about 'dwarven honor' than you suggest," the tired exile managed to shoot back, getting an intrigued glance in return. "Should I go out on a limb here and guess that you already know what may have happened because father told you about it?"

"Ah, so the brutal game of dwarven politics continues then," he uttered, sounding almost as if he pitied the Prince, or the dwarves in general, or both. "Yes, your father did, indeed, intimate as much. Though I do seem do remember you too looked more than ready to say some things the night prior to the mission. You said you'll hopefully not have to explain it to me, but as it is, I believe you might want to."

"As I said, it's complicated and I'm too tired right now to explain it. No offense but I've been fighting for an entire day and haven't slept in two. And I almost bled to death today... twice." He then turned to Faren. "So should I understand that you declined the initial invitation to join the Grey Wardens? I do believe they didn't really expect you to come here..."

"Not as such, I just told them I'd have some stuff to do first and asked them where I could meet up with them later. Though I guess they didn't expect me to actually pull it off," he clarified.

"Regardless," Duncan cut them off, addressing the exile personally, "let me extend you the formal invitation to join our order. Your exploits in the Deep Roads set you apart. I am confident that you will prove to be a worthy member of our order." That sentence sounded solemn and Duncan even bowed slightly as he finished it.

"If it'll get me out of the deep roads, I'm yours!" Raonar accepted with a mixture of playful humor, enthusiasm, gratitude and, predictably, relief.

"-. A dwarf that causes mages to explode .-"

The group of seven promptly left and, led by Duncan, they made quick progress through the tunnel. If the so-called ability to sense darkspawn was any indication, they even seemed to know exactly what routes to take, and when to take them, in order to avoid whatever larger groups still lurked about. They did run into a few wandering genlocks of course, but Duncan usually made short work of them, unless one of the archer Wardens put them down first. Eventually, upon Faren's inquiry, they revealed that they were trying to find the tunnels that the creatures used to go to the surface. By means of the earlier expedition, the Wardens had already, mostly, assessed that a Blight was really brewing. The darkspawn parties they and Trian's force had stumbled upon were somewhat organized and they all seemed to be headed in the same direction, as if they were being guided by something. This could only mean an Archdemon was behind it and that Ferelden was in danger.

Raonar wasn't particularly impressed with those assessments because his own city had been fighting darkspawn for a millennia and, thus, the plight of this Ferelden kingdom didn't exactly sound so serious, not yet anyway. On the other hand, a blight was definitely bad and an Archdemon was surely not something that could just be ignored, especially not after his rather... unusual experience during that military campaign he had snuck off with almost four years back.

He decided not to speak about that just yet though, not just because it was too complicated and had a lot of implications, but because it already took all of his energy to keep on walking, let alone talking. The others also didn't look like they were going to slow down any time soon. Unfortunately, he eventually couldn't keep up anymore and had to lean against the tunnel's wall in order to prevent himself from falling over. He felt dizzy and was breathing heavily.

"Sorry..." he apologized as Faren went to assist him.

"Are you sure he's up for this?" the Elf bashfully asked Duncan, even as the others glanced disapprovingly in the Prince's direction. He could even sense how they thought he might not be Grey Warden material for not even being able to keep up.

"Now now," Duncan retorted with a scolding voice. "We needn't be rude. Instead of making smart comments, perhaps you should go see if you can use your magic to help him regain his strength?"

The elf mage shrugged, but complied and approached the two. He then reached out to touch the former prince on his head, just as magical energies started swirling around him, giving out a golden light. But as he actually made contact with the dwarf's silver-white hair, the magic seemingly burst out of control and, instead of a rejuvenation spell, the energies dispersed uncontrollably, even causing the sleeve of the robe to catch fire. The elf recoiled, somewhat shocked, but coolly pat his robe in order to put out the flames, as though such accidents had happened many times in the past. Raonar glanced in his direction, seemingly less confused than the elf expected, though the other Wardens, plus Faren, were noticeably alarmed.

"What happened Alim?" Duncan inquired as he drew near, shooting a sideway glance at the mage. "That can't have been a simple miscast..." he didn't finish the sentence because he thought he saw the Prince's eyes glow a pure white for a brief moment.

"I'm not sure," the other replied, without averting his gaze from the exile. "Let's try this again." He took a more focused stance and got both his hands together in front of him and concentrated. The same golden energy gathered around him and he again touched the dwarf on his head. This time, he was able to keep the spell under control, though his grimace made it plain that it wasn't an easy task to accomplish, despite the fact that it normally came easy to him. Fortunately, no explosions occurred this time, and Raonar even felt a new strength steadily filling his body, not enough to make up for skipping sleep, but sufficient to keep him going until they managed to leave the deeps.

"Nice," he uttered with a satisfied grin, after which his and the elf's gazes met. The dwarf thought he spotted what looked like blood retreating behind those green eyes. "At least you got it right the second time. Good show!" he added humorously.

"(scoff) Whatever."

Duncan and Alim only looked at each other for a brief moment but said nothing, and the seven proceeded along the path, until they finally discovered a cavern that was a bit more steep than the others. it was there that they felt a breeze and realized that the surface was just ahead, though the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel had yet to show up. Duncan and Alim stepped in front, the former meant to sense any darkspawn while the other took out his staff and used his magic to light their way. After about a half hour of ascent, the end of the cavern came into view.

The surface was breathtaking. Raonar had always been marveled by how grand and high the construction of Orzammar was, but seeing that there was no longer anything above him, except a limitless sea of blue, definitely intrigued him. Of course, it did take a while for his eyes to accommodate to the brightness, but the multitude of colors, especially the green of the grass and the trees, won him over immediately. He half wished that that myth about falling into the sky was true, just so he could look upon the surface from high above. But what most impressed him was how fresh the air was compared to underground, and how pleasant the breeze felt on his skin.

The only thing he regretted was that he was far too exhausted, even with the rejuvenation spell, that he couldn't fully appreciate this sensation of novelty. Faren, on the other hand, though he had also skipped a night of sleep, hadn't suffered the same severe blood loss episodes and could fully enjoy the new sensations, though he looked a bit nervous at first. All this time, their new companions stared at them in amusement, seeing just how out of place they actually felt.

"Wow..." the rogue spoke, "there's a... whole lot of surface, isn't there..."

"I do believe I'm going to enjoy this," the prince declared.

Alim grabbed Duncan by the arm and led him away from the others. The Commander was somewhat curious about what the grumpy elf may have to ask, but he already suspected what it was about.

"That dwarf is... odd," the elf stated, somewhat irked at not being able to grasp exactly what it was that he couldn't understand about the diminutive creature.

Duncan chuckled, though he took care not to be too loud. "Ah, but isn't everyone odd in some way?"

"You know what I meant," Alim protested, somewhat annoyed. "That spell, it didn't just blow up in my face by itself. And you saw his eyes glowing and his weird silver hair shimmering."

"All dwarves have a natural resistance to magi-"

"I **know **that all dwarves resist magic in some measure." By now, the elf was already quite unnerved and had crossed his arms, though he still took care to stay quiet, to avoid being overheard. "But that's just the thing. That **wasn't** resistance. It was more like something was meddling in my spell weaving." Duncan only raised an eyebrow, though he didn't mask his curiosity. "I don't know how to explain it... This has never happened to me before, or any other mage I know."

"But the spell did work the second time, did it not?" Duncan calmly pointed out.

"That's why I dragged you here, away from the others. The second time only worked because I used my blood magic."

Duncan frowned. He was still the only one who knew Alim was a blood mage and the fact that the latter risked being exposed so quickly made him actually consider how unusual the whole situation with the former Aeducan may be. That was, in fact, the reason he conscripted the elf. He had successfully completed his Harrowing and become a full-fledged mage even without the others suspecting he may have dabbled in forbidden arts. Of course, this was until he helped his blood mage friend Jowan escape the circle and almost got sent to Aeonar. Granted, Alim had only let himself be caught because he suspected he may have a better chance at escaping while on the road to the prison than if he had just fought through all the Templars at the circle. Either way, that he used blood magic was very curious.

"So what do you suppose this means?" the old Warden finally decided to venture asking.

"I'm not sure. I'll have to keep an eye on him, maybe do some experiments..."

"Experiments?" Duncan cut him off, slightly concerned.

"Nothing too unusual. Don't worry, I won't start dissecting him in his sleep or anything, though I think I'll wait until he does doze off, just in case."

"(sigh) I suppose that should put me at ease? If he really is so unusual, perhaps you should simply ask him about it. Maybe he actually does have an explanation for this strange... condition of his."

"Just the same, I'll do things my own way for now. If I do ask him, he'll probably find some other weird way of annoying me and gaining my admiration at the same time, like he did at the feast. Then he'd have me in a position where he could pester me forever without having to worry about me lashing out at him, and Maker knows he's the only one who ever managed that."

The grizzled Warden Commander couldn't help himself and just burst into laughter when he heard the normally bored elf say those things. He now knew that, regardless of how things progressed, the journey had just become much more interesting. Not to mention that a dwarf that could cause spells to explode in the caster's face would definitely earn the ire of many an emissary. Eventually, the two rejoined the others.

"So where are we?" one of the Wardens asked as he was scouring the horizon.

"I **think** we're in Gherlen's Pass," one of the others answered. "Which means that we're exactly south of Orzammar and just north of Redcliffe."

"How far north exactly?" Duncan inquired.

"Just about a half a day's journey I think."

"Good. then we should head there immediately. We'll need some supplies, maybe an ox and a small cart. We still have one more place to head to before we go to Ostagar."

"Half a day is it?" Raonar was a bit disheartened, knowing that he definitely didn't want to keep walking for that long. On the bright side, the fresh air somewhat heightened his senses and he thought he just might find enough new sights to occupy him and keep the desire for sleep at bay. "You humans have it easy with your long legs!"

The others couldn't help but laugh at the remark, though the elf, not being human, made a point of ignoring the irony.

_Review please!_


	9. Joining Arc 2: A Fine Day For Science

**Chapter 8: What a Fine Day For Science**

**"-.** If I were to venture a guess... **.-"**

"So how long exactly will it take us to get to this Brecilian **Forest**?" Faren finally asked Duncan as he walked up to the front of the group as they progressed along the road. He made a point of stressing the word forest because he still did not know what a forest was exactly and the dwarves didn't really have an actual word for it in their own tongue, at least not that he knew of. He also decided to get into a talk with Duncan because he was really the only Grey Warden he actually knew and talked to before leaving the city. That and he still felt a bit odd on the surface, what with all the empty space, and wanted something to help him take his mind off that.

Normally, he would have pestered Raonar about what it was like to live as a prince and if it really was a bad as the events in the Deep Roads suggested. Taking about that might also give him a chance to ask him about that odd incident Gorim had talked about as they took Trian back to the city the day before. Gorim had apparently made a point of passing on as many of the more crucial details regarding his lord as he could, and that extended to more than just trivial things like his date of birth (9:08 Dragon, 3 Ferventis/Justinian, just for the record).

Unfortunately, he didn't exactly get the chance to actually talk to the only other now surface dwarf much. Both of them were mostly busy studying their new surroundings and, by the time they had gotten over the sensation, they had already reached Redcliffe. The rogue was especially intrigued by how breakable the buildings and, especially, the doors (and locks) looked, even more so than the ones in Dust Town, though he did admit he was somewhat intrigued by this "wood" that humans were so fond of. There, they both waited as the others went and procured their supplies, while Duncan went to the castle and visit some Arl Eamon, a noble apparently. Raonar asked him about what Rica was going to do now that she was all alone. He even sounded genuinely concerned. Oddly though, he made a strange look when Faren told him that she had supposedly found a patron but would not tell him who he was. Most likely his fatigue prevented him from actually putting on the right face. "Ah... So she won't go hungry. That's good," was all he said.

Faren would have talked more to him if he could but the others soon came back with the food and other equipment they had gotten, arrows especially, all neatly loaded onto a nice cart, pulled by an ox (Faren hadn't seen one before). One of the others suggested they should just stay there until the next day, but Duncan seemed quite in a hurry to be off and said that they would set up camp along the road after nightfall.

The former Prince simply ignored everyone else, climbed up into the cart and immediately fell asleep. And, even now, he was still there, sleeping like a boulder, even though the cart was constantly wobbling and jumping over loose pebbles.

"The forest is beyond the far end of the South Reach bannorn. We'll have to pass north of the Hinterlands and cross River Drakon in order to get there," the leader of Ferelden's Grey Wardens finally answered.

Faren didn't even know what a bannorn was, though he hypothesized that this River Drakon would be something along the lines of the great lava flows from the deep roads. He eventually gathered enough courage to ask Duncan if it really was a lava river, to which the man responded with an uncontrollable flow of laughter. Needless to say, that made the castless Grey Warden-to-be a little uncomfortable, but he did realize that that laugh was not directed at him personally. Eventually, Duncan's lungs settled and he was able to explain that, curiously, it was **water**, and in great quantities, that flowed through the riverbeds. He also noted that a lava river on the surface would be a very bad thing, to say the least.

Faren wondered just how fragile this surface was if one lava flow was so dangerous to it. This definitely didn't instill much faith in this Ferelden country, especially considering that the people in Redcliffe actually panicked at the prospect of **ONE** darkspawn, whereas the dwarves have to deal with them constantly.

Faren glanced back and saw the elf, Alim Surana, walking alongside the cart, staring at the sleeping former Prince and holding what looked like a tome in his right hand. Occasionally, he would shoot seemingly harmless sparks at Raonar, as if trying to test him in some way or another. The rogue had almost gotten into an argument with him earlier, exactly because of the weird things he was doing, but eventually relented when Duncan intervened and assured him that the mage wasn't going to do anything too odd.

Alim never did say exactly what he was looking for, but Faren's attention eventually shifted to how the mage caused written words and symbols, none of which he understood, to magically appear on the pages of the empty tome he was holding. And now, he was almost completely uninterested in what that mage was doing and more concerned with how utterly equal to zero his knowledge of the surface was. He didn't like not knowing his surroundings, because it always meant he could be taken by surprise. And taking others by surprise is something he should be doing, not the other way around.

"So what **is** that elf doing anyway?" Faren couldn't help but ask of the Warden Commander. Since he was in charge, he would have to know what his wards are doing and should at least be able to hint at something.

"Even I am not entirely sure," he flatly answered. "He said that something about being near our wayward Prince causes his magic to behave strangely and that he has to perform some... experiments to see just why that is." Duncan couldn't completely mask his concern at the word "experiments".

The fact that he had absolutely no idea how magic worked aside, that word alone was enough to make the rogue uneasy. And it wasn't just because of what might happen to the exiled prince, but also because that made him worry that he might also become a test subject as soon as he decided to doze off himself. "What do you mean he causes magic to act weird?" He knew it was the next obvious question, but he really did want to at least remotely make sense of things.

"As you might or might not know," he curtly began ,"all dwarves have a natural resistance to magic. Still, according to our mage friend, that may not actually apply to Raonar. I assume Alim suspects that his physiology was... altered in some way, though that's just a wild guess of mine."

"Altered... maybe it has something to do with his hair changing color..." Faren thought out loud. He immediately noticed Duncan's curious look and realized he wasn't going to get out of that without an explanation. "Don't look at me like that... I don't know either. All I know is what this guy's so-called second told me and it's not much."

"It's still more than nothing," the warden pointed out. "And I am quite interested considering that even the King didn't know anything about how this change came to be." Duncan knew that Raonar would eventually tell him, if he thought it was important, but even he couldn't let an occasion like this pass by, especially now that, even with a Blight brewing, he was actually, for once, in a good mood after the lava river question.

"All I know is that that crazy guy and Gorim got separated from the army somehow during that deep roads excursion three or four years back. Gorim didn't give me the details, but he said something really bad happened that almost pushed Raonar over the edge..."

"Well, it **was** just a short time after his mother had passed on..." Duncan remembered.

"No, it was more than that," Faren continued. "He said it was really bad and that he never really saw him so... broken, as he called him. And then they somehow got lost and landed in some weird... place. He couldn't exactly describe it because he apparently fell asleep as soon as they drew near there and only remembers Raonar waking him up an undetermined amount of time later. That guy had apparently carried him on his back for a while. There were two odd things about that though..."

"Odd?" Duncan was getting more and more entranced by this story with every word that came out of the red-haired dwarf's mouth.

"For one, that guy's hair and beard were as they are now, no longer blonde and, respectively, dark blue. The other part was that Gorim said he felt really exhausted, even though he had supposedly been sleeping for hours."

Duncan frowned at that and, for a short time, looked into the distance as if remembering some long lost memory. He then scratched his forehead and forced himself back into his previous mood, though Faren still managed to gleam that he either knew or suspected something that he wasn't willing to disclose just yet. Or maybe he was just as confused as he was. Either way, he knew that that subject of discussion was over so he asked something different.

"So you suspect there may be darkspawn in this **forest?"** he still stressed that word.

"There have been sightings, yes. Some may dismiss them as stragglers or just false rumors, but if this is truly a Blight then even such rumors should be investigated. The so-called horde is actually amassing in the south, in the Korcari Wilds, and the Brecilian Forest is far to the North-East. If darkspawn are truly gathering there, then there is a risk of Ferelden being attacked from both sides."

"Yes, that would really suck..." the rogue agreed.

By the time nightfall came, the group had come to the point that lied roughly at half distance between Redcliffe and Lothering. Faren knew it would take him a while to actually adjust to this day/night cycle, since the amount of light in Orzammar never really changed. They stopped near a small stream of **water**, oddly enough, and set up their tents. Raonar was only awake long enough to stumble into the tent that the others had so thoughtfully set up for him. He fell back asleep immediately afterwards, much to the amazement of all the Wardens, though Alim seemed quite satisfied that he could continue his odd experiments. Faren could swear he had seen that elf pulling out some of Raonar's hairs earlier, but he'd be damned if he'd actually ask. All he wanted was to make sure that mage didn't suddenly decide to do weird things to **him** when he fell asleep next.

The eve dragged on and, after a short meal (with surface food that actually enchanted the rogue's tongue) the three other Wardens went to sleep as well, leaving Duncan to keep watch. Faren couldn't sleep under the open sky yet, however, so he took a place by the fire that the commander was keeping and just waited there, in silence. He was forced to let out an indignant snort as something, or a certain someone, pulled out some of his own hairs.

"Hey!" he protested, visibly outraged as Alim also sat down by the fire. "What gives?"

"If you're going to start screaming from just that, I pity you for the anticlimactic death you will no doubt experience" the mage shot back with an air of boredom. He then decided to just say what he had to say, since the red-haired dwarf decided to only respond with an annoyed glare. "I have completed my experiments!" he proudly declared in a very genius savant-ish manner.

Duncan looked up. He had kept his eyes closed for a while, as though he was seeing something or reliving some moment in his past. He got over it though, and either acted or really was quite interested in what the mage had to say. "What did you find out about our young noble?"

"Right. First off, I'll have to make a demonstration," Alim stated quite scientifically.

"A demonstration?" Faren asked, warily, knowing he may not like the answer. As it turned out, he really didn't like it, since the elf suddenly waved in his direction, shooting some lighting straight into his face in the process. He felt a jolt passing through his brain and spreading through every inch of his body, though the sensation was not as serious as he would have expected. "Ow! Are you insane?"

"Did you see that?" Alim simply asked Duncan, barefaced, not even bothering to look at the disgruntled dwarf and his outraged expression. "He resisted the spell almost completely."

_"He had?"_ Faren thought to himself, incredulously.

"That dwarf prince wouldn't have resisted it at all," the elf cleanly added, taking both of the other men by surprise. This was definitely not something one would have expected to hear about a dwarf. Since they were cut off from the Fade, in a sense, dwarves were also, to an extent, immune to the effects it could have on the world of mortals and, thus, on them directly. This was likely part of the reason they were able to survive so long against the spawn, since emissaries' spells didn't really work on them as they otherwise would. No one really knew what the relationship between dwarves and the fade was, and the Chantry even said that dwarves don't really come from the Maker. Apparently, everyone was content to ignore the incredible paradox that that assumption, along with the "The Maker is the only one God that created everything" line actually gave birth to.

"You're saying he doesn't have the common resistance to magic that his people are known for?" Duncan inquired, quite intrigued at the prospect himself.

"Well yes... and no." Alim stuttered, it was clear that, even after all his experiments he couldn't really place his finger on the explanation. So he simply held up both his hands. The left one held the hair he had pulled out of Faren's scalp earlier, while the other one held onto some of the Prince's own silver hair. Both hands immediately lit up in pure fire. Faren's hair was immediately consumed. Raonar's was just fine, regardless of how much it remained engulfed in the flames.

"Fire immunity?" Faren considered, slightly amazed.

"Not as such," the mage responded, finally addressing the castless bruiser directly. "Well, his hair and beard may be fire-proof but he definitely isn't. If I suddenly threw a fireball to his face, his skin would burn just like anyone else's, especially considering that he doesn't resist spells like you do. Though I'm not so sure about his eyes. "

"What do you mean? What about his eyes?" the dwarf couldn't stop himself from prying.

"I said already, I'm not sure about that either." By now, both Duncan and the newest recruits were exchanging looks and didn't quite know what to make of the situation. Then, Alim continued, though he wasn't exactly certain of how accurate his theory was. "Honestly, the way his hair shimmers and his eyes glow when I try to cast a spell on him in close proximity... It's like they're infused with lyrium."

"Lyrium? How can anyone be infused with lyrium? Too much of it usually drives people mad... or worse." the Warden commander was looking for specifics already.

"I didn't say he was," Alim countered. "I said he looked like it. And I really think something else is in play here."

"Like what?" Faren asked, impatiently.

"I only have trouble controlling my spells if I'm very close to him," the elf started explaining. "I I were to, say, shoot a thunderbolt at him right now, from this distance, I wouldn't have any problems and he would be quite shocked, if you get my drift. The point is that it's hard to control the supply of magic around him because there's just...I don't know. He either has a very bad effect on the supply of magic itself, like a disruptor, or there is simply just too much magic around him."

"Too much magic?" Duncan suddenly looked as though he understood something, or thought he did. "Are you saying he might have a direct connection to the Fade the same way mages do?"

"No. Well... yes, but no. If I were to venture a guess... I'd say he's a walking tear in the Veil."

It took a while for those words to sink in. Alim just looked at Duncan, while the latter was just looking to the side, pondering what he had heard. Faren didn't even know what in the world this Veil really was and he definitely didn't get the implications of what the elf had suggested. Eventually, the Warden Commander looked back at the former Circle mage and asked the obvious. "Are there any dangers?"

"Well... I'm not sure," Alim was speaking with a scholarly tone, as if he was quite entranced by what he had found. "We already know he's been like this for years and nothing has really happened. But if what my sense tell me is true, the veil is very weak around him, which means that, by all accounts, demons or shades should have ether slipped through by now, or at least possessed him."

"Maybe he's got a strong enough will to resist them?" Duncan theorized, though he knew it was unlikely.

"Or maybe there's something on the other side that is preventing them from getting through," Alim retorted.

"This talk of demons is making my skin crawl" Faren let out, alarmed somewhat at the prospect of possession.

"This all sounds somewhat far-fetched doesn't it?" Duncan asked, as even he was no longer sure just what this entire situation meant.

"Yes, it does sound far-fetched," the elf confirmed, "But we already know that not all Fade spirits are demons. In fact, Senior Enchanter Wynne often spoke of the so-called 'good' spirits and of how they are responsible for our dreams, among other things. She even invoked their power when she used her more advanced healing magic, or so she said. The only reason people don't really know much about these 'good' spirits is because they have no interest in the world of the living, unlike the demons, who want to feed of our emotions. In other words, they are 'good' because they don't really give a rat's ass about what happens to us." His tone was slightly unnerved.

"This all sounds so strange," the Commander stated, his face colored with an unusual level of uncertainty. "That a Dwarf would be so... odd, and even have such an unusual connection to the Fade. Are you sure you're not overanalyzing things?"

"I may be, I suppose," Alim accepted the prospect as possible, if nothing else. "But the fact remains that my magic works odd around him. You'd better remember that if we ever have to split up. It also means that beneficial magic will not actually work on him all the time, and he'll be lucky if it does. And I hate to say it, but this doesn't exactly increase his chances of survival in the long term, especially if a Blight is really coming."

"I see..." Duncan trailed off.

"I don't think he'll want to talk about how he got like that," the red-haired rogue guessed, drawing the attention of the others. "A lot of stuff happened recently. You saw him, he's completely exhausted." Faren's tone was a bit worried, though caring. "And I wouldn't want to bring back even **more** bad memories just because he **might** be in danger of something happening, even though that something never even happened in four whole years. And as I recall, magical potions didn't really have any trouble working around him..."

"It's not the same," Alim cut him off. "Potions only have one effect and they are mostly herbal mixtures. Whatever magic is in them, if any, is meant to simply make their effect instantaneous. With actual magic it's hard because the will is all that matters, and interferences, like tears in the veil for instance, can lead to adverse reactions."

"Regardless," Duncan decided, "I ask that you don't trouble him with too many questions for now. If it becomes serious, and he doesn't come out and talk about it on his own, I'll pry it out of him. Until then, let the matter rest."

"If you say so," the elf obeyed as he got to his feet and left for his own tent.

The castless rogue also got to his feet and took his leave "Well, I guess I'll go and... sleep I guess. Hopefully I won't become that guy's next test subject." That was meant as a joke, but there was a tint of worry in his voice. He them strode off, leaving the Commander of the Grey to ponder on what he had learned on his own.

"-. I am so not digging this blight disease thing .-"

It had been some time since they had passed through Lothering and it was going to take about another half a day or so for them to get to the other side of the South Reach bannorn. Raonar was walking alongside everyone else now, though that can't be said about the journey up to the village. Getting from where they had set up camp, the night of Alim's assessment, to Lothering took about a day and the former prince slept through almost all of it, plus the entire night they spent at the Inn there. Duncan was actually surprised anyone could sleep for so long. On the other hand, he was very well acquainted with just how much of a toll emotional pressure can place on someone, and he could well gather that the events that led to Raonar's exile couldn't have been easy on him, to say the least.

The Commander was actually glad to see he could sleep at all, since other people would have trouble staying up at night after something like that. Granted, the former prince didn't exactly seem distraught, and the little amount Faren was willing to relay about what he did, since it wasn't his place to actually blurt it all out, seemed to suggest it wasn't as horrible as it could have been. The dwarf rogue was now walking alongside one of the other wardens. He had said that he wanted to get the hang of surface tracking, among other things, as soon as possible.

Duncan looked to the side and studied the silver-haired dwarf. He was now wearing the suit of veridium heavy dwarven armor that Faren had somehow managed to get a hold of before he left Orzammar. He did remember overhearing Faren asking him why he would travel so encumbered, to which the prince responded that he didn't want to lose practice and that he would need the exhaustion if he was going to get any sleep the next night. Duncan wondered just how far ahead that young man usually planned for.

Raonar had also picked up a somewhat unusual silver-colored band, or was it a scarf, from the Lothering merchants, that now hung off his right wrist, fluttering in the gentle wind. Overall, he seemed quite lively, if a bit thoughtful. Suddenly, he met Duncan's gaze with a sly smile.

"You are mighty curious, aren't you Duncan," he remarked.

Duncan let out a clear laughter. "Ah, my apologies if I made you uncomfortable, but you did actually have us all a bit worried, the way you slept for so long."

"So what exactly **do** you want to know about me getting exiled?" the prince immediately followed up, knowing that this was actually what the grizzled man was getting to.

Duncan raised an eyebrow, detecting the subtle semantics game that his newest recruit intended to get into. "Ah, I'll be satisfied with whatever version you choose to relay," he put simply. That response seemed to intrigue the dwarf, since it bypassed the "tell me the truth as if it were nothing vs. the lie" debate entirely.

"You'll be satisfied because you already have your own theory, am I correct? Since father told you something, and I only went and talked to him **after** you left, I suppose he was, as I suspected, already suspicious of what my little brother was planning," he hypothesized with a wry smile. He then noticed Duncan wasn't going to actually ask anything, signaling that he would just be content with whatever the Prince was going to tell him.

The sentence "I framed Trian's death without his consent and then framed myself for his murder" was definitely not something Duncan had expected to hear, nor did he expect the entire affair to be condensed in so few words and still make perfect sense. On the other hand, this would explain how the white-haired lad had managed to sleep so soundly and how his mood wasn't as sour or bitter as he would have expected, since it meant that, even with him gone, Trian would be safe, at least in some measure.

"Anyway, now you know what happened so... I'll go pester Alim a bit." The prince promptly let himself fall back in line without even giving Duncan a chance to say anything more. The Warden still watched him though, with great interest, as he went and got into a conversation with the elven mage. Raonar looked as though he was asking for something but Alim was reluctant to even consider the notion. Duncan couldn't hear what they were exactly saying, but Raonar definitely seemed to be enjoying himself, though it wasn't clear whether it was just his usual mood or he really enjoyed pestering the mage, as he put it. Eventually, Alim relented with an expression that hinted at a mixture of frustration and amusement. He went through his pack (which was, like everything else, neatly tucked away in the cart) and passed the dwarf a book, which the latter eagerly took and started reading, even as he somehow managed not to trip on every rock as he turned page after page.

Raonar didn't take his eyes out of that book until nightfall, when the group again set up camp, this time by River Drakon, North-East of South Reach. Then he took a break because they all got together and had their meal. There was a certain air of familiarity about that scene that the former lord Aeducan hadn't felt in quite a while. it was a welcome change from the ever so 'dull' so-called family meals he had gone through the past years. That, and the surface food was full of many new flavors, even though what they actually had for dinner wasn't special.

"So are we three the only recruits you have?" the Prince uttered.

"No," Duncan began. "Before we went to the Circle Tower, we managed to conscript two others who should have already made it to Ostagar by now. An elven lass from Denerim and... a human lady from Highever." Raonar noticed a strange, grim look pass over the Warden Commander's face as he mentioned that last one, but decided he wouldn't pry into it just yet. So they all finished their meals and saw to their own tasks after they were done. But just before he retired, the Prince walked over to where Alim was sitting and handed him the book back.

"You finished it already?" the elf asked in disbelief.

"I'm a genius, of course I did," he half-joked and walked away.

"That smug guy is odd in more ways than one," Alim asserted, somewhat bugged, as he drew near Duncan, though he looked much less aggravated than he used to, if at all.

"What exactly is that book?" the other inquired out of sheer curiosity.

"Beyond the Veil: Spirits and Demons," the mage responded, flatly.

The two immediately exchanged looks.

"He definitely knows **something**" they both assessed in unison, scratching their chin and beard, respectively. "And he actually makes a point of showing he knows, knowing we would get all frustrated at the fact that he hasn't yet told us anything and we want to know too," the elf continued, slightly peeved. Duncan stood silent for a moment, then decided on what to do.

"I was planning on going into the forests alone tomorrow. A clan of Dalish Elves was supposedly wandering around these parts and I wouldn't want them to misjudge our intentions by going there in a large number," the Warden informed the spellshaper. "But I think I'll take him along. Hopefully, since he's a dwarf, the elves won't be as prone to aggressive action than if I were to take a human with me. You can come along if you wish, since you're an elf yourself." The man noticed an odd glance that Alim had shot at him. "Unless, of course, you want to stay here just to avoid out princely friend? Don't tell me you're trying to stay away because you're concerned he may actually grow on you," the bearded one candidly jested.

"(shrug) Nothing gets past you, does it? Fine, I'll come along, but I'm warning you, I'll keep my distance. You know what happened last time I tried a spell on him."

"I'm sure you'll both do just fine," Duncan assured him aristocratically.

Faren wasn't as distraught at not being taken along as some may have suspected. He actually looked a bit relieved at not having to go into such an alien territory so soon, although he did feel a bit jealous of the other dwarf, though only a little. He, along with the three other wardens, remained at the campsite while Duncan, Alim and Raonar were to go into the forest. The Commander took his sword and dagger, while Raonar strapped Gorim's blade and his other steel sword on his back, as well as his shield. He also had a pair of daggers sheathed on his left side, plus the obligatory potion pouch on his right leg and an extra knife in his left boot. And even with all that, and his coat of plates, he still didn't look at all bulky or encumbered in the slightest. one of the men asked him what was the point of carrying all those weapons, to which the prince simply answered 'just in case.'

As they entered the woods, the three were mostly silent, though Duncan and Alim occasionally shot glances at the dwarf and at each other, as though they were looking for the opportune moment. The former prince didn't mind them, however, and instead studied the intricate nature of that environment. How the trees reached almost into the sky and their roots went deep into the ground. He also liked the complexity of the grass and the other vegetation that gave the entire scenery a very entrancing allure. This was a much more sophisticated sight than anything he had ever seen. And what most struck him were the myriad of strange creatures that lurked about and jumped from tree to tree, or simply glided on the air.

"So how is it?" Alim broke the silence. "Sensed any darkspawn yet?"

"Not yet, no," Duncan answered, though he wasn't yet ready to dismiss the whole story as speculation. They had only been in the woods for about an hour so the verdict could not yet be made. Still, that no darkspawn had shown up at least brought a measure of reassurance that Ferelden may not be in as much trouble as Duncan feared. These musings would have to wait, however, as three frightened men suddenly came running from ahead, one of them even stumbling and almost falling over repeatedly.

They looked panicked, though the fact they were hardly equipped for a foray into a dangerous wood didn't exactly bring them much credit. Duncan tried to call out to them, but they were scared out of their minds and just wanted to get away as soon as possible. By all accounts they would have just ignored the three strangers and run off, but Alim was quite quick to gain their attention by lighting a nearby stump on fire, giving them a bigger fear to worry about.

They all screamed and one of them fell on his back as he recoiled. Needless to say, they were much more willing to talk instead of risking pissing off a mage. And, understandably, Alim himself was quite satisfied to see humans get so scared and pathetic, though it kind of made the fact that they ruled over elves all the more bitter. Raonar immediately picked up on that as he glanced in his direction, noticing that he was doing his best to stop himself from lighting them on fire next.

Fortunately, Duncan's diplomacy skills weren't lacking and he managed to calm the three down somewhat. After that, they were finally able to say what they were running from, and it wasn't some wild bear or beast. Instead, they had been chased off by a pair of Dalish Elf hunters. The humans didn't exactly prove willing to explain just what they were doing in that area, however, so Alim was forced to light the hair of one of them on fire just to 'persuade' him. Duncan frowned at him, but at least the move worked and the other two told them all about the strange ruins they had found not too far from there.

Apparently, The two elves didn't really know those ruins existed and may have decided to head there and check them out, especially considering that the rune those men had given them had written elvish symbols on it.

"Dalish? That's the word for those wandering elves that hate humans right?" the former prince inquired.

"Yes," Duncan confirmed, "This may actually prove quite convenient. If we manage to find their clan, they may know the truth about the darkspawn corruption rumors."

Without another word, the scavangers resumed operation: run for your lives and quickly made themselves scarce, just as the Grey Warden trio went on its way. Eventually, they reached the beaten path that had been described to them and followed it. They stumbled upon some dead wolves as they treaded, dead by bow shots, and this could only mean that the elves had indeed gone to investigate the supposedly odd structure. Eventually, a huge chasm came into view, and it was easy to see that it was this site that they were looking for. They entered the cave and found what looked like a long-since buried temple or other type of structure.

"I must say that this is definitely not what I expected to find here, in the middle of this wood..." Alim eventually let out, after they had passed through several chambers. The architecture was foreign and ancient, and the symbols and inscriptions that decorated the walls and various statues didn't belong to any language he knew, not exactly. He decided to explain what he meant before the other two stared him to death. "The architecture looks human and resembles the one used by the Tevinter Imperium. But the language is odd, like a mixture of elven and tevinter. And these sculptures... they resemble something I saw in the secret Circle Vault. But what would a ruin like this be doing here?"

"The Brecilian Forest is very ancient," Duncan pointed out, though he was still careful to scour the corridor they were now in for any traps. "No one knows exactly what existed here before it came to be, or if anything ever was here. There are also tales that say a great war, or more than one, was fought on this ground, and that so much death caused the Veil to become weak, making even the trees themselves come alive."

"You're saying they were possessed by spirits," the dwarf figured, instantly drawing puzzled stares from both of his companions. "What...? I did just read that book on spirits and demons you know. You don't have to stare..." he then protested, slightly offended.

Duncan and Alim just glanced at each other, again, and resolved not to pry whatever information they wanted out of the dwarf until they had finished scouring the ruins. Unfortunately, the next room became the arena for a hostile encounter as a group of giant spiders dropped from above and tried to turn them into their food. Duncan easily side-stepped and drove his sword through the thorax of one of them, even as Alim released a blast of energy that appeared to disorient the other four arachnids. Raonar intended to lunge at a beast and decapitate it, but noticed that another one was farther off, as though its attention was focused on something else. The dwarf then noticed what looked like an elf lying on the ground, though whether he was alive or dead was still unclear.

"Alim!" he called out. The elf was a bit surprised to be called upon so suddenly but immediately turned his attention to him. "Can you do something to stop that one?" he pointed at the beast.

The mage appeared to understand what Raonar was getting to, so he focused some energy into his staff and immediately invoked a cloud of pure ice that promptly froze the spider in its tracks. This gave the former noble enough time to slip past the stunned creatures and run straight for it. And as he reached it, he drove his sword straight through its abdomen, causing the ice to crack, after which he immediately followed up with a shield bash that caused the crawler to shatter. Meanwhile, Duncan had already finished off three of the remaining animals, leaving it to the elf to put the last one through a trial of fire that, 'sadly', the victim failed to pass. The three approached the unconscious person.

"It appears this one is still alive," Duncan pronounced as he looked for the elf's pulse.

"There should have been two," Alim noted, sounding uncharacteristically concerned.

Raonar felt a bit hazy as he stood there, next to the elf, but the feeling, curiously, faded once he took a few steps back and put some distance between himself and the other.

"I'm afraid we won't have time to look for his friend," Duncan gravely stated. "This man isn't injured, he is tainted."

"Tainted?" Raonar looked puzzled. "As in... tainted by the darkspawn? You said you didn't sense any darkspawn..."

"Yes," Duncan confirmed, looking quite serious. "And that's what makes this all the more pressing. I hate to think there could be something else besides the horde and darkspawn blood that can actually spread this corruption, but I find it odd that he hasn't succumbed to the taint yet. We have to get him medical assistance, though I dare not hope he'll recover." He immediately hoisted the elf over his shoulder and turned back the way he had come.

"I don't know any spell that could help him. And shouldn't we two stay here and explore the rest of the ruins?" Alim offered, since he didn't like to leave things unfinished.

"No," Duncan sternly ordered. "Grey Wardens are the only ones that are immune to the taint, which means that whatever is in these ruins may end up leaving you in the same state. Now come, we have to hurry."

"But getting back to the camp will take hours!" the mage couldn't stop himself from mentioning as he followed after the leader.

Duncan didn't immediately answer that. Instead, he picked up the pace and retraced their earlier steps. They eventually left the ruins the same way they had entered and the Warden Commander finally told them he was going to seek out the Dalish clan that will definitely be somewhere in the area. The group proceeded along the previous beaten path, hoping they may stumble upon some tracks, some signs of where the so-called land ships may have went off to.

Unfortunately, as they pressed on, they didn't seem to find any such signs. Duncan was still determined, but Alim had started to question the logic of it all. Raonar, on the other hand, felt odd. He would get a strange but intense tingle behind his eyes whenever he got within less than a foot of Duncan and the dalish he was carrying. That sensation had only surfaced once in the past, and this could only mean one thing.

"Duncan," he uttered as he stopped in his tracks. "That guy doesn't have long. Look at his skin, the taint is starting to blacken his veins."

"Of that I am aware," the Commander reprimanded him with a harsh glare that, oddly enough, didn't seem to phase the dwarf at all. "That's why we have to get him back to his clan as soon as possible. Perhaps their keeper will know some old magic that can help him."

"We won't get there in time," Raonar insisted as he drew near, feeling the odd sensation behind his eyes strengthen. "Maybe if we had found him a couple of hours earlier, it would have been enough. But we didn't."

Duncan responded with a suspicious glance.

"We can't just leave him here!" the other elf protested. He also wanted to ask if he had any better ideas, but he was stopped as the former prince promptly took his gauntlets off and let them fall to the ground.

"Put him down," he requested. "Please, just do it." His tone was straightforward enough that Duncan agreed to at least see what the exile wanted to do.

Raonar slowly approached the corrupted elf, now lying on the ground, on his back, and kneeled right next to him. He stared at him for a time, then he unfastened his dalish leather armor, leaving his chest bare. The taint had already almost started to come out through his skin, and it looked as though his blood had turned black. A grim picture indeed. The other two then watched him as he slowly placed his right hand on the man's brow, and the left one on his chest.

The moment they made contact, the prince's eyes lit up in a bright white glow, and the blackness in the elf's blood vessels immediately begun receding, as if it was being sucked into the other one's own body through his hands. Duncan and Alim watched in wonder as that scene unfolded, but their amazement was immediately cut off when the dwarf suddenly shut his eyes, as if he was writhing in pain. He recoiled, managed to restrain a cry of pain, and struggled to his feet, though he couldn't keep his balance very well. His own hands were now decorated with blackened veins and his face was pale.

Duncan rushed and held him, just barely preventing him from falling on his back. "Are you alright? What did you just do?" The Warden Commander could barely believe what he had just witnessed.

"It's...(gasp) alright... Just... give me a minute. I am **so **not digging this blight disease thing..." Raonar walked a few steps and let his head hang backwards. The blood vessels on his neck were now as black as the elf's own were before. Then, he appeared to relax and once again opened his eyes. They shone, and as the light in them died down, the corruption in his body appeared to fade as well. The prince eventually managed to recover some of his balance and let his face rest against his palms, in an attempt to chase away lightheadedness. He couldn't completely come back to his senses, however, so he sat down and breathed heavily.

Alim didn't know what to make of the situation, but he did notice that most of the signs of corruption on the elf's body had disappeared, save for the fact that he was still pale and, of course, unconscious. Meanwhile, Duncan stroked his beard and didn't bother to conceal how intrigued he was by what his newest recruit had just done. Eventually, the dwarf caught enough of his breath and was able to speak again.

"I only... took out part of the taint..." he let out, barely, because his lungs still ached.

Even though he thought this was what had happened, Alim couldn't contain his stupefaction. "How in the world did you manage that?"

Raonar glanced at Duncan and saw how he gazed at him, as though he was trying to fit together the pieces of some puzzle but didn't have all of them available. "This was a one time thing... If I do it again, I'm seriously going to either die or become a ghoul myself." The last words grabbed the commander's interest, because most people didn't know about the fact that the taint turns people into ghouls instead of killing them.

Still, as someone who traveled the deep roads, the Prince may have stumbled upon signs of such occurrences and figured it out for himself. Regardless, this news paled in comparison to the fact that the former noble had just neutralized darkspawn taint, something not usually thought possible. And he wasn't even a Grey Warden yet.

"You have a lot of explaining to do, my Lord Aeducan" the Warden informed him. "Especially since you seem to know exactly what you did and how you did it."

"Actually," the most recent recruit countered, "I don't know **how** I did it, but I had to deal with this kind of corruption before."

"What do you mean?" Alim Surana incredulously pried. "Did you run into someone tainted like this before? Who was it?"

Raonar waited until his breathing calmed down completely and, after looking both of his companions in the eye, answered his question "**I** was."

_Review please!_


	10. Joining Arc 3: Grey Wardens to Be

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Author's note: Sorry it took so long to upload this and also for the fact that this chapter may not be as interesting as the others. This is mostly meant to introduce the other wardens.

Also, I suppose I should finally clarify what I'm turning Raonar into, before people start assuming I'm making him a Gary Stu. The fact is that the game allows dwarves to become Templars and even Spirit Warriors, even though they are supposed to have zero magical aptitude. I modified Rao's background and his physiology in order to come up with a believable means by which he can become such things.

He will be something along the lines of a Champion/Templar/Spirit Warrior. Unfortunately, the explanation is still a pair of chapters off. Bear with it though, It'll be quite complex and revealed in a very unique manner.

Also, those that want to take a look at the Wardens can visit this link (paste in browser and remove spaces, formatting keeps breaking normal links for some reason):

"-. http: / / social . bioware . com /forum/1/topic/97/index/2924672 .-"

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**Chapter 9: Grey Wardens to Be**

"-. Dying makes you moody at times .-"

It was the third day since they had left the Brecilian Forest and Raonar still couldn't exactly get that image out of his head, nor did he really want to. He envied the Dalish Hunter. He envied him for how much his clan cared for him and how grieved they were to see him go. Even now, the former prince remembered himself standing to the side, leaning against a tree and watching as the hunter took his farewell from his people.

They were all sad and almost grieving, as though they felt like they were sending him to his grave. Not just one or two, but all of them, the entire community. They probably wouldn't have even allowed Duncan to conscript their kin if there was any other way to resolve his condition, this odd case of darkspawn corruption. But what still rung in the dwarf's ears were those lyrics, that sublime and gentle song of mourning that those elves so gracefully sung as they gently pinched at their lyres.

Did anyone in Orzammar actually mourn or even miss **him? **Did his father even care? Was Trian at all grateful, or did he resent him, maybe even hate him for what he had done? Did Bhelen regret what **he** had done?

The silver-haired dwarf reviewed the events in his mind. After he had drawn out part of the corruption in the elf's body, Raonar persuaded Duncan and Alim not to ask him about it just yet, since it was imperative that they get the dying man to his people as soon as possible. Of course, he failed to mention he now shared the elf's fate. It took the rest of the day to finally pick up the trail, and they later managed to track down the camp. Its keeper, Marethari, did indeed manage to use her old magic to restore him, though it was only a temporary reprieve. Meanwhile, Duncan, Alim and the former Prince returned to the cave, after camping for the night not too far from the clan's encampment. They were forced to kill some spawn that had somehow shown up in the area.

The trio eventually made it back to the ruin, where they encountered a strange Tevinter Mirror that, according to the Warden Commander, somehow transmitted the taint. Duncan destroyed it upon being caught up to by the same elf they had rescued, accompanied by another hunter and the Keeper's apprentice. The only bad part of the whole story was that Tamlen, the friend of that elf and the one who'd started it all by touching the mirror, was nowhere to be found, though Duncan was adamant in claiming he was surely lost. Strangely, though, he never used the word dead.

Intense throbbing in his temples, momentary lapse in balance and a distinct burning feeling inside his chest. This was the combination of sensations that forced Raonar's mind back into the present. He started massaging his eyes as he walked, in an attempt to chase away dizziness, and the feeling eventually passed, though not as quickly as he may have wanted. A black vein on his palm seemed to fade as he stared at it, only to be replaced by some that appeared on his forearm. Of course, he only noticed them because he was no longer armored, having decided not to strain his now ill body too much.

"Are you alright, my durgen'len friend?" a voice from his right was heard. This was the first time the elf had actually addressed him. The past couple of days, he had mostly kept to himself and seemed quite uncomfortable around the others of the group, though that was probably because of the aversion the elves usually have towards humans.

"Durgen'len... I suppose that's the word that refers to dwarves in your language?" Raonar queried, somewhat rhetorically, making it clear that he wasn't keen on talking about his health right now.

"It means child of the stone, yes."

The two walked on for a time, purposely falling about five paces behind the others. The exile took this chance to actually study their new companion. He was taller than him, but noticeably shorter than humans in general. He had black eyes and loose, dark hair that fluttered in the soft breeze, as well as an intricate tattoo that covered most of his face. He was clad in a suit of Dalish leather armor especially tailored for him and carried a longbow on his back. There was also a small knife at his side, as well as a horn of some kind and a strange, curved blade made of what Duncan had called ironbark. Eventually, the elf seemed to put his thoughts in order and decided to finally start on what he wanted to ask.

"I don't believe we've actually been properly introduced..." he began, somewhat hesitantly. He was noticeably unaccustomed to talking to non-elves, or so the prince thought, though this only made the fact that he was speaking to him instead of Alim all the stranger. "My name is Theron Mahariel."

"My name is Raonar Ae-... just Raonar..." he broke off, looking to the side, hoping the elf didn't notice his angst color his face. For some reason, getting infected with the taint made him moody, though some may see it as a logical outcome considering he was practically dying a slow death now, the same as the newest recruit.

"Abelas, forgive me if that was not a proper way of greeting one of your kind," Theron apologized, though he sounded somewhat confused.

"(sigh) You needn't force yourself to be so polite. I know you're not happy with being made to join the Grey Wardens, especially since they're mostly humans. Being forced in itself is bad enough."

"You are... very direct I see..." the hunter remarked, somewhat uncomfortable. "But... I admit, the thought of spending the rest of my days in the company of shemlen does not exactly entice me."

"You want to ask me about your missing friend, don't you?" the Prince suddenly blurted, attracting a surprised sideway glance. "This Tamlen that you say was with you before you blacked out. That **is** why you actually started this conversation, yes?"

"I... yes..."

"I'm sorry. You were the only one we found in the ruin," he answered.

"I see... Ma serannas, thank you for answering my question then."

"Sorry I don't have the answer you hoped for," the exile earnestly apologized, to which the Dalish nodded in acknowledgment but said nothing more.

Later that day, the group reached Lothering once again and decided to stay at the inn for the night. They would need their strength in order to march south. It would take them about three more days to actually get to Ostagar and meet up with the armies and the other Grey Wardens. Raonar hoped he could somehow get away from Duncan's prying and just go to bed, but he somehow failed in his attempts to persuade the middle-aged man to leave him alone. Eventually, he consented to explaining his condition, but only if Duncan agreed to be the be the only one to know the story. The Commander accepted, and the two decided to share the same room for the night.

Faren ended up with one of the other wardens, though he had become familiar with them by now after all those hours spent asking them endless questions about the incredibly strange creatures of the surface, such as birds. Birds and flying insects were definitely an oddity, since he had never actually seen something with feathers, not before coming to the surface anyway. Alim managed to bunk alone, intent on 'working on a new spell' as he called it. As for Theron, he was content with climbing on the roof of the Inn itself and sleeping under the open sky, bathed in the clear moonlight.

The next day, they left early, after a meager breakfast, since Duncan looked like he was in twice as much hurry as he had been until that point. They would have to simply keep following the imperial highway south, until they reached the ancient fortress of the Tevinter Imperium. Raonar finally got to the part of actually communicating with the other human Wardens, while Alim and Theron started to trade experiences. Faren decided it was time to actually pry something out of Duncan for a change, especially since he hadn't managed to listen in on his and the prince's conversation the previous night.

He walked to the front of the group and took his place beside Duncan. The man looked a bit tired, at least that's what the blemishes around his eyes suggested.

"Wow, Duncan, you look horrible," the rogue flatly remarked, once again causing the other to laugh, even in spite of fatigue and worry. "How much time did that whole tale-spinning you and that guy got into take?"

"Ah, not overly much," the Warden candidly assured him, "Just about four hours, no more."

"Four **hours?"** he let out in disbelief. "What did he **do,** make you write a novel about his entire life?"

"Ah, but the actual tale-spinning itself did not last that long. It was the discussion that we had afterwards that really took its toll. But that does not matter. I assume you are asking this because you are curious?"

"Some question. Of course I am!" Faren was eager to finally find out something concrete for a change.

"I'm sorry, but I cannot tell you," Duncan deadpanned.

"Great, I can't wait to final- wait... what? Why the sod not?" he demanded, quite aggravated at being so immediately dismissed.

"If you truly wish to know," Duncan suggested, "you may wish to ask him yourself. He may even tell you. As it is, I gave my word that I wouldn't divulge what he told me."

Faren shrugged. "I **did** ask, and all I got was 'sorry, I don't feel like talking about it right now, ask me later,' in other words, not telling."

"Then you'll have to keep trying with him, I'm afraid. My lips are sealed." There was an air of humor in his voice, but he still made it plain that he was not going to change his mind, so Faren just mumbled something, unintelligibly, and fell back in line.

"-. An exiled kinslayer, a reject, a criminal, an apostate and two victims .-"

Huge. That was the best word Raonar found to describe Ostagar. Granted, it wasn't quite as large as Orzammar, but it was still incredibly tall and majestic. The stone work was obviously not as impregnable as that of his home city, but that was understandable considering that the dwarven city was carved directly into the black granite while the human fortress had to be built out of stone slabs. And even centuries after being erected, the architecture still stood, only partially worn by time. And in the distance, an immense, towering structure loomed, as though it was looking down on everything else, even as a flock of birds flew around it in a circular pattern.

The dwarf could not help but feel small as he walked through the first ruined archway and was finally greeted by endlessly ascending walls and spires on all sides. If he didn't feel overly dizzy when he first got to the surface, he definitely felt now. It took him a while to realize that said walls weren't really falling down on top of him. After he finally got over the lightheadedness, the ex-prince managed to glance in Faren's direction, seeing that he was walking along just as wobbly as he was. Alim wasn't as impressed, probably because he had lived inside a Tower all of his life and was quite acquainted with tall buildings. Theron was also less concerned with the architecture than one might expect, probably because he was more into tall trees than man-built spires.

All the Grey Wardens, except Duncan, had broken off from the group sometime earlier, deciding to go straight to the main army's camp, where all the other Ferelden Wardens were stationed. There were less than a dozen in total, at least that's what Duncan had said. This left only the two dwarves and elves to keep the commander company, and the now only human took advantage of this to give them all a brief rundown of the situation and of why Ostagar was chosen as a staging ground.

Apparently, Ostagar had been built, long ago, by the Tevinter Imperium as a choke point meant to defend against the barbarians from the lowlands. In fact, the area south of the great fortress wasn't even mapped, except for a small portion of the Korcari Wilds. The darkspawn were now amassing just south of Ostagar and, in response, soldiers from across all Ferelden had gathered and even faced, and defeated, the so-called horde in battle several times, though they had really been just minor skirmishes. Duncan was forced to cut his report short, however, as a man in shining, gold-plated armor, along with two guards, approached the group as they passed through one of the majestic archways that still stood vigilant.

"Ho there, Duncan!" the young human greeted the Commander. He had long, blonde hair, clear blue eyes and a very lighthearted demeanor, even despite the fact that he was obviously not just one of the many soldiers on duty at the time. He and Duncan shook hands, and the latter finally got over his mild astonishment.

"King Cailan! I did not expect a-"

"A royal welcome?" the other eagerly cut him off. "I was beginning to worry you'd miss all the fun!"

So the king had finally shown himself. Duncan had spoken of this King Cailan, but Raonar hadn't exactly been able to pry enough information about him out of the Warden Commander during the entire week and a half that had passed since they had come to the surface. This was mostly because they'd been, more or less, in a hurry, and, really, the 'old man' had definitely pried more out of the former prince than the other way around. Either way, it was enlightening to finally see the King in person, though the impression he gave the dwarf prince was not altogether reassuring. He seemed to be less serious than someone facing a Blight would be.

"Not if I could help it, Your Majesty," Duncan finally replied.

"Then I'll have the mighty Duncan fighting at my side in battle after all! Glorious!" The king looked almost entranced at the prospect, but he immediately turned his gaze towards the newcomers. "The other Wardens told me you'd found some promising recruits. And it seems that there are more than what your previous messenger said would be."

"Indeed, we managed to acquire one more after we left Redcliffe. Allow me to introduce you, Your Majesty."

"There's no need to be so formal, Duncan," the king assured him as he stepped up to the four. "We'll be shedding blood together after all. Ho there, friends!" his tone was remarkably informal and straight. He wasn't exactly sure who to address first, however. "It is truly a pleasure to see the Wardens' ranks being so efficiently replenished. Please, tell me your names. "

"I am Alim Surana, formerly of the Circle of Magi," the elf quaintly replied, with just a slight bow.

"Theron Mahariel," the Dalish simply informed him, not bothering to force himself to use any sort of protocol. He was, after all, suspicious of all humans, especially their leaders.

"Ah, you are Dalish, are you not?" the King noticed as he studied his intricate facial tattoo. "I've heard tales of your people, that they are strong and proud of their ancient heritage."

"I see." Theron was quite skeptical. "They you would know that your own shemlen brethren destroyed our ancestral lands and drove us from our home twice over **exactly** because our ways were unlike yours. And then, of course, there is that thing about our immortality and knowledge being lost after a millennia of slavery."

"That's quite enough, Theron," Duncan reprimanded him. "There is no cause for rudeness, and the King is not responsible f-"

"It's quite alright, Duncan," Cailan stopped him, though some of the humor in his voice had faded. Then, he turned to the elf. "I know of the history between men and elves, and I assure you I am not among those who approve of what happened in the past. As King, I promise I will do all I can to pay back what we owe to your people as best we can, though this Blight must take priority."

Theron raised an eyebrow at him. "Ma serannas then, but you'll forgive me if I don't exactly hold my breath in anticipation. After all, the Dales were given to us by your own Andraste and you still ended up taking that away from us as well."

"That will do," Duncan demanded with a frown. "Perhaps you two would like to go on ahead and explore the camp?"

"(shrug) Ma nuvenin," the Dalish elf complied and cleanly walked off.

"Good day, your majesty," Alim followed, somewhat uncomfortable, after which he also took his leave.

Theron was quite eager to get away from the scene, and Alim followed after him just as quickly. Before long, only Duncan, the two dwarf recruits and the King's group were left. Cailan eventually let out a deep sigh, but he didn't exactly know what to say next.

"Forgive him, Your majesty," the Commander earnestly pleaded, "he's not exactly in the best of health right now, because of an incident in the Brecilian Forest, so he's not very open to socialization."

"Yet what he said was completely justified, wasn't it?" the king noted, after which he looked straight at the Warden. "Is is a law that all your recruits need to have some utterly horrible cause for angst? First Teyrn Cousland's daughter, then the elven lass from the Denerim Alienage and, now, this fellow."

Duncan said nothing, instead looking away with the sort of expression that one would put on at a funeral. Meanwhile, the Prince and the castless were wondering just what type of experience the two ladies had gone through that they could cause the humorous king to change his state of spirit so suddenly.

"Ah, but there are still two whom I have not yet become acquainted with!" Cailan eventually followed up, forcing himself back into his previous, lighthearted manner. His eyes were immediately drawn towards the unusual coloring of Raonar's hair and beard, and he let his interest color his face when his blue eyes met the other's cyan irises directly. "Ho there, friend! Might I know your name?"

The former prince crossed his arms, leaned on one foot and shot him a conspiratorial grin. "I doubt that, but I suppose anything is possible."

The human lord let out a short laughter. "Well, it seems you've at least caught yourself a lively one, Duncan. I was beginning to think all Grey Wardens were grim, stodgy priests." He then turned back to Raonar. "It's good to see one of the honorable stout folk outside Orzammar."

Deciding not to explain how Orzammar is not really honorable, the Prince suddenly leaned to the side and pulled Faren, who had tried to slip out of sight by using Duncan as a cover, out in the open. "Well," he began, matching the King's humor with his own, "It really was this guy's doing that I was able to leave Orzammar alive at all, so you should praise **him**." Faren mercilessly punched Raonar in the ribs, causing him to recoil and lose his hold over the rogue. Cailan really laughed this time.

"Ah! Sounds like there's a story behind that," he observed as his lightheartedness returned. "You two must regale me with it sometime."

"If Your majesty wishes," the noble curtly accepted, even as the other dwarf pushed his elbow into his side.

"I do!" the King assured him, no doubt hoping to avoid leaving a similar impression as the one he gave Theron earlier. "I will have the finest dwarven brew brought up from the palace cellars. After we've dealt with the Blight of course." The human lord paused briefly, but he didn't look like he wanted to leave just yet. "I've been to Orzammar," he suddenly declared, "King Endrin invited my father to a Grand Proving long ago."

Raonar seemed to remember something as pure amusement covered his entire face. "Ah, that was almost 15 years ago. And you somehow ended up chasing my older brother through the Shaperate and almost crushing a certain someone else under a bookshelf by accident," he mercilessly rammed.

"Oh my... you know about that... But... your older brother? You don't actually mean..."

"Prince Trian, yes," the dwarf confirmed.

Cailan leaned on one foot himself and looked a bit worried as he found himself in absence of a suitable line. Duncan could swear that the man looked embarrassed.

"The answer to the question you are too embarrassed to ask is yes," the exile immediately followed up, grinning all the way to his ears. "I am, indeed, the one who got closely acquainted with the descending bookcase. Still, I suppose it was my own fault for looking for tomes about magic so close to you two hellions."

Duncan and Faren exchanged puzzled looks as they saw the two speaking so familiarly. Still, it made sense that they would have met if Maric had indeed visited Endrin in Orzammar.

"Well, I suppose I should apologize then..." Cailan barely let out.

"Ha! Fear not, I did not end up in any way debilitated, as you can see, **my king**," his tone was playful but in no way sarcastic, and this helped Cailan get over his anxiety.

"How **does** Endrin fare these days?" the human decided to ask.

The prince briefly looked to the side. "My father was... fine... when I saw him last... physically at least." Raonar couldn't completely mask his worry as he said those words.

"Sounds like your story may be much more interesting than I suspected," Ferelden's young monarch observed.

"Stories usually are."

"Allow me to be the first to welcome all of you to Ostagar then. The Wardens will benefit greatly with you in their ranks."

Faren finally decided to speak up. "Well, we'll see about that."

Cailan smiled at the shrewd-looking red-haired. "I'm sorry to cut this short, but I should return to my tent," the King finally said as he drew back. "Loghain waits eagerly to bore me with his strategies."

"Your uncle sends you his greetings," Duncan informed him, "and reminds you that Redcliffe's forces can be here in less than a week." From listening to him, the two dwarves felt as though Duncan would have actually preferred that the King waited for those armies.

"Ha!" the young monarch smirked. "Eamon just wants in on the glory! We've won three battles against these monsters already and tomorrow shall be no different!"

The Warden and his two recruits briefly exchanged glances, after which the white-haired one bravely took the word. "I didn't realize things were going so well..."

"I'm not even sure this is a true Blight," the King warily hypothesized. "There are plenty of darkspawn on the field but, alas, we've seen no signs of a Archdemon." By now, he had turned his back on the newcomers and was staring wishfully into the distance.

"Disappointed, Your Majesty?" Duncan asked him, allowing a tint of concern to slip past his courteous countenance.

"I hoped for a war like in the tales!" Cailan playfully declared, "A King riding with the fabled Grey Wardens against a tainted God. But I suppose this will have to do..."

Raonar shrugged. "You **hoped** for a war? Seriously?**" **the white-haired exile suddenly uttered, almost startling everyone present. "War is never desirable, nor is it pretty," he continued as Cailan turned around and looked at him in surprise. "Do you really want glory so much that you would **wish** for a reason to send your men into battle to die? Or worse?" Raonar had, by now, frowned and was looking with outmost disapproval at the young sovereign. "Glory and legends are all well and good, but Blight or no, Darkspawn aren't just something you can use as a leverage to enact a fantasy."

"That is enough, I think," Duncan cut him off with a scolding glare.

The king stared at him for a time, his head cocked to the right and his gaze colored by a slight scowl. "You sound just like Loghain..." he finally declared in disbelief. Then he seemed to remember something. "Speaking of Loghain, I should probably go before he sends out a search party." He then threw the three one last glance, "Farewell... Grey Wardens."

It was more than obvious that the golden-haired young lord was actually more interested in getting out of that awkward situation as soon as possible, the way he hastily strode off along with his guards. The ex-prince kept stroking his moustache and looking at him as he walked away, while Duncan was content with just waiting until the King got far enough to no longer hear what they were saying. Meanwhile, Faren had put his arms behind him and was periodically switching his gaze from Raonar to Duncan, expecting a sort of backlash.

"Well," the Warden finally began with a chuckle, scratching his own beard in the process. "I must say, I think this was the first time King Cailan was actually glad the Teyrn was looking for him." He then turned to the Prince. "I'd normally ask that you try to **not** aggravate Ferelden nobility much, since out position in this country is rather weak, but I actually happen to agree with you on this."

"Well, **excuse** me but I just couldn't help it," Raonar flatly replied, "He's **exactly** like Trian, only without the "I am a royal ass" part." Duncan didn't exactly know what to make of that statement.

"This King Cailan didn't seem to take the Darkspawn too seriously," Faren noted, knowing he was really just stating the obvious.

"(sigh) Too true, I'm afraid..." Duncan gestured to the others that they should proceed along the path, so they resumed their walk. "What the king said was also true, though. They did win several battles. Still, I know for certain that an Archdemon is behind this, but I cannot ask the king to act solely on my feeling."

"And how exactly **do** you know this?" the prince decided to pry.

Duncan shot him a keen but reserved look. "Ah, my apologies but you'll first have to become full-fledged Grey Wardens before I go into details about that. Speaking of which, we should probably proceed with the Joining ritual as soon as possible."

"A ritual?" Faren asked, his raised eyebrow clearly showing the slight aggravation at this not having been mentioned any sooner. "What **ritual?** I didn't realize there were more tests after being recruited."

"Every new recruit must go through a secret ritual we call The Joining. The ritual is brief, but necessary."

"And why all the secrecy?" the dwarf noble pressed him, with his hands behind his back. "I assume it has something to do with being able to **sense** the darkspawn?"

"The joining is dangerous" the human warily answered. "I am sorry, but I will say no more than that for now."

"Anyway, a hot meal would be nice first," the rogue suggested. He was especially interested in one since he wasn't exactly used to eating hot meals and had grown to like the prospect after coming to the surface. All his life, he mostly had to settle for whatever scraps he and Rica could scrounge up while kissing up to that ass of a crime lord. The memories still left a bad taste in his mouth.

The Warden let out an honest chuckle. "I agree. I'm sure you'll be able to find something edible at the so-called mess hall. It is in the camp, on the other side of the bridge. Now I ask that you excuse me, as there are some preparations that I need to make. Feel free to explore the camp here as you wish. I only ask that you do not leave it for the time being. Meanwhile, you can find the others and get better acquainted, though I ask that you not be too insistent with your questioning." The commander made a point of looking at the prince as he said those last words.

"Don't worry," Raonar assured him, though his tone had a tint of annoyance mixed with candid humor. "You know I can usually deduce whatever I'm trying to find out from just one or two questions."

"(deep sigh)"

"So when **are** we going to find out more about this Joining?" the castless rogue inquired, as he was not ready to let the subject go just yet.

"There is another Grey Warden in the camp by the name of Alistair," Duncan responded. "When you are ready, seek him out and come meet me by the great pyre. We shall speak more then. Whatever equipment you had in the cart will also be there waiting for you when you're set to proceed."

Duncan bowed slightly and walked off, leaving the two dwarves standing just on the upper steps of the staircase that led down to the great bridge which separated the King's camp from the outer ruins.

"So... you were looking for tomes on magic when you were like... seven?" the rogue asked, slightly incredulously.

"Don't look at me like **that**," the other responded. "They had pictures, man, **pictures!**"

Faren decided to just drop the subject, settling for just a short chuckle of his own.

The two companions took their sweet time admiring the fabulous view as they crossed the very long bridge. Faren could finally get a clear idea of what a forest actually was and he concluded that the surface had many more things to offer compared to that cesspool of a dwarven city that considered him less than nothing. They eventually reached the camp itself and found it much more spacious than they expected.

Off-duty soldiers walked around, engaged in idle chatter, while elf servants scurried about, hastily making their way to whoever they were supposed to deliver a message next. The dwarves caught a glimpse of some mages doing something odd, but the guards would not let them approach, saying something about their spirits being 'in the Fade.'

Faren still didn't exactly get all this talk about dream realms and spirits, but he noticed Raonar seemed quite intrigued by what those humans were doing. And much to the latter's joy, there was another mage further inside the encampment, an elderly woman, though she carried herself with dignity.

Wynne she was called, and she indulged in a few words with the two. She spoke of the supposed relationship between Darkspawn and the Fade, and of how the Human Chantry says it was the magi of Tevinter that brought them into our world by corrupting the Golden City. The rogue was a bit irked by her slightly preachy tone, but the other dwarf listened with great interest, though this was hardly surprising considering his passion for everything magical, not to mention the weird things Alim had discovered.

What really creeped the rogue out, however, was the so-called Tranquil. Basically, he was a human without emotions because he had been forcefully cut off from the Fade, and the mere prospect was enough to make Faren wonder just how crazy humans actually were. Even Rao, as he had decided to call him, looked a bit disturbed as he analyzed the man and how flatly he spoke.

After they walked on, the Prince said that he didn't think the Rite of Tranquility made much sense. After all, Dwarves weren't connected to the Fade, and they still had emotions. As such, he hypothesized that, unless there was something about the relationship between dwarves and the fade that he didn't exactly know about, whoever invented the rite of tranquility didn't manage to perfect the process. That, or didn't want to do it for some reason or another. It wouldn't be the first questionable act the Human Chantry ever came up with.

The two eventually found the so-called mess hall and finally got their hot meals. After that, they were far more receptive to the idea of running around the camp in search of the two future lady Grey Wardens. It didn't take long to track them down, since the quartermaster appeared to know pretty much everyone in the camp by then and the two ladies were supposedly among the prettiest faced he'd ever seen.

Faren decided to stay behind and peruse the human's wares, since he was quite eager to see what he could do with those many sovereigns he had acquired before leaving the city. Raonar left on his own just as he the castless rogue seemed to get into a conversation with the blacksmith.

The exile eventually managed to reach an upper terrace where he spotted two humans apparently engaged in a dispute of some sort. One of them wore long robes and appeared to be a mage, while the other one, dressed in a suit of steel splint mail, had clear brown eyes, similarly colored hair and a look on his face that spoke of a mixture of amusement, annoyance, grumpiness and boredom. Then, to the side, leaning against a column, was a young human lady, dressed in casual clothing and with her long, dark brown hair overflowing and somehow making her face and her own deep brown eyes stand out. It was easy to see why the quartermaster looked so delighted when he spoke of her. And right next to her, on the ground, was a mabari war hound, a proud creature with eyes that hinted at an intelligence akin to that of any species capable of speech.

"I **simply** came to deliver a message from the Revered Mother, ser mage, she... desires your presence," the young man postulated in a voice filled with equal measures of forced amiability and annoyance.

"You can tell the woman that I am busy assisting the Grey Warden, by the King's orders I might add!" the mage shot back, not even bothering to restrain his gruffness. He seemed to have a special reason for not liking the young lad, even though they didn't look as though they had met before.

The other one let a wide grin of playful sarcasm extend from ear to ear. "Should I have asked her to write a note?"

"Tell her that I will **not** be harassed in this manner!" the robed one protested.

"Yes," the other human observed, "**I** was harassing **you**... by delivering a message..."

The mage crossed his hands and raised an eyebrow. "Your glibness does you no credit."

"Here I thought we were getting along so well! I was even going to name one of my children after you, the **Grumpy** One."

The mage finally caved in and decided he would do anything to get this over with. "Bah! I will speak to the woman if I must! Now get out of my way!" The spellcaster stormed off.

Raonar decided to draw near once the mage was finally out of sight, though the human lady and her faithful hound walked up to the man quicker since she was closer to the scene. She looked quite amused by the entire affair.

"Alistair, you **do** realize Duncan will be all over you for this," she candidly pointed out to him as the dwarf finally approached.

"Well Gwen, you know how it is, if there's anything about the Blight is how it brings people together." At that point, they finally heard the dwarf's steps and turned to him, though this only appeared to startle the newcomer and stop him in his tracks.

Raonar looked at Alistair for a while, then he turned and looked back the way he came, as if trying to get a clear view of something. The dog took this chance to go and sniff at him a few times, after which he gave an inconclusive snort and returned to his master's side.

"I don't believe we've met..." the human warrior warily began. "I'm Alistair, the Junior Grey Warden, though I suspect you already knew that."

The Prince continued to stare at him, scratching whatever chin he could reach through his thick and carefully arranged beard. "Actually... I just met the king and, by the Ancestors, I could swear you look just like him."

Alistair scoffed in disbelief and passed his hands through his hair in frustration. "Maker's breath! Not **this** again!"

The human lady let a small, sly smile show on her face as her hound barked in approval "See, Alistair? it's not just me."

The man sighed deeply. "Well, I don't suppose you happen to be another mage? That would pretty much be the only thing that could make this situation more awkward than it already is..."

The exile was quite amused by his manner. "Dwarves aren't really known for having magical aptitude. But why do you ask? Do you have anything against mages?"

"Besides the fact that mages, you know, sneak up on you, not personally no," he answered. "The Revered Mother sent me with a message to that one, and that puts me in an awkward position. I was once a Templar."

The dwarf raised one of his pure white eyebrows but didn't ask what the exact reason why, so the lady decided she would clarify. "Templars are mage hunters, among other things. They keep a eye on the Circle of Magi and hunt down wanted apostates. That old crone obviously meant it as an insult, since the Chantry so enjoys saying how sinful magic is."

"Well, I can't speak for Alim," the newcomer finally said "But I can assure you I'm not a mage, much less an apostate. My name is Raonar, I'm one of the new recruits." He then turned to the woman. "And I suppose you're the daughter of Teyrn Cousland of Highever that the King mentioned?"

She pursed her lips and an intense mixture of rage and sorrow slipped past her countenance for a moment as she looked to the horizon, but Alistair hastily took the word before she had a chance to say anything. "She is Gwenith Cousland, yes," he confirmed, but immediately changed the subject, not even bothering to be subtle about it. "You know, I just realized there haven't been any Dwarves in the Grey Wardens for some time..."

The former Aeducan picked up on the idea that he should drop the Teyrn Cousland trail so he humored the templar. "Well, you should be excited then, because you'll soon have a pair of them to deal with."

Alistair had an odd look on his face for just a moment, as if he was saying "_We'll see about that_". "Well, then I suppose we should get this started. You probably arrived with the other three, so Kallian is probably the only one you may not have met yet."

"I assume she's the elven girl from Denerim? No, I haven't run into her yet."

"Then I'll meet you by Duncan's ever so imposing campfire," the lady said as she forced herself back into her seemingly lighthearted manner. "Come Damon!"

The mabari barked in excitement and, before long, the two were already gone.

Alistair was a funny one. He answered every question with a jest, much like Raonar had the habit of doing, but switched to a defensive manner when asked about anything concerning the Joining Ritual that Duncan had mentioned. On the other hand, he was quite fond of the Warden Commander, one could say as he even saw him as a father figure. Apparently, Alistair was 'doomed' to become a Templar, which would have eventually gotten him addicted to lyrium, but Duncan conscripted him, much to the Grand Cleric's aggravation.

The lad also answered a few questions on the Grey Wardens in general, but he stuck to the generic details, such as their status as protectors and great heroes, though he did admit they sometimes did so-called "pretty extreme things" if it helped them stop the darkspawn.

After about a half hour of exploring the campsite, the two reached the quartermaster again, but Faren had already left. The human said he had only informed him that he would go train up near the precipice. Needless to say, they were quite interested in seeing just what he was doing, so they tracked him down and were a bit surprised at what he was up to. Raonar remembered how his dwarven friend had gotten into a talk with the blacksmith just before they split up, and now he understood why.

Faren had gotten his weapons... modified. The dagger he had received from the prince, as well as another one, made of veridium, now had iron rings on the end of their hilts. A strong but thin chain of undetermined length linked the two together and was entwined around both his forearms in order to prevent any chance of it impairing his movement. The way the rogue handled his 'new' weapon was magnificent. He would lunge one of the edged ends straight at a target he had sculpted into the bark of a pine tree. He hit the very same spot on every try. Other times, he would use it as a hook, to grapple onto branches, as though it were a lifeline or leverage for some high-profile kicks. He also used it just to strike at some empty bottles that had been neatly lined up on a log situated some feet ahead of him.

The ex-Aeducan now realized that, except for that short sparring match in Dust Town, he had never seen the red-haired one actually fight. And what was even more interesting was that this odd weapon, and the rogue's evasive fighting style, was something he had never seen before and, thus, would probably not be able to take on very easily. He looked at the Junior Warden and saw that he, too, was completely taken in with what the castless individual was doing.

Finally, just as he pulled both daggers back, the chains almost automatically gathering back around his forearms, he finally noticed the two staring at him. He unclasped the weapons from the chain. Then, he gathered said chain in a coil and hung it off a buckle on his armor's belt, after which he sheathed the daggers and waved at the others.

"Yo! You must be Alistair!" he cut straight to the point.

"That's some pretty nice skills you have there," Alistair candidly praised, getting only a sly grin in response. "And yes, I am Alistair, here to accompany you as you undergo the Joining."

"Don't bother," Raonar flatly told Faren as he opened his mouth. "He's not going to tell you anything about the ritual. Believe me, I tried for half an hour to pry it out of him."

"Nug bollocks!"

"Indeed."

"Wait..." Faren suddenly said, gesturing at the other two to shut up. He looked as though he was listening for something and he stood almost motionless. The others couldn't really hear anything odd. In fact, besides the wind and the birds that flew about, nothing out of the ordinary seemed to be happening.

"Did you hear that?" the rogue suddenly asked as he just took off. The others exchanged looks and followed after him, though they didn't really know what he was looking for. Still, as they walked on, they started to hear an odd sound, as if something was striking lightly against a tree on a regular basis. Eventually, they reached the higher slopes of the peak on which Ostagar was situated. There, some way off, an elven lass was practicing her knife throwing.

Tap. Tap. Tap. The knives flew straight and certain, and the stump she was using as a target was already partially bereft of its crust. Faren stopped in his tracks, but the prince noticed that it wasn't her knife throwing skills he was examining. As he reached his side and inspected the look on his face, Raonar had to muster all of his will just to stop himself from rolling on the ground and laughing.

This wasn't the first time Faren had seen a female elf, so he definitely didn't expect his first impression of the Grey Warden Recruit to be so intense. That golden hair that fluttered in the wind, that slender body and prominent chest. Those strong but smooth legs, those shapely thighs, that perfect skin. He hadn't even gotten close enough to see her face and he didn't even know why his own feet were rooted to the ground and too weak to take another step. So he just stared at her, not even knowing why he couldn't draw his eyes away. He had even forgotten that Raonar and Alistair were just there, next to him.

The exile shot Alistair a grin, but the human didn't seem to get the idea, at least not quickly enough.

"By the **sod**, she's hot..." Faren let out, only then remembering he wasn't alone and, startled, covered his mouth with his hand, as if hoping she hadn't heard him.

As chance would have it, she didn't hear what **he** said, but she definitely couldn't miss the laughter that the other dwarf could no longer contain. The lass turned to them and saw Alistair's puzzled look, as well as Faren as he glared at the former Aeducan with an equal combination of embarrassment and annoyance. She quaintly went and retrieved her throwing knives, which she then placed back in the holder that encircled her right leg. After that, she walked up to the three men, smiling from the corner of her mouth as though she had an inkling of what the white-haired one was so amused about.

Faren couldn't say anything, neither could he help himself from looking straight at her. The smooth strands of hair covered her brow and hung in front of her eyes, throwing a faint shadow over her dark blue irises. And her right cheek was decorated with an intricate white tattoo that keenly contrasted with her red lips. It somewhat resembled the dwarf's own brand. However, he was too smitten to even begin wondering about the significance of the symbol or if it was in any way similar to his own.

The girl raised an eyebrow and passed her fingers through her hair, her pointy ear visible for just a moment. Then, she just playfully poked the red-haired on the forehead, as one would do to a curious little child. "See anything you like?"

The poke briefly caused Faren to snap back into reality and he noticed that a simple ring made of gold straps adorned her ring finger.

"You are Kallian Tabris I assume?" Raonar decided to intervene, if only to make the entire situation easier on his companion. "From Denerim?"

"Ah, if you know that, Alistair or Duncan must have told you," she mused. "Yes, I am she. And I suppose you're the other recruits? Truly is was about time you showed up. Lady Cousland and I have been waiting here for about two weeks and a half for Duncan to come back."

"Turns out Duncan actually managed to gather two others besides them," the young ex-templar informed her. "And both of them are elves."

Her eyes glinted for a moment. "They are? from what Alienage? I can't imagine they are from Denerim, since I would have surely known about it."

"Neither," the white-haired one took the word, "One of them is a Mage from the Circle Tower and the other one is Dalish."

Kallian let herself indulge in a clear laughter of satisfaction. "I **did** say it was about time more elves started to join the Grey Wardens." She briefly eyed Alistair. "Then I guess we can finally get this Joining Ritual you are so fond of keeping secret underway, yes?"

"Yes, it is," he confirmed. "So we should probably get back to Duncan. I imagine everyone else is already there by now."

"Then I'll see you there," she decided as her fingers started playing with the hilt of her curved blade. After that, she gave the dwarves one last look and took off.

The three waited until she was out of sight, though none of them said anything. Alistair had finally realized what the former Orzammar noble had laughed about, so he wasn't exactly sure what to say. The latter, on the other hand, didn't exactly do much to retrain his grin, and this made the castless rogue all the more uncomfortable.

"I swear, Faren, you look smitten," he joked.

The other one scratched his forehead, as if trying to force himself to be polite. "Rao..."

"Hmm?"

"I think I understand why not just one, but both of your brothers thought they wanted you dead."

Alistair was a bit shocked at hearing that, since he hadn't yet learned the background of his two future companions, but no one really paid him mind.

Raonar twitched for a moment, after which he looked at the other with a raised eyebrow. "Ouch."

...

_That Review space is waiting!_


	11. Joining Arc 4: To Join or Not to Join

**Chapter 10: To Join or Not to Join**

"-. Tell me your motivation and I shall tell you your intentions .-"

The hound was sick and obviously in pain, but she looked at the white-haired dwarf with respect as he entered the pen. Her fur was as black as night and her eyes just as dark. Raonar looked at the creature for a time, studying her. Using 'ít' to address her would have been disrespectful if the animal really was as smart as the Kennel Master suggested. She had a strong build and sharp fangs, and the look in her eyes made it plain that she was well aware of her state and the unlikelihood of her survival. Fear, on the other hand, was not among the sensations that the exile could detect coming from her. So he slowly approached, a reassuring smile on his face making it obvious he had no intention of hurting her. She drew back a little, but allowed the dwarf to put the muzzle on her.

"Well done!" The Kennel Master praised as Raonar exited the pen. "Looks like she's feeling better already. Come to think of it, are you headed to the Wilds anytime soon?"

The ex-prince really didn't know if that was going to happen, but since the battle wasn't going to occur until the next day, he thought he may at least have a chance of going there. The human then described a flower that could actually improve the dog's chances of surviving the darkspawn blood it had ingested during one of the previous fights. He also said the dog may agree to be imprinted on the new recruit if it did manage to recover.

The former Aeducan left the kennels and intended to make his way to where Duncan and all the others had probably already gathered. It was almost noon and Alistair and Faren had gone on ahead after he told them he'd stay behind to see about helping with the mabari. As he was walking on, however, he saw an aged man, clad in massive steel plate armor, along with his escort, making his way towards one of the more opulent tents, the one right next to the King's. No doubt this was the high noble that Cailan had mentioned as he strode off earlier that morning.

First, the ex-prince went and exchanged a few words with the guard stationed at the King's own tent. The human was quite reluctant to actually talk about his majesty, but the dwarf did not refrain from practicing his silver tongue on him. When the guard caved, he revealed that the King and Teyrn Loghain had been arguing about the coming battle, and that they had even fought about the Queen. Apparently, she was Loghain's daughter and Cailan either said something or the other one did. The sentry refused to go into any details, however, and he didn't really look as though he knew much more anyway, so the dwarf noble simply left him and went for Loghain's own guard next.

"You approach the tent of Teyrn Loghain," the sentry declared, solemnly, as the prince drew near. "State your business."

Raonar stroked his beard (again) and didn't really encounter any problems with persuading the human to indulge in utterly shameless gossip. The soldier disclosed that Loghain Mac Tir was really the one in charge of battle tactics, though the King's stubbornness had supposedly made it difficult for him to actually set everything into motion as he had planned. The Teyrn also didn't share Cailan's enthusiasm with the Grey Wardens. On the other hand, he was a great hero of Ferelden and the one that helped the late King Maric wrest the country's independence from the Orlesian Empire. Eventually, the guard relented to the other one's insistence and went to get the war leader.

"Yes?" Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir let out as he quaintly walked up to the seemingly diminutive one. He had yet to take off the masterfully-crafted greatsword that was sheathed on his back and his plate armor shone in the sunlight. "Ah, you're one of Duncan's new Grey Wardens I assume."

The former Prince looked at him for a while, with his hands behind his back. Since he himself was dressed in a rather common leather jerkin, he didn't exactly appear to be in the same league as the high noble, at least not in the eyes of his escorts, if the look on their faces was anything to go by. "It's really impressive how everyone seems to know I'm one of Duncan's new recruits even before I say anything."

"The king could barely contain his excitement after meeting your group, how could I **not** know about you?" Loghain revealed, though the tone in his voice seemed to suggest he had had enough of that excitement to last him a decade.

Raonar cocked his head to the left. "I find it odd that he would be excited about that royal welcome, considering how awkward the situation turned right before he left."

"Ah, so you **are** the one newcomer he seemed to want to avoid talking about," Loghain continued as an almost undetectable air of amusement covered his face. "He said he didn't expect anyone who wasn't an old man to actually sound just like me when it came down to war. And I admit, I'm not exactly sure that's possible myself. So tell me, what exactly did you tell him that could actually give him mixed feelings about your order? Cailan's fascination with the Grey Wardens goes beyond the ordinary, and I dared not think he would actually meet a member that could even remotely make him feel out of place."

"I told him he should stop 'hoping for a war like in the tales' and that darkspawn aren't just something he can use as a leverage to enact a fantasy," the dwarf deadpanned, narrowing his eyes in a very mischievous way.

Loghain couldn't keep himself from smirking. "You were most bold, to say the least, if you said that, but I suppose you would definitely know what you spoke of, wouldn't you?" the Teyrn voiced. "You're no surface dwarf, I can see it in your eyes. It was smart of the Wardens to look for new recruits in Orzammar, since you practically spend your entire lives fighting these creatures."

That sentence struck a cord. If Loghain said that, then Cailan most likely did not mention his status as Orzammar royalty. This gave him somewhat of an advantage. According to the guard, Loghain was a commoner turned high noble, which made him far more receptive to those from all levels of society. That, and there was an image of haughtiness usually associated with born and bred royal personas that Raonar was glad not to be encumbered by for once. So he decided not to boast of being a prince at all.

"Are you aware Cailan's father brought your order back to Ferelden?" Loghain decided to inquire, though he seemed like he was trying to lead the discussion towards a specific point.

"King Maric? Indeed, I am aware of that, though I am not entirely acquainted with the reasons for them being banished in the first place."

"Maric decided it was no longer relevant," the Teyrn stated, brushing the subject aside. "Maric respected the Grey Wardens and they have an important place in the hearts of our people." The dwarf could still detect an air of forced diplomacy, even though it was plain that the noble wasn't actually resentful of the order, or he hid it well. "Still, Maric would have understood that it takes more than glory and legends to win a battle." He looked to the side. "That's not an argument I'll repeat here, however, and judging by what you just told me I may not even need to, for once."

"You could say that."

"I don't suppose you'll be riding with your fellows into the thick of battle, will you?"

The dwarf prince thought about asking him why he would want to know such a thing, but decided against it at the last minute. "I am unsure. Perhaps I shall, perhaps not. It really depends on what happens today."

"If Cailan has his way, you will," the human assured him. "Now I must return to my task. Pray that the King is amenable to wisdom, if you're the praying sort."

"What is your motivation, Loghain Mac Tir?" Raonar unexpectedly demanded to know.

Loghain almost drew back in surprise, but he wasn't at all shaken. "That's an... odd question to be asking me all of a sudden. What are my reasons for what?"

"Your reasons for whatever choices you ever decide upon. I just want to know what drives you." By now, the silver-haired dwarf had taken the same stance as the one he had during his so-called trial and was gazing directly into Loghain's eyes. For once, the one he was scrutinizing didn't even look inclined towards averting his gaze.

"Normally, people would ask what I wanted to do, and **then** ask me why," Mac Tir pointed out, though he didn't exactly try to mask the fact he was actually interested in knowing what his interrogator was getting at.

"Well, asking things in that order also gives people a chance to start looking for excuses for what they supposedly want to do, or **think** they want to do. I'm not asking you what you intend. I just want to know what you think of when you plan your moves, or when you try to reason with Cailan, or when you accept to speak to total strangers that just happen to persuade your sentry to call you out."

"Then let me ask you first," the Teyrn retorted. "Why did you become a Grey Warden? What are **your** reasons?"

Raonar's eyes glinted. "You are being evasive, even though you've been up front until now. How... interesting." He thought of waiting for a reply, but decided to continue, even though the man's eyes narrowed slightly. "It would take hours to explain it in detail. Suffice to say, it was a means to an end," he flatly rammed.

"I see." The high nobleman paused, as if considering his next words very carefully. "Most people see **becoming** a Grey Warden as their goal."

"Most of them quit or die on the way," the other one observed.

"Then I guess it's my turn to answer your question." Loghain inspected the look on Raonar's face, as if trying to gather whether he was actually eager to know or not. "Everything I have done was done to secure my country's Independence. I am the Teyrn of Gwaren and, right now, I am also the leader of Ferelden's armies. And I will do whatever it takes to protect my people, not just from monsters or foreign invaders, but from their own folly if need be."

The similarities were striking.

"Strange," the white-haired but young dwarf mused as his gaze seemed to go straight through the noble. "That's very similar to what **I** said before **my** people cast me out in the Deep Roads to die."

A silence followed. The two kept staring at each other as the Teyrn's escorts started to exchange looks between themselves. Then, suddenly Loghain turned around but shot the exile a glance.

"Come inside for a moment, if you would," he requested, his tone a mixture of severity and grim determination, decorated with slight uncertainty. Raonar agreed and followed him to his tent.

"Leave us," Mac Tir ordered the soldiers that had been keeping watch inside. They looked a bit confused at the order, but obeyed. And as they walked out, the human took his seat at the strategy table and let his eyes rest upon the maps and tactical sketches that were spread on it. For a time, he said nothing, as if considering something or wondering about what he should say next. Eventually, sometime after the guards had left, he lifted his gaze and, once again, the two men's eyes met. Raonar was leaning with his shoulder against a supporting pole, his hands hanging off his belt.

"Who are you?" the human noble flatly inquired.

The prince smiled slightly. "That's not the question you **really** want to ask me, Loghain Mac Tir."

The man finally let a sly grin show. "Indeed it isn't."

"So ask me what you really are interested in."

"How old are you?"

"I turned 22 just a short time ago," he simply informed him.

"Just 22..." Loghain looked as though he didn't exactly have an easy time believing that. "They aren't exactly easily visible, but your face is decorated with subtle lines in places where only worry and sleepless nights can leave them."

The dwarf drew his gaze away for a short while, as though he was unsure whether to say what he thought of saying. Still, he decided he would do it anyway, so he met the Teyrn's gaze once more. "Yes, in that, at least, we are alike. And you know what I would say next."

"You would say that my own brow is covered in the lines of regret."

"Deep and many lines," the white-haired one enforced, warily, his own gaze serious and almost dark.

"(sigh) Regardless, we definitely can't just stand about, counting each other's wrinkles like some crippled old men that are too old to walk on their own," the man observed quite calmly. "So tell me. You said that becoming a Warden was just a means to an end. How far would you be willing to go to achieve this end that seems so important?"

"You would ask me if I would do 'whatever it takes', wouldn't you? Even though you don't really know what kind of purpose it is."

Loghain momentarily raised both his eyebrows in confirmation.

"Then it is my turn to answer your question with one of my own," the bright-eyed individual shot back. "How far would **you** be willing to go to 'secure Ferelden's Independence,' as you so bluntly put it?"

Loghain leaned backwards against his chair, crossing his arms. "You can already guess the answer."

"Yes, that's what worries me. Then to answer your own question..." Raonar managed to catch the sight feeling of anticipation that momentarily flashed in the General's eyes. "No."

Loghain looked a bit surprised, and puzzled. "No? But becoming a Grey Warden is already a rather extreme means to an end in itself, or so some would say," he pointed out, somewhat uncertain of what the dwarf was thinking.

"Oh, make no mistake, human lord," the prince advised as he gazed at Loghain underneath his eyebrows. "I have definitely seen my own share of scheming and subterfuge. Some may even call me ruthless, at least to some extent, but there are simply some so-called 'sacrifices' that I will never, **ever** consider doing."

"Truly?" the Teyrn challenged. "Isn't that a contradiction? War, and the Blight, demands sacrifices from us all."

"Oh, I don't dispute that. But not all possible sacrifices need to be made. You see, the fact is that believing something is 'inevitable' or 'absolutely necessary' is a fallacy. A radical means is only seen as compulsory when one is unwilling or not cunning enough to find a more suitable way of achieving a certain objective."

The human army leader frowned slightly at those words, but said nothing, resolving to continue the staredown he and the dwarf had engaged in.

"Meh," the young one finally broke the silence. "It does not matter for now. Whether I am naive or not will be proven by the number of extra lines my face will acquire during the next few months, **if** I don't die in the meantime of course."

"Then let's hope neither of us ends up with too many besides the ones we already have," Mac Tir uttered, not making it clear whether he really meant it when he said 'us' or not. After that, he just let his eyes follow the young Grey Warden recruit as he gave a short bow and left the tent.

"-. Wild flowers and an ice-sculpted hibiscus have their uses .-"

The seven had been in the wilds for less than an hour when they stumbled upon a wounded human soldier practically crawling on his belly. He wasn't lethally hurt but he still seemed to have bled for a while when the Grey Warden recruits, accompanied by Alistair, found him. They bandaged him and managed to learn that his entire squad had been killed by darkspawn not too far into the woods. This meant, for the seven, that doing what they had been sent out to do would be both easier and more difficult to accomplish than they had hoped.

Duncan told them to do two things. First, they would have to gather six vials of Darkspawn blood, one for each recruit, in order to be used in the Joining. Secondly, they had to look for the ruins of an old tower and retrieve some ancient treaties that the Grey Wardens had long ago signed with several factions throughout Ferelden. If the survivor they found wasn't delusional, the blood would be easy to come by. Actually getting to the tower, on the other hand, may turn out to require more effort than they originally thought.

"Now I'm sure I don't like being in a Forest," Faren reluctantly declared after the soldier had wobbled off back to the encampment.

"That's just because you were unlucky enough that the first one you entered is actually crawling with those fiends," Theron assured him as he looked into the distance, trying to figure out which path would be the most convenient.

Raonar glanced at his companions for a moment. 21-year-old Gwen was by far the best equipped of them all. She proudly wore her royal armor, a set of silverite heavy chain mail, and carried a large enchanted greatsword on her back, made from the same metal. It appeared as though she was eager to vent a great deal of anger at the monsters.

Kallian, on the other hand, looked a bit nervous. Granted, she was the youngest in the group (she had turned 18 only a month ago), and she had never even seen a darkspawn before, except maybe the corpse that the drill sergeant was showing off to his trainees back in Ostagar. Alistair (23) had a slight scowl on his face, though he didn't seem overly alarmed since he was the only one who could actually tell where the darkspawn were. According to him, they weren't close enough to pick up their presence. As for the other four, they had each already fought their share of monsters and were actually more interested in getting things over with as soon as possible.

At least they didn't have to worry about being taken by surprise. Darkspawn weren't exactly known for being ambushers and even if genlocks did decide to sneak up on them, the future Wardens weren't exactly dressed in rags. The dwarf prince was again wearing his veridium coat of plates and had his two swords on his back, along with his shield, and his two steel daggers rested on his side. His now replenished potion pouch was tightly fastened to his left leg and he had put on the Champion's Helm that Frandlin Ivo had sent him. Mostly, he was ready for anything.

Faren was clad in a new suit of reinforced studded leather that he had managed to buy from the quartermaster, and his chain-linked daggers were set and ready to begin Operation: "Skewer everything in sight that moves and has a moldy-green-ish color". Also, a special pack on his right leg held about 20 throwing knives, while another one, hanging on the back side of his waist belt, carried his own supply of health poultices. He definitely looked more intimidating than any dwarf of almost 19 years would.

Kallian was also wearing a set of sturdy leather armor and her hand rested on the hilt of the curved sword, whose scabbard was fastened to her left hip. She also carried a number of throwing knives in a holster on her left forearm, and had a potion pouch on her leg, just like everyone else (except the mage who just had a pack hanging on his side). As for Theron (20) and Alim (also 20), they were equipped the same way they had carried themselves ever since they had first been recruited.

After the business with the injured soldier was over and done with, they went on their way. Alistair was able to sense where the bigger pockets of darkspawn were located and, based on his indications, Theron succeeded in leading the party around them. The elf even managed to find one of those Wild Flowers that Raonar had expressed the desire to seek out. Eventually, however, they reached a lake that had somehow come to be on the sight of some old ruins, and the paths seemed to have been beaten recently. Alistair confirmed that some darkspawn were up ahead, just beyond the small wooden bridge that led over a small stream.

Theron let himself disappear amongst the foliage and slowly made his way through the trees until he was just out of sight of the pocket of monsters. He was able to discern that they weren't too many to handle, at least not if they weren't any better than the darkspawn he had faced in the Brecilian Woods. On the other hand, there appeared to be a hurlock emissary among the creatures, and this, at the very least, made things slightly more complicated. The Dalish Elf hid behind a tree, readied a shot and waited for the others to make their move.

Meanwhile, Faren and Kallian had hidden behind some ancient wall patches that still stood at their end of the bridge, while Raonar and Alistair had taken their shields out and were getting ready to charge. Gwen and her hound, Damon, were waiting to the side, their job being to take down whatever spawn managed to get through the others. Alim stood some distance back, but his staff was already in the process of gathering arcane energies.

"Now then," Raonar uttered, throwing Alistair a side glance, as he drew out one of the daggers that hung off his side. "I'm not exactly an accurate shot from this distance, but this should grab their attention." He charged forward, and after a few paces, threw the knife straight at the hurlock that was nearest. It sunk into its shoulder.

The creature let out a hideous growl and alerted his 'fellow' darkspawn, which quite obligingly charged the human and the dwarf.

Alistair shield bashed the first one that crossed the wooden bridge, knocking it on its back. The next moment, the dwarf prince managed to take advantage of his own small height and slip past the human, quaintly driving Gorim's Sword through the chest of the genlock that came right from behind the other spawn. He then smashed his own round shield into the creature's face, eliminating it. By then, the Alistair had managed to finish off his own target, but was about to be overwhelmed by four more hurlocks that had managed to run to the scene.

He didn't have time to engage them, however, as one of Alim's spells disoriented them. Then, their necks of two of them were grappled by Faren's chained daggers. The hurlocks were pulled backwards and both fell on their backs, at which point Kallian drove her sword through one's mouth as it lay face-up. Gwen skillfully decapitated the other one, allowing Faren to easily pull back his weapons. In the meantime, Alistair had stylishly removed the threat of another, with a pirouette no less, and the last one had just stopped breathing as the white-haired dwarf's plated boot crushed its neck as it lay on the ground.

"Fireball!" Alistair cried out as he lunged himself to the side, just before the Emissary's spell reached them and exploded. Kallian managed to evade in time, but Raonar, even though he put his shield between himself and the magical projectile, took it head-on and was readily thrown to his back. Faren didn't seem to be affected at all, however, so he simply jumped out of his hiding place and, within a split second, took out one of his throwing knives and had it fly straight into the spellcaster's right eye.

The creature writhed in pain, a horrible sound like that of dying rabbits. Fortunately for everyone, its suffering didn't last long, as an arrow promptly drove straight through its skull, causing it to plummet, lifeless. The next second, another arrow struck down a genlock archer that had come into view on the far side of the bridge. And just another second later, another arrow flew straight into the distance, fading into the fog. A gurgling noise filled the air, after which another creature was heard collapsing to the ground.

The Dalish elf finally came out from amidst the eerie vegetation, now that all the enemies had been defeated, at least for now. Raonar was dusting off his armor, the blood on it having been vaporized by the flames, and didn't seem to have been noticeably injured since he was armored head to toe.

"Thanks," the prince said as Faren handed him his throwing knife. He then noticed the others staring. "What? So I was the only one to fall to the ground, big deal." His voice was candid and not at all sarcastic or grumpy.

"I think I'm glad I skipped lunch," Kallian stated as she covered her mouth with her fingertips. "I never thought I'd meet something that's more grotesque when alive then as a corpse."

"You didn't seem to have any problems fighting them though," Faren noted.

"These creatures should be able to provide the blood we need," Gwenith asserted. She then leaned next to the nearest corpse and took out an empty vial that had been specially prepared for the task. "So how far are we from that ancient tower where the treaties are supposed to be?"

"I **think** the tower, or what's left of it, is a couple of leagues west of here," Alistair told her as he filled one of the other vials.

"What is this blood for anyway?" Kalian inquired with no small amount of curiosity mixed with slight concern. "I do hope his Joining isn't some sort of strange practice where we paint ourselves in blood and the others dance around us in strange patterns. That would be too much like the odd things my cousin got into whenever she drank more than she should..." She noticed the red-haired dwarf's explicit gaze, as if he had seen his own share of such situations. "Don't ask..."

Faren gave an uncomfortable scoff. "That's a... really disturbing mental image you conjured up for me right there..."

"I already told you," the ex-templar evaded. "Don't worry about it, it'll just... distract you."

"Hmmm..." Alim was not entirely impressed with how Alistair kept evading the question and had already begun to consider the possibility of blood magic, though he did admit to himself that being a Blood Mage may have given him a slight amount of paranoia.

"Alright, this should be enough," Gwenith declared as she got back to her feet. "We have the blood, now all we need is those treaties and we can get out of this dank marsh..."

"It's not a marsh, it's a forest," Theron corrected her, slightly annoyed, causing her to narrow her eyes in aggravation. "And it's not dank. Honestly, you humans don't know anything."

"Yes yes..." the human lady waved him off, "Dalish and their preachy sermons about nature. Typical."

Theron opened his mouth to retort, but the white-haired dwarf cut him off. "Right! Now before we get all so completely carried away and start killing each other out of pure and utterly retarded racism, maybe we should get going?"

Gwen and Theron glared at him for indirectly calling them both stupid, but didn't exactly get the chance to say anything more because Raonar simply strode off.

"Well?" he asked as he stopped in his tracks some twenty paces away from them. "Are you coming or not?"

Faren shook his shoulders at the others and just followed after him. Soon enough, the others decided not to press the issue and also resumed their journey. Unfortunately, it wasn't going to be a cakewalk, as they had to dispatch several groups of stragglers on the way. Gwen finally got some real workout and enjoyed cutting like a scythe through the monsters, and Damon gave out an excited bark whenever he managed to chew through the face of one.

Kallian finally got used to that repulsive physiology. Also, when he wasn't causing creatures to freeze or burst into flames, Alim would take one of the vials of blood and critically inspect it, causing it to float in mid air as he caused small waves of arcane energy to pass through it. He wouldn't even answer when asked what he was looking for.

Eventually, they reached the top of the hill where Alistair had said he could feel multiple darkspawn and that they were getting killed off by something, since the presence was gradually fading. Theron went to investigate, obscured by the vegetation, and found that a pack of wolves had engaged what looked like half a dozen hurlocks. He was at once enraged at how the animals were being cut down that he didn't even wait for the others to catch up.

The Dalish struck all the tainted creatures down, one by one dying to an arrow through their throats, and the last one fell just before striking the killing blow against the last wolf still alive enough to move. The rest of the group caught up to the hunter as he knelt next to the proud animal, now lying on the ground, dying a slow death.

"Abelas, brother of the wood," Raonar heard him whisper as he drew near. "Shue shah tauthau toetoi thuet (I do not want to kill you), but it's either this or letting you die a slow and agonizing end from the blood you swallowed," he added, taking out his small knife.

"That wolf doesn't look to be critically injured," the dwarf Prince advised, somewhat confused, as he noticed the hunter getting ready to slit the animal's throat. "It's not bleeding much from anywhere. So what's wrong with it?"

Theron glanced at him. "He swallowed darkspawn blood as he and his pack fought these fiends. Any other animal would be already dead, but Alpha males are stronger than most."

"I see..." The bright-eyed one twirled his moustache around his index finger. "Can you talk to it?"

The others eyed each other, the skepticism obvious on their faces.

"My people have a way of communicating with some of the more intelligent denizens of the forest," Theron let the others know, his eyes resting on the sharp blade that had not yet sunk into the wolf's neck. "This one would welcome its end now, I think, instead of having to writhe in pain for a day before finally passing into the Beyond."

"What about this Wilds Flower," the other one suddenly suggested as he took the plant out of his pack. "That kennel master said it would help cure that mabari back in camp. You think you can use it on this one?"

The elf drew his knife away from the animal, the latter letting out a short, pained whine, only barely being able to move its head, trying to look at the Dalish. "I suppose it might work," Theron hypothesized, looking suddenly hopeful "But it would take at least half an hour to prepare the ointment, and at least another hour to see if there are any results." He wasn't sure the others would be willing to wait that long.

"That's fine," the dwarf noble impassively declared. Then, he looked at the other with a very suggestive scowl on his face. "**Isn't **it."

The other soon-to-be-wardens, and Alistair, looked at each other for a moment. "I suppose we **could** use a little pause," the Junior Warden conceded as he let himself be stared down by the cyan-eyed individual. Theron immediately started to work on the cure.

Gwen scoffed. "Fine, we'll stay take a break here. I was looking for an opportunity to clean this blood off my armor anyway. Come Damon." She walked away a bit, after which she sat on a nearby log and waited as her hound started to put its slobber to good use and resolve the gory mess problem.

Now that they had some time on their hands, the seven men and women finally had a chance to actually get better acquainted with each other. Granted, not **all** of them were as willing, Alim least of all, since he was more interested in further studying the darkspawn blood. He leaned against a tree some way off and once again started to send strange energies through the levitating vial. Meanwhile, Kallian had sat down near the top of the hill, in order to have a good view of things, since she actually did like the forest.

She remembered how she had considered escaping Denerim and looking for the Dalish just to avoid the arranged marriage that ended in disaster anyway. She looked melancholic for a moment and twisted the gold ring on her finger, just as the tattooed red-haired short one took his place more or less close to her. She let her chin rest on her palm.

"So, I suppose asking you what the deal with that ring is would be too straightforward, right?"

The city elf gave him a sideway glance. "Why does it interest you?" she asked him with an inconspicuous look on her face.

"I just want to know my chances," Faren deadpanned.

Kallian couldn't help herself but stare at the dwarf in surprise. "Your chances..."

"Sorry," he petitioned, looking rather flustered himself but still managing to keep his cool well enough to twist the situation around. "I've only been on the surface for less than two weeks so I still don't know what classifies as humor up here."

The elven lass chuckled slightly, but couldn't decide which of the two statements the dwarf was actually serious about. As such, in order to figure it out, she indulged his question. "It's from Nelaros... My betrothed."

Faren drew his gaze away, a hint of resignation coloring his brow. "Ah... I see..."

"He's dead now," she rammed, the dwarf flinching in slight shock at having been told that so suddenly. "He was killed by some humans just before I was conscripted into the Grey Wardens."

The dwarf was silent for a time. "I'm sorry..." he eventually uttered, unsure of what else he could possible say after hearing something like that. After about five minutes of dead silence, however, he couldn't help but ask. "So... what happened to the humans?"

Kallian momentarily looked away, frowning. "I killed all of them," she blurted, without even a hint of remorse in her voice. "The servants probably haven't finished washing their blood off the walls and floors of that damnable estate."

The castless rogue was especially intrigued by the word estate, and then the details clicked into place. Some noble or another had tried to take advantage of the fact she, and probably her betrothed as well, were 'mere' elves. He was somewhat sad at how he wasn't altogether surprised by the fact that human 'nobles' have their own 'castless' to persecute. He only wondered if this Denerim city had a walled-off section or another like Orzammar had Dust Town, because then he'd be quite concerned about the moral standing of Ferelden in comparison to his so-called home city.

"Some noble tried to do something didn't he..." the red-haired brand hypothesized, a tint of scorn in his voice that the elven lass readily picked up on.

"He didn't just try," she retorted, her tone full of disdain.

Faren looked horrified for a moment, after which he looked straight at her. "That's... you can't mean... He actually managed to-"

"Not me," she immediately assured him, more than a little disgusted by the thought herself. She stopped herself from saying anything more, however, and Faren decided he wouldn't press the issue and cause her any unnecessary grief by making her relive those quite recent events.

"Sorry I brought it up..." he humbly apologized as he got to his feet.

"Yeah..." Kallian wasn't really paying attention anymore, instead looking as though she had lost herself in a bad memory she was now trying to shake off.

The duster felt incredibly stupid as he walked off. He regretted not steering the discussion in a more pleasant direction. He was also a bit angry at how things didn't seem to be all that different on the surface compared to where he had come from, except for all the extra space of course. Thus, he was quite eager to relieve some of his frustration, and was considering using the nearest tree as target practice. He didn't get the chance to put his plans into motion, however, as he noticed their 'supervisor' coming from behind.

"Hey... Faren Broska right?" Alistair cautiously inquired as the red-haired one twisted around on his heels, one of his eyebrows lifted. "Can I ask you something?"

Faren was a tad bit surprised at all the attention he was getting, and had started to enjoy having people, not just his older sister, actually being nice to him for a change. "Sure man, what's up?" He also hoped the conversation would help him put the previous one out of his mind.

"It's about that guy..." the Junior Grey Warden hesitantly began as he pointed at the white-haired individual. The prince was sitting in a lotus position on top of the boulder on the very highest point of the hill they were on, and his eyes were closed.

The rogue almost shrugged at that sentence. "_Of __**course**__ it would be about him,"_ he thought to himself, almost laughing at how predictable that was, though he didn't really mind since he was more of a "stay out of sight" type. "What about him? Did he do something absolutely insane again?"

"Maker, I hope not!" Alistair let out, alarmed somewhat. "I just wanted to ask you what you meant earlier, when you said that thing about his two brothers wanting him dead."

"Ah, **that**..." The duster was unsure of whether or not he should freely lay out the entire deal before the human. After all, Raonar had made a point of covering everything up and would probably be most content with having everyone, from Orzammar or elsewhere, know as little about it as possible, at least for now. "It's complicated... And it's not my place to say. Really, you should ask him."

Alistair scratched his head. "I was afraid you'd say that..." He looked stricken.

"Really man, he's not going to bite..."

"Yes, but..." the ex-templar had a very awkward look on his face, "He's creepy."

Faren couldn't help but smirk at that, though he did admit that the prince did at least look unusual. On the other hand, it wasn't like Alistair had seen that many dwarves and he may not have come to consider silver-white hair and eyes as very big anomalies. That said, there was probably something else that bothered the human. "Why do you say that?"

"Well, I don't rightly know... Some people are just creepy, you know?"

Faren decided not to tell the human how completely ridiculous he sounded. "Okay... Anyway, didn't Duncan tell you anything about us? Or at least send word ahead?"

"He did, actually, but he didn't go into details about who you all were. He just said you were all very skilled, which actually surprised me, come to think of it. He doesn't impress easily."

"Anyway, just go and ask him if you're curious," the dwarf said as he impassively waved him off, only slightly hearing him give out a sigh.

Alistair waited for a time, not sure of how to approach the meditating one. He actually couldn't begin to understand just what he was doing. He didn't get enough of a chance to figure it out however, as he was snapped back into awareness by a prod.

"Hey, human!" Alim vociferated in his ear, causing him to jump out of his skin. What startled the human even more, however, was that the mage's irises were not visible, since his eyes actually shone a bright light blue. The elf then turned his gaze towards the dwarf noble. "You are, or at least were, a templar right?"

"Yes, I was..." Mostly, Alistair was just trying to make sure he didn't get turned into anything unnatural, though the vapors apparently coming out of the other one's eyes didn't do much to reassure him.

"That's why you find him creepy. His entire body has an odd effect on magic and its being picked up by your sixth sense, underdeveloped though it is."

The Grey Warden chose to ignore the blatant sarcasm. "What is that supposed to mean? And how can you tell?"

Alim pointed at his own glowing eyes. "This is a spell I developed over the past few days. it's meant to actually let me much more easily "see" places where the veil is thin. You could call it a spell of true seeing. Basically, our dwarven friend is keeping something from us, something that would explain his apparent connection to the Fade. That's what's giving you that odd feeling."

"Oh... So that's it..."

"Anyway," the pointy-eared one broke him off, "that's not why I came here. I actually came to tell you that we'll need an extra vial of blood. The one I was inspecting disintegrated ever so tragically. Shame really." He then walked off, not even bothering to look at how incredibly aggravated the junior member of the order had become.

As time dragged on, Alistair predictably went over to where Gwen was playing with her dog and got into a conversation with her. Oddly enough, he was actually feeling a bit out of place, considering that lady Cousland was the only other human there besides him. The others just seemed to go on about their business until, finally, the wolf was heard giving out some distinctive snorts, following by some low snarls.

"So, I'm guessing it worked?" the city elf asked as she was the first to arrive on the scene.

The wolf seemed to be feeling better but he was still a wild animal, so Kallian was reluctant to get too close, though Theron was stroking its fur rather familiarly. "Yes, it seems this one is going to be fine. It's fortunate that he only ingested a bit of the blood and that we found him relatively quickly. He should be immune now." he then tied up some last bandages on the proud animal and massaged him on the top of the head. Finally, the creature was well enough to get to its feet.

"You know, I'm rather surprised no darkspawn showed up while we waited here," Gwenith perceived, giving Alistair an explicit glance. "Anyway, now that that beast is fine, we can finally be on our way, yes?"

"It's starting to get dark too," Faren observed. Normally he wouldn't have a problem with low lighting conditions, but he'd rather not be caught in the middle of a darkspawn wilderness at night.

The seven finally resumed their search for the tower, leaving the wolf to recover on its own. Eventually, they found the mound on top of which the ancient structure they were looking for was located. It was incredibly worn over by time of course, but the large group of darkspawn wondering about it definitely weren't. And unlike before, the future Grey Wardens didn't have time to set up a battle plan because, despite Alistair's cautiousness, the spawn somehow picked up their presence.

They were swarmed. Alistair and Raonar managed to take out their shields just in time to block the arrow shots that flew straight at them, but they had to press their backs against each other as they were soon surrounded on all sides. Faren managed to use his chained knives to grapple onto the throats of a pair of genlocks that attacked the shield bearers. This gave the others some leeway, and as they fought their attackers, the dwarf rogue instantly pulled his weapons back, the throats of his targets slitting in the process.

"How did they notice us so quickly?" Gwen shouted as she did a turn and sunk her great blade into the gut of a monster whose leg had become quite acquainted with her mabari's fangs.

The templar managed to pummel a creature into the ground and drive his sword through its throat. "Be careful! There's probably a particularly intelligent darkspawn around here!" He didn't have time to elaborate as his splint mail failed to completely absorb the swing that cut him across the back. "Gah! Maker's sword!" He turned around and bashed the genlock, pushing him straight into Kallian's blade. She had managed to come up from behind after Alim had used a spell of sleep on the group of archers. Meanwhile, the dwarf prince had killed off the other two and noticed another three advancing on the mage.

"Alistair, Kallian, go back him up!" he yelled as he pointed towards the elven mage.

The two realized that was probably a good idea so they consented and ran towards the scene. The white-haired one managed to block another stray arrow and saw that Faren had finally gotten to where the now awake attacking archers were and was about to finish them off. Gwen also seemed to be in control of her own situation. Since she wasn't clustered with any allies, she could freely swing her large weapon and it was obvious she was used to using it while fighting alongside her war hound. Damon pinned a spawn by biting onto its leg, and the human lady, only slightly injured herself, performed a double sweep that mangled her target along with the other one whose head was unfortunate enough to intersect with the sword's trajectory.

Alim used a cone of cold on the three assailants that had charged him, but one of them managed to resist the effect and tried to thrust its dagger into the elf's abdomen. The blow didn't connect, however, as Kallian appeared next to it and, now that she had finally managed to shake off her disgust, decided to fight without holding back. As her right hand held onto her sword, her left grabbed onto the wrist of the creature. Then she side-stepped, twisting the tainted arm to the monster's back, and kicked it behind its knees, causing it to fall on its belly. The next instant, she passed her curved blade across the back of its neck, cutting straight through its spine. Alistair was able to shatter one of the others, just as Kallian backstabbed the third one to death.

"There's an emissary further up on the hill!" Theron informed an approaching Raonar, even as he skillfully killed the nearest enemy with a precise neck stab. He still held his bow in his left hand and the knife in his right had a hilt small enough that the hunter only needed his thumb, ring and pinky fingers to hold it. This meant he could be armed for close-combat even as he had no trouble drawing his bowstring. He did just that, and his arrow fell the first hurlock that appeared from behind the trees on the right.

"More are coming," he observed as another arrow was getting ready for the kill.

"Cover me," the prince demanded. "I'll charge those if you can make sure no archers live long enough to shoot me."

"Ma nuvenin."

The dwarf did just that and he could only hope he would survive against the full set of seven until Alistair and the others decided to join in on the fun. He was able to block the worst hits and the veridium coat of plates managed to absorb most of the other damage, but he could feel his arms and back gather subtle cuts and bruises. Finally, just as he killed the second critter and was starting to feel his breath getting heavy, he managed to catch a distinctly sharp, womanly voice screaming "Duck!"

He let himself fall to the ground as Gwenith's massive sweeping strike knocked the other five off their feet, even killing three. Then, Alistair and Kallian, who had finally gotten back, finished off the rest.

The female elf cried out in pain as an arrow sunk into her side from behind. The others didn't get a chance to do anything, however, as a fireball descended upon them, knocking all of them on their backs.

"Bronto shit!" Faren let out as his lyrium folded dagger flew through the air and struck down the one whose arrow had hit the city elf. He instantly yanked it back by its chain and used the blade on the other end to seize another one by the feet. He heaved with all his might and caused it to fall on its back. Then, he just charged forward and drove the other dagger straight through its face.

"Whoa... everything is spinning..." the prince thought out loud as his senses returned. he noticed Faren killing he last hurlock and advancing on the emissary, which was a very good idea considering his resistance to magic. He couldn't restore his complete grasp of the situation, however, as he just barely managed to roll to the side and avoid a huge war axe from splitting his skull in half. "Great, a Hurlock Vanguard." He managed to jump to his feet and took as firm a battle stance as he could, knowing this enemy was going to require all of his attention.

Unfortunately, as the darkspawn elite and the white-haired noble clashed, Alistair found himself once again surrounded. His shield and sword had been knocked out of his hands when the emissary's spell exploded in their faces. Kallian didn't look like she was going to be much help in the fight anymore, which was bad as it meant that the former Templar had to fight them with his bare hands, bruised and burnt as they were.

As it turns out, however, he didn't need to. One of them was frozen solid by a spell of WInter's Grasp and, much to the human's astonishment, the other two hacked it to pieces, just before beginning to fight each other. The junior Grey Warden looked around, finally catching sight of the mage and staring at him in disbelief. He had his hand outstretched and a myriad of drops of blood floating around his fingertips.

"You... You're a blood mage?" The shock was apparently big enough that the grey Warden forgot he was in the middle of a fight.

Alim waved his other hand, subtle energies of the fade swirling around it, and telekinetically lifted a boulder into the air, after which said rock flew straight at the human. Alistair tried to duck, but the stone projectile was too fast. Fortunately, it only lightly winced him as it crushed into the thorax of the one mind-controlled hurlock that was still alive.

"We can deal with that revelation later!" Gwen shouted at him as she managed to retrieve her own weapon. She then ran to Kallian's side and inspected the arrow, leaving the last enemies to the others. Alim joined her in trying to heal the elf, while Alistair went to retrieve his own sword and shield.

"This should leave just the spellcaster and that really fearsome one," Theron assessed as he slit the throat of a stray genlock that had gotten too close to him. He thought of assisting one of the dwarves but decided, instead, to attend to the cut that his right foreram had gotten.

Blades crossed multiple times but neither Raonar nor the elite Vanguard actually managed to land a clean hit. The creature tried to slam his shield into the dwarf's face, but the other let his own targe collide with it. The recruit then followed up with a thrust and missed the enemy's neck by a very short margin. This let the darkspawn counter with a few quick strikes that still didn't manage to put the other one on the defensive. Eventually, the dwarf prince lowered his guard on purpose in order to goad the vanguard into charging him. It worked, as the monster attempted to pummel him. So the prince side-stepped, cut it behind the knees as it slipped past him and then drove Gorim's Sword through its back after it fell on its face.

Blood sprayed all over as the warrior mercilessly twisted the weapon, completely mangling the darkspawn's internal organs and spine. He then looked over to where Faren and the emissary were fighting, only to be pleasantly surprised at seeing that the red-haired one had just finished it off.

Apparently, the dwarf rogue had delivered the final blow with his bare hands. When he took on the monster, it tried to magically fill him with dread. Faren simply shrugged the spell off, however, and threw one of his throwing knives into its legs, then did the same to the other, to prevent it from running around. When it tried to gather some more magical power, the dwarf threw one of his chained knives and used it as a hook to pull the corrupted staff out of its grasp. He immediately threw another pair of knives, one for each of the beast's palms, to ensure that no further magic would be summoned. Finally, Faren again lunged his blade forward, the chain grappling onto the emissary's ankles. It was thrown on is back and dragged towards the soon-to-be warden.

The dwarf simply grabbed onto the creature's head and twisted its neck, finally putting a stop to its agonizing screeches.

"Is she okay?" the rogue inquired with unmasked concern as he ran over to where all the others had gathered.

Kalian groaned. "Brilliant, how dreadfully unlady-like to be the only one to fall in battle."

Alim gestured at Gwen, who was carefully putting pressure on the wound while making sure the arrow didn't sink any deeper. "I'll use my magic to preserve her blood flow. You pull that thing out when I tell you," he said.

"Your **blood** magic you mean!" Alistair snapped.

"Oh get over yourself templar!" the elf snapped back. "This ever so horrible blood magic just saved your life." He gathered arcane power in his palm and let it course through Kallian's body. "Now shut up and let me work."

Everyone was amazed at how the young elf was able to restrain herself from screaming as Gwen pulled the arrow out of her. True to Alim's word, the blood didn't spill out.

"Now, one of you help her drink down a health poultice," the mage ordered. Faren was quick to offer one of his own, and Kallian readily drunk it down. The wound closed off and Gwen shot Alistair a discouraging glance before the latter had any chance of protesting about blood magic any further.

The others drank one or two potions themselves, depending on how beaten up they were. Raonar and Alistair had somehow seen the worst of it, not counting Kallian, while Alim himself had managed to come out completely unharmed. Faren was only a little bruised, and Theron's minor cut had already mended almost completely. Gwenith had also sustained only minor damage and she gave her hound a mabari crunch, to help him get his energy back.

"I can't believe it!" Alistair had still not gotten over the shock. "You're an apostate! A blood mage! Does Duncan even know?"

The mage scoffed. "Of course he does, he's not nearly as dim-witted as you. The fact that I'm a blood mage is **exactly** why he recruited me."

The templar gasped in disbelief. "I can't believe it... Duncan would never-"

"Oh come now, Alistair, Grey Wardens do what they must, right? And I promise I won't mind-control you into putting on a dress and dancing the Remigold unless it's absolutely necessary," Alim deadpanned.

"We can talk about this on the way back," the dwarf prince suggested as he sheathed his weapons and wiped the last drops of blood off his face. "We're here now, so let's just get the treaties and get going.

The others agreed, since they were all a bit too tired to indulge in a debate about the morality of blood magic. After they got another vial of blood, to replace the one Alim had ruined, they headed to the 'inside' of what was once a tower, though it was overgrown. The mage and Theron waited near the 'entrance'. In the middle of what was left of the building was a broken chest that Faren went to investigate. There was nothing inside.

"Well well!" a condescending but clear, suave womanly voice was suddenly heard from the higher end of the stone ramp on the right. "What have we here?"

The soon-to-be wardens turned their gazes towards the source of the voice and their eyes met a woman, dressed in odd-looking robes that seemed to be made of patches of fur and leathers. Her attire definitely didn't do its best to obscure her features, and this only augmented the air of "beauty with thorns" that she had about her.

She tactfully started to walk down the ramp, with calculated, light steps. "Are you a pack of vultures? Poking amidst a corpse whose bones have long since cleaned? Or merely intruders, come to these darkspawn-filled wilds of mine in search of easy prey?" She stopped, looking at each of them in turn an crossing her arms. "Speak quickly," she advised.

"Intruders?" Theron challenged. "How interesting that a human would speak as though it owned these forests," he chided.

The woman chuckled slyly at the remark. "Ah, but I know them as only one that owns them could," she stated, quite smugly. "I have watched your progress for some time," she then went on to saying, walking up to one of the larger patches of wall. "Where do they go, I wondered, **why** are they here."

"You know, maybe I'm just guessing, but I think she might be a Witch of the wilds," Kallian hypothesized. "Stories speak about them..."

"Witch of the wilds!" the woman exclaimed. "Such idle fancies, those legends. Have you no minds of your own? Are we to simply stare at each other and suspect things now? Is none of you going to introduce themselves? Tell me your names and I shall tell you mine."

"Don't answer her," Alsitair cautioned in a low voice. "She looks Chasind, and that means others might be nearb-"

"Oh! You fear **barbarians** will **swoop** **down** upon you," the dark-haired one sarcastically uttered.

The templar narrowed his eyes at her. "Yes. Swooping. Is. **Bad**."

Raonar looked at the woman for a while, and she eventually returned his gaze. That was when he noticed her unusual eye color, like a sort of yellow that one wouldn't expect to see very often, especially not in a human. "Not to be a prude or anything," the silver-haired, bright-eyed dwarf began as he twirled his moustache, "But I make it a point to not easily introduce myself to people with unusual pigmentations."

The new arrival raised an eyebrow at him. "Unusual pigmentations? And what does that mean? My skin did not turn green when I wasn't looking, did it?"

"I meant your eyes," the dwarf clarified, even as the others looked at each other with a measure of confusion. Hearing something like that from him was definitely odd.

"Tis strange that you would be the one to talk of unusual eye colors," she shot back with an air of feigned confusion.

"That's **exactly** why I can afford to say something like that," he enforced, narrowing his eyes in a very detective-ish manner.

"Fine, fine!" she let out as she waved him off. "If you prefer, I shall simply leave you to uselessly moan and wail as you fail to find what you are looking for." She turned to leave, or looked as though she wanted to, but almost hit against Alim Surana who had somehow walked up right behind her. She was a bit surprised at not having heard him get so close to her.

"Come now," the elf slyly began as he gave her a shrewd smile. "Do not let our crude friend discourage you, gentle beauty of the wilds." He lifted his hand, a small stream of blood flowing out of his fingers. "My name is Alim Surana," he continued as a sprout seemed to grow out of the cut on his hand. The blood rose and took an intricate shape, that of a bud that bloomed, even as ice magically formed around and throughout it, until it finally materialized in the shape of a perfect hibiscus. "A pleasure to meet you," he added as he offered it to her.

Much to everyone's amusement, the woman was so surprised that she managed to gather her wits only after the ruby-colored icy rose had made its way into her grasp. "Why... that **is** a proper, civil greeting. Even here in the wilds. **You** may call me Morrigan."

"Creepy..." Alistair couldn't stop himself from saying.

Morrigan looked at the sculpture for a while, then let it disappear inside an unseen pocket in her robes. "Shall I guess your purpose?" she uttered after she regained her train of thought. "You sought something in that chest? Something that is here no longer?"

"Here no longer?" the templar apprehensively let out. "You stole them didn't you! You're some kind of... sneaky... witch thief!"

"How very eloquent! How does one steal from dead men?'

"Quite easily, it seems," the human Grey Warden pressed. "Those documents are Grey Warden property and I **suggest** you return them."

The supposed witch frowned, but impassively retorted. "I will not, for 'twas not I who removed them. Invoke a name that means nothing here any longer if you wish. I am not threatened."

"Well, since you so obviously know who it was, are you going to tell us or not?" the dwarf prince asked, feigning impatience.

"'Twas my mother, in fact."

"Your mother?" the red-haired dwarf blurted.

"Yes, my **mother**," Morrigan enforced, slightly peeved, as she walked of and leaned against a column. "What, did you assume I spawned from a log?"

"A thieving, weird-talking log perhaps," the templar hypothesized in annoyance.

Meanwhile, Gwen had become rather aggravated with the constant games. "Wonderful. Are we going to just stand here and talk each other's ears off?"

Morrigan let an indignant scoff slip. "If you **wish**, I will take you to my mother. 'Tis not far and you can ask her for your treaties if you like..."

"Right... And why would you just come out and help us, pray tell," Kallian pried, not bothering to conceal her suspicions.

"Why not? I do not meet many people here. Are you **all** so mistrustful?"

"We **should** get those treaties," Alistair conceded, quite reluctantly, "but I dislike this... Morrigan's sudden appearance. It's too convenient."

"Tell me about it," Raonar agreed, though he looked quite intrigued.

"I say we go with her," Alim suggested as he walked up to the others.

"Follow me then, if it pleases you."

"-. Old women that live in the middle of darkspawn-filled wilds and still choose to be completely obvious about their feigned mental instability are definitely hiding something .-"

"Greetings, mother," Morrigan formally spoke as the group finally reached what looked like an old hut. "I bring before you seven Grey Warden who-"

"I see them girl," she cut her off. By all accounts, she looked like any old human woman and even her clothes were totally common, some may say overly so. "Hmm, much as I expected."

Alistair scoffed. "Are we supposed to believe you were expecting us?"

"You are required to do nothing, least of all **believe**," the old woman slammed. "Shut one's arms tight or open one's arms wide, either way, one's a fool."

"Unless one is actually faking it for some ulterior motive," the dwarf prince pointed out, getting a pair of raised grey eyebrows in response.

"You know, I definitely question the trustworthiness of an old woman that has no trouble living in savage wilds, especially infested with darkspawn," the city elf cautioned. "More so one that spouts weird saying with the express intention of confusing the living daylights out of everyone."

"And yet you just followed my so-called advice to the letter," Morrigan's supposed mother joked.

"Yes, I too am quite interested in how this woman can be so carefree," Theron cautiously declared.

She shrugged slightly. "And who says I'm carefree, hm? Be careful not to assume too many things, young man, unless you want to get very familiar with disappointment."

Gwenith definitely didn't enjoy all these pointless exchanges, and she was also a bit worried at how Damon was growling at the old woman. "I thought school mistresses were preachy, but I think crazy school mistress that lives in the middle of nowhere just overtook it in terms of potential for instilling aggravation."

Morrigan's mother let out an amused chuckle. "I'm rather flattered that you'd think me a school mistress, I didn't realize my humble hut had the allure of such an auspicious institution." The woman then eyed Alim, only just catching him as the light blue light in his eyes receded. He was staring at her, frowning.

"And what of you? Whatever would make you stay to the side and scowl at me so? Is my wrinkled skin too much to take for your young, inexperienced eyes?"

Alim said nothing.

"Hm! Stare then, if that is your wish. And what of this one?" she asked as her gaze took Faren into view. The dwarf just looked up at her with an air of calm mistrust. "Probably one that chooses to say less than he would like, believing he may not be altogether relevant to the larger scheme of things." She noticed how the red-haired one didn't even flinch under her stare. "Ah, but it is not I who decides. Believe what you will."

"And what of you?" she continued as she took a few steps towards the other dwarf present. "Do you, perhaps, have a different viewpoint? Or do you believe like these others do?"

Raonar put his arms behind his back. "Setting aside the fact that my **beliefs **lose out to logic and proven facts in terms of their potential to affect my decision... I'm not quite sure I want to form an opinion about you just yet. Inconspicuous people usually turn out to be more than they seem, but they don't always prove to be so, and I'd like to not develop a paranoia about things like this just yet."

"I see. That's a slightly more elaborate answer than I expected, though I suppose one should expect the unexpected as much as he expects the obvious. Be always aware... or is it oblivious, I can never remember." She then seemed to scrutinize the white-haired one. "So much of you is uncertain, and yet **I** believe. Why, do I? Ah, it seems I do."

Alistair couldn't contain his grin anymore. "So **this** is a dreaded witch of the wilds..."

"Witch of the Wilds, eh?" the old woman cut him off, her tone becoming very amused. "Morrigan must have told you that, she fancies such tales, though she would never admit it. Oh, how she dances under the moon!"

Morrigan herself was scratching her own forehead, doing her best to stay civil. "They did not come to hear your **wild tales**, mother."

"True, they came for their treaties, yes? And before you begin barking!" she uttered as she turned around, got a package that seemed to have been prepared beforehand, and returned. "You precious seal wore off long ago. I have protected these."

"You..." Alistair paused, realizing that the line he had prepared to challenge wasn't the one that came from the woman's mouth. "Oh... You protected them?"

"And why not?" she innocently inquired as he passed the papers over to the heavily armed and armored dwarf. "Take them to your Grey Wardens and tell them that this Blight's threat is greater than they realize."

"What do you mean? The threat is greater than they realize?" Gwenith pried.

"Either the threat is more, or they realize less," the elderly one said, as if it were obvious. "Or perhaps the threat is nothing [slightly unstable chuckle]! Or perhaps they realize nothing [slightly more unstable chuckle]"

"Time for you to go then," Morrigan suggested, noticeably eager to clear the area of the group's obviously unwanted presence.

"Do not be ridiculous girl," her mother chastised. "These are your guests!"

"Oh... very well... I shall show you out of the woods... Follow me..." Her voice was filled with such hopeless annoyance that Alistair and Raonar couldn't help themselves from smirking.

"-. Just in case I do die, and I need not state how much that would suck for me and a drove of other people, I want to duel you at least once .-"

Raonar kept going over the events of the day in his mind, in an attempt to make sure that there was nothing he missed. Theron had found another Wilds Flower for him as they returned from the forest and he was able to get that Mabari treated properly. He would have to go check up on her after the battle that was set to take place the next day. He also made sure to stop by the quartermaster and get himself a better backpack. After that, they all met up with Duncan again, who was quite pleased at their success. Granted, he was forced to deal with a rather exasperated templar that kept going on about how bad an idea it was to recruit a blood mage into the Grey Wardens.

Needless to say, Alim was forced to summon all of his will to stop himself from actually going through with his idea of mind-controlling him into dancing the Remigold in a dress. Fortunately, Alistair eventually calmed down and relented upon Duncan's insistence.

And now they were all in some old part of Ostagar, a temple apparently, and waiting for Duncan to finally get over there and start whatever this Joining ritual was supposed to be.

Finally, the Commander deigned to show himself. He was carrying a large silver chalice in his hands and stepped quite reverently.

"At last we come to the Joining," he solemnly began. "The Grey Wardens were founded during the first Blight, when humanity stood on the verge of annihilation. Thus it came to pass that the first Wardens drank of darkspawn blood, and mastered their taint."

"Whoa whoa!" Kallian protested, quite alarmed. "You're telling me we'll have to drink that blood we gathered? Ugh, and I thought using it as war paint was disgusting."

"Well, isn't that a surprise," Faren let out, rolling his eyes.

Alim took advantage of how the others drew Duncan's attention to get close to the chalice and inspect it most critically.

"That doesn't sound very healthy..." Gwenith Cousland remarked. "Isn't the blood poisonous?"

Raonar shrugged. "This is the part where we're **shocked** to discover that there is a high chance of us dying from this ritual, yes? I **never** saw that coming. Nope, totally unexpected... yeah..."

"Wait, die? Like, you couldn't have mentioned this any sooner?" the city elf protested, somewhat concerned.

"I am sorry," Duncan replied, "but I assure you that it was all necessary. You will understand this, as well as many other things, in the months that will come."

"Ha!" the dwarf prince cut him off, putting on his face a know-it-all kind of expression. "Come now, it's not all that complicated." All the others stared at him. "It's quite simple, really. if everyone knew people could die in the Joining, they would be far less inclined to get themselves recruited. And, of course, people would start to ask why death was possible, and then they would start prying into what this Joining was and the Grey Wardens can say goodbye to one of their greatest secrets. And of course, drinking darkspawn blood in itself is usually a bad thing, since it doesn't exactly speak well of someone's sanity, or lack thereof, and this would raise questions regarding just how reliable and trustworthy the Order really is."

"Again I say, creepy..." Alistair let out. "Well, that pretty much sums it up I guess..."

The others thought of speaking up but were at once cut off by the white-haired dwarf himself, who drew his sword.

"Duncan. Duel me."

Everyone looked at him in stupefaction.

"This isn't exactly the time and place for this, don't you think?" the Commander noted, somewhat aggravated.

"Actually, it's the perfect time," he countered as he readied his shield. "I've lived through a lot of weird things, but Just in case I do die, and I need not state how much that would suck for me and a drove of other people, I want to duel you at least once."

Gwen was astounded at how completely candid the odd dwarf was behaving, considering that people would normally be more worried in the face of imminent death. Granted, he did say he was doing this just in case he died, but he was still remarkably unimpressed with the prospect.

Faren started laughing uncontrollably, and this practically dispersed most of the tension.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Raonar demanded. "I said duel me. Or do I have to pretend I plan on resisting the ritual and give you the motivation you need to think it's necessary that I die here, instead of possibly revealing Grey Warden secrets?"

Duncan groaned and mumbled something that even Alistair could not understand, but eventually relented and humored the young royal persona. He drew out his own blade, and when Raonar saw that was all he was going to use, he let his shield fall to the ground in order to face the man on equal footing.

The fight did not last very long. Both held their own for a while and seemed quite adept at outmaneuvering the other, as if they were taking turns at who had the advantage. Eventually, however, Duncan gained the upper hand, disarmed the dwarf and knocked him on his back, after which he guided the tip of his sword at his neck.

Faren was a bit surprised at the outcome, though Alistair seemed to have been expecting it.

"Brilliant," the cyan-eyed one let out in frustration. "What an inglorious way to finish a duel, especially being the one who requested it." He let Duncan help him back to his feet. "Well, I got what I wanted. The confirmation that you would not hesitate to kill any of us if we resisted."

The others narrowed their eyes at hearing him say that.

"Anyway, now we can get to the business of possibly almost or all the way dying upon drinking weird blood mixed with whatever other magic there is in there. **After** Alim finishes studying the goblet of course."

Duncan was a bit startled and quickly turned around, only to see the elf staring with glowing eyes at a levitating liquid mass. "Alim, what are you up to? Stop that at once. That is not magic a new recruit like you should trifle with." His tone was severe and commanding, but didn't really impress the mage.

"Don't patronize me, Duncan," he coldly advised him as he let the blood descend back into the cup. "Anyway, I'd like a word with you and our not-so-mild-mannered dwarf with unusual pigmentation."

Duncan raised an eyebrow but gestured at the prince to follow after him as he and the elf went beyond the others' range of hearing.

"Since we got to this point, I think we should just drop all pretenses," the mage started out with a serious look on his face. "It's quite obvious that the Joining is blood magic. This, in turn, means that whatever concoction that is will directly react with the blood of the drinker. I only got a short look at it, but I did have quite some time to analyze 'pure' darkspawn blood. I have a theory."

Duncan started scratching his beard. He was quite skeptical but reasoned that it wouldn't be much harm to actually listen to what he had to say. "Go on then."

"Well, first off, I noticed that there is something else in there besides just darkspawn blood. Something more powerful." Alim noticed Duncan narrowing his eyes somewhat. "Regardless, that's not the point. The thing is that, when someone drinks that substance, the strength of his or her blood will be the key factor in survival. Some may call it willpower, but as someone who can control others by manipulating their blood alone, I am well aware of the fact that both are tightly knit factors in defining someone."

"So what do you propose," the human asked, somewhat curious considering that what the elf had guessed was very much on the mark.

Alim turned to the third person present. "That thing you did to Theron in the Brecilian Forest. Can you do it again?"

The prince was afraid he'd ask that, so he took his gauntlets off and exposed his forearms. They were covered in blackened veins. "If I do, my body will star to break down. It's been in a bad shape for a while and even my meditations haven't managed to counter the effect completely."

Duncan now understood why he found it so easy to defeat the tainted one in the duel.

The elf was silent for a moment, after which he looked like he had gotten an idea. "Then, instead of drawing it out... the taint I mean. Could you stall it?"

"Stall it? You mean halt its effects temporarily?" Raonar repeated, surprised at the fact that that question had actually taken him unprepared. He stared at his hands, thoughtfully. "Well... I'm not sure... I mean, setting aside the fact that it wouldn't actually be **me** doing it... Really, I could try to see if it happened, but I don't know."

"What would be the point?" the human decided to query. He already knew what the dwarf meant by "not him doing it" after he had pried it out of him in Lothering, so he was more interested in actually knowing what good it would do.

"I can tap into the power of blood," the mage deadpanned. "If I'm right and the Joining does what I think it does, I can get everyone through it alive."

Now Duncan was really shocked. "That's a rather bold statement, don't you think?"

"Hey, I'm really powerful and brilliant, alright? And if this guy (points at Raonar) can pull off what I want him to do, I may actually figure out just how to influence the drinker's blood in order to appropriately interact with that substance instead of leading to agonizing death."

"I see..." the Commander reflected on those words for a moment. "Well, I suppose we have nothing to lose if we give it a shot. Provided you actually know what you're doing..."

"Hey, they can either die or be on the verge of dying but possibly not doing it. Your choice."

The others had become quite exasperated from the wait when the three decided to rejoin the meeting and finally get to the business of the blood drinking stage.

"Do you mind telling us what **that** was about?" Gwen requested, somewhat annoyed.

"Do not concern yourself with it for now," Duncan bypassed, "Now, we should proceed with the ritual." He waited until his recruits finished their groans and scoffs. "We say only a few words prior to the Joining, but these words have been said since the first. Alistair, if you please."

The templar's face became somewhat grave. "Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. As should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that, one day, we shall join you."

"I suppose since I'm already infected with the corruption, I should go first," the Dalish offered, not bothering to give the others a moment of silence for contemplating their possibly impending doom.

"Step forward then," Duncan encouraged him as he handed him the Goblet.

The elf drank some of the contents, but nothing seemed to happen for a moment. Then, his irises seemed to disappear and he started writhing in pain. Alim ran to his side, his eyes once again shining, but his concern was proven unnecessary when Theron seemed to get a grip on himself. Still, he failed to maintain consciousness, and fell on his back before Alim had a chance to grab onto him.

"He's alive," the mage assessed, much to everyone's relief. it wasn't just that they were happy for him, but they felt a small measure of reassurance at actually **knowing** that they could survive themselves.

"Step forward, Gwen," Duncan ordered.

Without a word, she took the cup and took a sip. Fortunately, and much to Alistair's joy, her own joining went along much in the same way as Theron's.

"She's as strong as her parents," the Grey Warden Commander earnestly praised. "She should wake up soon."

"Fine!" Kallian blurted as she stepped up and took a hold of the goblet. She paused. "This won't give me allergies, will it?" Duncan just sighed at that, so she just drank from the cup.

Her own experience was less convenient than the two that went before her. Her body felt like it was burning from the inside and the place where the darkspawn arrow had pierced her earlier hurt most of all.

"Kal!" Faren yelled in horror as she looked as though she was on the verge of collapsing on the stone floor.

"She's not going to make it," Alim followed up as he ran to her. Faren thought of doing the same, but Raonar cut both of them off and managed to catch her as she lost her balance. He quickly let her lie on the ground and put his hands on her brow and chest, not even bothering to consider how perverted that may have looked.

The prince's eyes started giving out rays of white light, then his hair did the same and, soon enough, his whole body was lit up.

"Guh..." the intense light made it somewhat difficult to notice it on his face, but it took all he had to stop himself from screaming. He felt as if his body had been pierced by a million needles on all sides and that they were slowly pulling his flesh apart.

"Hold it like that!" Alim requested as his blood magic started coursing through Kallian's body. It took all he had to keep the spell under control since the disrupting effect Raonar had on his magic appeared to be even more intense now. "Just a little while longer, I've almost got it..."

"Just... yeah... just a little while longer... dammit..." Alim was too focused on his own spell to notice how blood started flowing out of Raonar's nose and from between his clenched teeth. Even the skin on his arms had somehow been ripped apart. "This... is different... gah..."

"Fuck this!" Faren screamed as he grabbed him and yanked him back. The light that was emanating abruptly faded as the physical contact with the elven lass was broken. Faren held him in his arms and he was more than a little disturbed at seeing all of Raonar's muscles torn to shreds. What scared him even more, however, was that the one he was holding momentarily lost consciousness only a moment later.

"What the fucking sod was **that!**" He yelled at the mage. "What did he just do?"

"Calm down, Faren," Duncan calmly requested, though he only got a glare full of searing contempt. Meanwhile, Alistair was just standing to the side, completely speechless.

"She'll make it," Alim suddenly said as the light in his own eyes died down. "I was right. I managed to bring out the power in her blood and it was enough to match that of the corruption. She's a full-fledged Grey Warden now."

By that point, the castless dwarf could not decide which of the two he was more worried about. Fortunately, he was snapped back into awareness as the one he was holding, even with his whole body bloodied, managed to take out one of the more potent healing potion he had on him. Faren helped him get it to his mouth and, to his boundless relief, all the wounds closed and disappeared once the liquid was swallowed.

"Are you okay...?" the red-haired asked him with a great deal of worry in his voice. Te other one just nodded and let himself be helped to his feet. "Don't scare me like that, I actually thought you died..."

The prince gave him a warm smile when he heard those words and playfully stroked the top of his head, to which the dwarf commoner just smiled back. Then, Raonar looked at the others. "If you don't mind... I'll be next to last..."

Faren helped him walk all the way to the nearest wall and let him sit down. Then, he reluctantly decided to take his own turn at drinking from the cup. He took it in his hands and, after just a brief moment of hesitation, drank down his own share of the potion.

Fortunately, Alim did not have to test the red-haired one's apparently larger than usual magic resistance because he got through the Joining relatively uneventfully. Only the agonizing white-haired recruit and the mage were left.

Duncan, Alim and Alistair formed a triangle around the former Aeducan as he walked up to the Commander. The mage looked somewhat worried, mostly because the trick he used on Kallian wasn't easy to use on such a tear in the Veil as the one now taking his turn. Alistair was mostly amazed and curious to see what was going to happen, while Duncan looked as though he was expecting an explosion or something.

"Well, the moment of truth, is it?" the bright-eyed one noted, surprisingly cheerfully. "I just know I'm going to get a rash from this..."

Without a moment's notice, the Joining chalice became a bit emptier and, for a short while, nothing seemed to happen. Then, a haziness passed over the prince and he staggered, barely able to stay on his feet. He saw the world losing its shape and taking on a strange appearance. Then, suddenly, a large, dark form started to appear in front of him, like a towering god of doom. He looked up and saw an immense dragon staring down at him. He couldn't move, so heavy that gaze was, and could only helplessly watch as the dragon's maw opened, eager to swallow him whole.

"Tch..." he pressed his hands against his temples and his eyes opened, once again shining brightly like a pair of stars. "It's... so loud... ugh..." He started to writhe in pain again, clutching at his own chest as though it was getting ready to burst.

"What's happening!" Alistair cried out in panic. "This... this isn't how its' supposed to happen!"

The other didn't get the chance to respond because a wave of pure magical power flowed out of the dwarf's body in all directions, leaving him standing erect in the middle of the temple. Alim's true seeing spell was canceled, and this at least brought him some clarity.

"What the..." Alistair uttered. "That was an area cleansing. Powerful Templars sometimes do that sort of thing when they face down really dangerous apostates. But how is it possible?"

"I don't think that's what we should be worrying about right now," the elf mage flatly pointed out.

Raonar twitched just then and a shockwave burst out, knocking all the others off their feet. Then, he himself fell on his back.

Predictably, Duncan was the first to get back up, so he ran to where the dwarf was now lying, only to find him in a very odd state. Alim soon joined him and noticed what had caused even Duncan to become speechless. Raonar's eyes were shining more brightly than ever before and magical vapors seemed to come out of them.

"Alim... do you have any idea what is happening?" the Grey Warden Commander asked, no longer certain of what was going on. All he knew was that the Joining had gone wrong.

"Yes..." the elf replied. This drew a fairly surprised glance from Duncan, who had expected the same level of confusion to come from his remaining recruit. "I've seen this before..."

Alistair finally managed to get back to his feet himself and walked over to where the others now were. "What's going on?'

"He's in the Fade," Alim rammed.

"What?" the Templar burst. "That's impossible! Even mages can't enter the Fade without lyrium and he's a **dwarf**!"

"I **know**, you annoying templar hunter!" the mage snapped back as he touched the white-haired one's forehead with his index and middle fingers. "He didn't just enter it. He was pulled in."

Duncan's eyes widened at that. "Pulled in? You mean by a demon?"

"I'm not sure..." the elf responded. He then made a small cut on his finger and started to draw strange arcane symbols on Raonar's brow with his blood. "But I'm going to find out."

"What? What in the Maker's name are you going on about?" By now, the Junior Grey Warden was so completely confused that asking obvious questions was all he could do.

Alim ignored him and just started chanting as he made a very small cut just between the dwarf's eyes, causing both of their blood to mix. "Now, the blood tie is ready," he proclaimed as he weaved the magical energies into subtle spirit threads. It was quite difficult to actually keep the magic under control, especially so close to Raonar, but blood was definitely something he excelled at controlling.

A subtle thread of magically-infused plasma started to float in the air, even as its root looked as though it reached as deep as the prince's own brain. Alim grabbed onto said thread and held it tight in his left hand. Then, he immediately extended the other one towards Duncan. "Give me the chalice. I'm taking my own Joining now."

The Commander was a bit taken aback and he couldn't help but stare at his charge as his eyes started to shine much like Raonar's were. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to use this soul link and follow him in," he slammed. "Don't worry, I've already modified my blood. I'll survive. He, however, might not make it back."

"If you go after him, you might not come back either," the bearded human pointed out.

"Just hurry up and give me that goblet," he insisted, and Duncan finally relented and passed over the chalice.

Alim didn't hesitate for even one moment as he drank the last drops of corruption.

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

Author's Note: Yes, the next chapter will finally bring about the explanation of what happened in the Deep Roads. It will also carry one of the key points in Alim's development as a spell caster.

_And that review space is still waiting!_


	12. Joining Arc 5: I Am Honor

**Chapter 11: I Am Honor**

"-. Even panic can be desirable under the right circumstances .-"

Raonar would have been having a panic attack if his mind wasn't preoccupied with succumbing to desperation. "Dammit! This can't be happening!"

Gorim grabbed onto his arm and tried to snap him back into his senses. "My lord! We have to get out of here! The bridge is collapsing in on itself!"

The prince didn't budge, even as the stone construction beneath his feet cracked.

"My lord!"

Raonar pushed Gorim aside, causing him to fall on his back.

"Dammit!" His heart was racing, his head filled with a wretched mixture of denial, horror and absolute hopelessness. _"Dammit! Dammit! Stop flowing you damned tears! I can't see! Fuck! Why does this have to happen? Ancestors, why is this happening?"_

Another part of the bridge broke apart and fell into the abyss, a roaring rumble filling the huge caverns. He managed to keep his balance, but only barely, as his feet were rooted to the spot and his hands were shaking.

_"__**Shit**__! Ancestors' mangled bones! Stop shaking you useless knees! Worthless arms, stop your trembling! Just do it, you __**idiot!" **_He bit his tongue as hard as he could, a last, desperate effort at overcoming his own terror through sheer pain. Blood flowed out of the corners of his mouth, covering his entire beard as it mixed with the rivers of tears streaming out of his eyes.

_"Fuck! __**Fuck! **__Let go of the __**fucking**__ bowstring, you __**stupid hand!"**_

"-. Duty does not necessarily imply that one remain permanently dull and overly formal.-"

"Marvelous! I lost him," Alim assessed in annoyance as he realized that he had failed to actually follow Raonar and had ended up in a completely different section of the Fade altogether. On the other hand, since there was a measure of spatial coordination between the world of mortals and the Fade, he could guess that he wasn't very far from where the dwarf had ended up. Granted, he didn't actually know **where** the other one had ended up, nor did he know what he should expect once he got there.

"Hmm..." He inspected his appearance quite meticulously and, upon realizing that he had ended up in that place just as unarmed and meagerly equipped as he was during the Joining, decided to 'remedy' this slight oversight. He willed a staff and some decent robes into being, taking special care in making them look as stylish as possible. Even in the fade, one needed to look presentable, or at least intimidating.

Now that he wore a scarlet-embroidered black robe and had a double-dragon-headed arcane staff at hand, the elf felt quite sure of himself and decided to follow the remnants of the spirit blood trail. He was quite peeved at how the dragon-shaped apparition (the one he saw after he drunk the blood) managed to knock him off course. Fortunately, the spell he had summoned to create the blood link was quite potent and there were still some remnants of the thread floating about. He reasoned that they were, obviously, the best bet of finding whatever dream Raonar had been pulled into.

He was a bit surprised at the fact that no wisps or lesser demons seemed to roam the area of the dream realm that he had arrived in. The place also looked quite orderly and solemn. He could even distinguish surreal-looking but quite accurate representations of statues of knights. In fact, instead of the inaccurate imitation of grass-covered hills he was faced with during his harrowing, the area looked more like an ancient fortress or bastion.

Much to Alim's dismay, the threads of spirit seemed to lead beyond the edge of that 'island'. This put him in a difficult position, since he didn't think he could safely levitate for very long and the trail seemed to go on almost endlessly. So he figured he would explore that area a bit more. If there were no demons about, then it was possible this part of the Fade was under the control of some other type of spirit.

Alim managed to spot what looked like a tower, or aerie, but was quite peeved at noticing that there were no stairs leading up to it, not even a door at the base of the structure. Still, he figured he would have to make his way up there, if only to get a better view of the surroundings and, maybe, spot whoever owned that domain.

He telekinetically lifted one of the larger stone slabs and used it as a platform to float all the way to the upper end of the aerie. When he finally got there, he made his way up some stone steps and neared what looked like an imposing platform. A odd-looking statue that looked like a sort of sleeping bird was on it.

Or at least he **thought** it was a statue, until it moved. Revealing itself to actually be a sort of cross-breed between a lion and an eagle, the creature stirred and raised its head out of its slumber. A pair of keen, eagle eyes turned to the newcomer and stared him down from above the sharp, curved beak.

Alim was a bit worried at seeing such an unusually-looking, and obviously powerful and large, spirit, and couldn't actually decide whether it really was what he thought it was. "Umm... Greetings?"

The creature slowly got to its four feet, each with four fingers that ended in sharp talons. Its entire body was covered in perfectly aligned, grey feathers and a large shadow extended around it as it spread its wings. It then flicked its ears, which also looked more like an extra set of wings than actual hearing organs, and whipped the air with its long tail a few times.

"Hmm. A dreamer, is it?" the spirit's voice echoed through the air. Alim couldn't tell how the creature could actually speak, considering that beaks weren't exactly known for their ability to produce overly articulate sounds. Not to mention that the being hadn't actually moved, let alone opened its beak even once.

The elf scratched his head, unsure of how to address what stood before him. Setting aside the fact that a shiver had gone down the mage's spine, the being looked too much like something he had heard of in stories. "Not to be disrespectful or anything but... are you a griffon?"

The spirit flicked its hears slightly and let a bird-like groan leave its lungs, just before tilted its head to the left and, once again, producing a reverberating voice whose source could not be pinpointed. "So strange you mortals are. Is it customary in your world to simply blurt out odd questions when trespassing on someone's domain?"

"I assure you, I had no intention of making it look like I was trespassing," the elf responded, somewhat uncertain of how he was supposed to behave in the presence of such a being. And, of course, there was also the fact that, even on all fours, the creature was about two meters tall and, thus, quite intimidating.

"Truly?" it asked, unconvinced. It then flapped its wings once, the air pressure strong enough to push the intruder a couple of steps back. "I was under the impression that strutting around in someone's home, without even so much as doing the owner the courtesy of introductions, is the pure definition of trespassing."

"My apologies," the dreamer requested. "Then allow me to do you this courtesy." He bowed quite reverently before the creature. "My name is Alim Surana."

The being tapped the ground with one of its talons several times and withdrew its wings. "At least your sense of duty is not completely nonexistent," it noted, quite nonchalantly.

"And, as I recall, it is now the host's cue to introduce himself, is it not?' Alim flatly pointed out.

The apparition would have probably raised an eyebrow at him if it had one. Then, its voice boomed and echoed throughout the entire so-called fortress.

**"I Am Duty!****"**

Duty, was it? The mage had finally gotten his confirmation that this was one of the 'good', or at least neutral spirits that inhabit the Fade. He also decided to venture a hope that it would be capable, and willing, to help him track down the even more unlikely dwarf dreamer. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance."

Duty shook his head a few times, arranging the feathers on its neck, after which he impassively looked to the side and let his right wing glide through the air a few times. "So dutiful," he remarked as he turned back to the dreamer. "You're obviously more concerned about my intentions than you are pleased to meet me, but you still acted upon your so-called 'sense of duty' and followed protocol to the letter."

"Your sharp eyes have seen through me completely," Alim deadpanned.

"And you also seem to know that duty does not necessarily imply that one remain permanently dull and overly formal," the spirit added, sounding almost pleased.

"People that do that all the time don't usually get out of it with their sanity intact," the elf explained.

"And then they wouldn't know duty even if someone spelled it out for them," the supposed griffon concluded. After that, he stretched his two wings again, this time in satisfaction, and filled the entire area with a sharp but oddly pleasant screech. "Now then, what exactly are you looking for, little one?"

The mage was relieved to see he had finally gotten to this part. "I actually got here by accident," he began as Duty let himself lie on his belly, its forepaws crossed. "I was actually trying to find someone but got... sidetracked by a very annoying stream of telepathic waves that gave me a hallucination and threw my spell out of loop."

The griffon waved his tail around a few times and scratched the underside of its bill with one of its claws. "Go on."

"That's it," the mage simply conveyed, causing Duty to lower his head and narrow his eyes in doubt.

"Knowing your kind's penchant for epic tales, I would have expected a more dramatic exposition."

"As it happens, I don't have time for lengthy expositions as I should really be looking for that someone right now and was kind of hoping you could help me with that..." he flatly declared.

Duty suddenly got to his feet. "And what does your sense of duty say is appropriate in this situation?" he menacingly asked. He didn't give the elf any chance to respond however, as he violently flapped both wings, the strong gust of wind mercilessly throwing the mortal on his back.

"You are quite presumptuous, aren't you," the spirit let out as he jumped straight at him, catching him underfoot. Needless to say, Alim was not altogether pleased at having been stepped on, more so seeing how the being didn't seem in any way inclined to take that human-sized, claw-decorated paw off of him. " How arrogant that you would expect my assistance to be offered so easily. Perhaps you misunderstood. I **am **Duty. I do not **have** a duty, mortal, much less the duty to help you."

"And what of this then?" the elf shot back, meeting Duty's eyes as they neared on him. The griffon' sharp bill was just inches away from his face now and it took all he had to will his body into being strong enough to withstand the creature's weight. "Is it duty that compels you to assault sparse dreamers that happen to find their way here?"

"Perhaps. if their own sense of duty is misguided enough that they should earn my ire."

"And how can you presume to judge me?" the stepped-on but, interestingly enough, annoyed mortal rebuffed, seemingly unimpressed with the fact that he could easily be crushed or have his head bitten off at any moment. "You are **Duty**, not Justice!"

"I do not need to judge **you**, mortal, only your dedication," the being simply clarified.

"Hmpf!" Alim was so aggravated that he summoned all of his power and caused a shockwave to burst out of his ethereal body. Duty's hold on him was broken and the spirit took a step back as the mage got to his feet. He was entirely cloaked in raw magical power and a golden light coursed through and around him. "If you don't want to help me, just say so. I don't have time to waste here." The floor cracked under the weight of his magic and several stone slabs were lifted into the air, as if they were just a command word away from flying straight at the spirit.

Duty again flapped his wings, even more violently, but Alim didn't even budge, nor did the floating slabs. Then, the spirit actually chuckled. "And what would you expect me to actually do? Carry you on my back as you search for this mortal?" His tone was remarkably sarcastic.

"Teach me to become a griffon," he demanded.

Duty relaxed somewhat and tilted his head to the right, unsure of whether the mortal had actually meant it. "Now **there** is an interesting request!"

"**So** glad you think so."

"You are fortunate that duty does not demand teaching manners to strangers, intruders or otherwise," the griffon flatly pointed out.

"So are you going to teach me how to be a griffon or not?" the elf pushed.

Duty looked as though he was impressed by his determination, though the spirit hadn't really figured out whether it really was duty that drove the dreamer or just pure stubbornness. "You are serious aren't you. You do realize that would take a great many dreams?"

"Not if you force the knowledge into me," he suggested as he let the light emanating from him die down and the floor tiles fall back to the ground.

The spirit straightened up, in a way that only a four-legged, winged creature could. "That would be dangerous, foolish one. In fact, it may leave you without your sanity or your memory. Or both."

"It's not your duty to worry about my wellbeing, or about whether or not my will is strong enough to hold onto my mental integrity," the elf rammed.

"Indeed it isn't" the spirit agreed, though he paused and seemed thoughtful for a time. "But why would you be willing to risk this?'

"It isn't your Duty to know my exact reasons either," the other one slammed.

"Hmm..."

"You said it yourself. You only need to judge my dedication, and here it is, big enough for me to risk losing my mind as I try to accomplish what I came here to do. Is that dutiful enough for you, ever so imposing one?" The elf had crossed his arms and taken a fairly matter-of-factly attitude.

Duty straightened up again and spread out his wings wide, until their shadow covered the entire terrace on which they both stood. "And if I do this, what will you do with the knowledge?"

"If you help me, it will be because duty doesn't prevent you from doing it, not because it compels you to. So, since it'll practically be a gift, what I do with it is entirely my own business." Alim spoke those words with such perfectly barefaced practicality that the spirit couldn't help itself from filling the entire surreal fortress with a clear and booming laughter.

"Ha! I like you, mortal!" the Fade dweller proclaimed as pure, silvery magical energies started swirling around it and pervading the entire aerie. "Then ready yourself."

The mage did not exactly know what readying himself implied, especially considering the very unusual situation, and location. He didn't have time to dwell on it too much, however, as the root of feather of about a foot in length pierced his sternum.

"Guh!" he let out, though he was more startled than hurt, since he didn't exactly feel any pain. He looked at the spirit and just barely caught the lighting-fast movement of its right wing as another feather flew straight at him, its root striking him straight through his forehead and sinking all the way to the core of his brain.

Alim was immobilized, though he was completely aware of every inch of his body, some may say even better than ever before. Then, he felt as though the roots of both feathers started to grow outwards, subtle threads of magic and will spreading through his entire being. And as they did, the feathers themselves turned into a thousand spirit threads that encircled him and spread in all directions, will and raw magical power seemingly weaving around them.

He bent forward, the weave gathering behind him and forming into feathers as his scapulas grew outwards until they broke through the skin on his back. By then, his robes had disintegrated, leaving him completely bare, and his now overgrown shoulder blades finally grew into the complete set of wing bones that soon grew sinews. Finally, the many feathers swirling about them sunk themselves into the new skin in perfect order.

The shapechanging mage could not describe the sensations. With each alteration to his ethereal body, he felt his sense of identity shifting. He seemed to remember breaking out of the tough shell of an egg, his lidless eyes stung by the bright rays of the sun, though the memory could not have originated from the Fade spirit. He also remembered his very first flight and the pleasant feeling of the wind brushing though his myriad of feathers as he glided through the air. Then there was the feeling of fulfillment as he carried out his first hunt, and the satisfaction at so cleanly snatching the young antelope off the ground.

_"Dammit fool! Focus!"_ he urged himself as he felt his true identity slipping. He gathered all his willpower and channeled it as acutely as he could muster it, his sole goal being to preserve his mind.

The bones on his hands twisted and grew, not painfully, but the feeling was quite distracting, which definitely didn't assist Alim in his effort to hold onto himself. He was soon on all fours, sharp talons going straight through the hard stone pavement. His vision blurred and, soon enough, his perception of the Fade changed to one more keen, as though he could see over far greater distances than he had ever dreamed of. The fascination caused by this newfound element almost broke his concentration. He persevered, however, and managed to steel himself even as his body grew its plumage and his tail started to cut through the air behind him with swift swipes.

Now a griffon himself, Alim let out a bellow and stretched out his wings and limbs, at once flexing every single muscle his new body possessed and finally seeing the difference between breathing through a nose and a bill. The next moment, Duty rammed into him with all his might, throwing him against the far wall.

The Fade spirit tried to strike at him with his talons, but the other one recovered and dodged to the right. Alim then flapped its wings once, in an effort to disorient his attacker, though his movements weren't nearly as sure as Duty's, who shrugged off the gust of wind and grabbed him by the throat, pinning him against the wall. It was then that their eyes met, two pairs of sharp gazers.

Alim kicked Duty in the abdomen, finally causing the spirit to shriek in pain and stagger back, after which he charged and rammed into the being with his entire weight. This only pushed Duty back a few steps, however, and when Alim tried to claw at him, the other one did the same. Both drew back as soon as their talons decorated the chest of the other with three deep cuts.

Neither could make the claim of first blood.

"Most impressive!" the Spirit proclaimed as pure magical power gathered around him and closed off his wounds. He no longer bothered to mask his sheer admiration.

Alim shone brightly and his anatomy once again started changing. Soon enough, he had once again regained his previous form and made a point of willing a new robe into being before the light of the transformation had a chance to die out completely and leave him naked. The cuts on his own chest disappeared as well. There was only a single word he could manage to say, however. "Wow..."

The griffon spirit waited for him to gather his wits and finish inspecting himself, no doubt to make sure he hadn't been left with an extra set of arms or whatnot, then continued. "I must say you surprise me mortal. You not only managed to keep your mind intact, you even managed to completely assimilate the full experience I pushed into you. Your will is particularly strong."

"Yeah..." the elf was still a bit amazed. "I feel as though I've lived through two lives instead of just one, as if I've been both myself and a griffon my entire life. And I suppose this fight just now was your way of testing that out, am I right?"

"Indeed it was," Duty cleanly confirmed.

"Those memories aren't yours, are they?" the mage then uttered. he had phrased it as a question, but it was really more of an observation.

"Duty does not compel me to explain it to you," he retorted, quite ironically.

"I see... Well... I'll have to apologize but I don't have the time to listen to this tale right now anyway. But thank you." His tone was earnest and he even gave a deep bow.

"I understand," the Spirit answered. "Duty calls after all. Perhaps we may meet again in future dreams," he then suggested, much to the dreamer's surprise.

"Perhaps... Maybe then you can tell me of the story behind the creature whose memories I now possess," the other one followed up.

"And you may finally relate to me the events that led to your appearance in my domain today," Duty added, now blissful at having gone through something interesting for once.

"-. You just thought that sounded cheesy, didn't you? .-"

Even though he was in a hurry to find whatever section of the fade Raonar had landed in, Alim let himself enjoy the incredibly awesome feeling of flying. Granted, he felt as though he had been flying his entire life, understandable given the fact that he had a full new set of memories to sort out, but no amount of repetition could ever stop flying from feeling so good. He half wished he could stay in the Fade forever, if only to be able to become a griffon whenever he wished.

He couldn't afford to keep musing, however, so he resolved to keep following the sparse trail of remnant blood-weaved spirit threads. He couldn't tell how much time had passed since he left Duty's realm, neither could he accurately estimate how long it had been since he took the Joining in the real world, seeing as how time passed differently in the two dimensions. He decided there was no time to speculate, however, as the trail suddenly stopped, even though there was nothing nearby, no fade island, no scattered dream fragments. Nothing.

Alim flew around a few times and didn't know what to do, until his beaked face slammed into an invisible wall.

_"Ouch,"_ he thought. Even though Duty had given him this body, Alim couldn't emulate the Spirit's ability to speak, at least not yet, so he had to settle for being frustrated at not being able to do more than let out an indignant groan. Then, he pecked the invisible barrier repeatedly, realizing that, since the last spirit weave hovered just a few feet away, the dwarf had somehow ended up inside that huge but totally concealed dome, or perhaps it was a sphere.

Several white tentacles suddenly appeared from beyond the unseen barrier and encircled him, not giving him even a moment's notice before drawing him in. He was now gone.

_"Whoa! What was that!"_ he would have thought out loud had he actually had a mouth. As it was, he didn't have one, so he again had to settle for an undignified shriek as the tentacles disappeared and left him to regain his flight pattern by himself. When he finally did, he managed to shake off the panic attack he was on the verge of suffering and finally survey the area.

The rest of the Fade, including the ever ominous Black City, was as visible as it had been just before he was pulled in. Apparently, whatever barrier protected that realm was only invisible on the outside. Alim was quite intrigued, since the domain that stretched beneath him was quite huge and complex, and cloaking an entire section of the Fade was no easy task even for the more powerful beings in the dream ream.

Below him lay the most spectacular view he had ever laid eyes on. Mountains encircled the round, floating island, and a myriad of river beds came out of each peak, gradually coming together until they finally met in the very center. There, a huge, circular abyss existed, and the clear but tumultuous waters fell into it ceaselessly, forming a most enthralling, perfectly round waterfall that seemed to reach down into infinity. And just above the abyss, another, much smaller but perfectly circular platform hovered, as if looking down upon the entire domain. It was there, the mage reasoned, that he could finally get some answers. So he flew straight for it, eventually landing on the marvelously fine surface of the floating island. It looked as though it was made of out of a single, immense but perfectly level piece of white marble.

The dreamer finally turned back into his true form and scoured the area. The huge platform was mostly bare, except for seven terraces that existed on the very edges of it, forming a seven-pointed star, and each of those terraces had a strange, rune-covered pedestal on it. The floor was also decorated with unusual but quite aesthetically-pleasing symbols that seemed to cross over into each other and combine into more complex shapes. And in the centre was another, larger terrace, a few, concentric steps leading up to it. Needless to say, Alim climbed them and approached the source of an incredibly bright, white light.

The mage couldn't immediately grasp the shape of what he judged to be a being. While it looked as though it was centered around a specific point, its form continuously shifted. White, shining strands of pure energy seemed to make up most of its body, though they kept floating about and either breaking off or merging into each other. Mostly, Alim couldn't tell what he was looking at because there were no shadows to make the shapes visible, if there were any shapes there at all.

The apparition seemed to turn its attention towards him as he drew near. The many spirit strands slowed in their wanderings for a moment, as though the presence was studying the new arrival, then they began a more orderly motion and started to come together. An elegantly-dressed leg (or so it looked like, though the lack of color or shades made it hard to decide) appeared out of nowhere and took a step forward, just as the upper most energies came together and descended, allowing what looked like a head of pure light to come into view. Then, what looked like a light-wrought cape formed on the right, fluttering in the soft breeze and extending ever away, until it was about ten meters long and spiraled around the spirit, giving out a semblance of lordly countenance.

The elf could only watch in wonder at how freely that creature could change its form, and how calmly it did so.

The being of pure light took another step forward, through the 'leg' didn't seem as though it ever actually left the ground. In fact, the foot seemed to actually go straight through the floor, almost as if it was part of it. That instant, Alim remembered how he had been pulled into what he now recognized as that creature's domain and theorized that, in fact, that presence may actually be pervading its every inch.

The spirit again stepped forward, bright rays of light giving way to a pair of arms to materialize, until, finally, a vaguely humanoid entity made of shadowless will stood before the new arrival. The latter was completely speechless, however, so it fell to the being to actually break the silence.

"I bid you welcome, dreamer." The voice was calm and warm, but sounded like a thousand, genderless echoes from both the past and the future. It was at once solemn and all-encompassing and, even though it didn't cause him any sort of auditory discomfort, the elf realized that the greeting had been heard perfectly on every inch of that floating platform.

"... Greetings..." he replied in awe. "I take it you're the... owner of this place?"

Subtle strands of bright power started to grow out of the spirit's left shoulder and broke off, only to start swirling around his arm. "If by 'this place' you mean this dream, then yes," the being confirmed. The aforementioned strands seemed to tie around the being's wrist, forming a sort of scarf or belt that simply hovered about.

Alim didn't really know what the being was but decided to think of it as a 'he', for now. "Oh, right!" he stuttered, as if remembering something important. Then he bowed as deeply as he could. "I am Alim Surana," he declared.

The end of the cape-like formation that floated around the apparition started to again divide into multiple strands as the Spirit indulged in a short but amused, reverberating chuckle. "You did that greeting as though it was a means to ensure you would somehow avoid going through some sort of unpleasant experience," he then noted, just as his pure white, shining 'hair' started to continuously change its length for no obvious reason.

"Well, actually, I did go through a rather... harrowing experience not too long ago," he admitted. "And it was mostly because I hadn't introduced myself to someone with a particularly odd view of duty... and he had claws."

Pure, white power started coming out of the ground just to the left of the bright entity, eventually taking the shape of a foot-sized hybrid between a lion and an eagle, though it took a while before Alim recognized that shape, obviously because of the same shadowless nature that made it difficult to actually see shapes, if there were indeed any. "Did that someone look like this?' the white presence inquired, quite rethorically.

"Yes, actually..." Alim confirmed, though he knew there was hardly a need.

The griffon-like light sculpture dispersed, leaving only random, shining threads floating about. "And yet he consented to teaching you that form. You should be glad, Duty can be quite radical."

The newcomer winced at that, since he had become quite intimately acquainted with that truth. "So, may I ask who **you **are now? Or did I miss some sort of spiritual protocol that no one had the courtesy of explaining to me?'

Another chuckle was heard, just as the cape-like light completely divided into symmetrical strands and receded somewhat.

**"I am Honor."**

Even in spite of the incredible air of might that the spirit emanated, Alim couldn't keep himself from thinking how incredibly cheesy that sounded. Unfortunately, much to his dismay, the apparition picked right up on that.

"You just thought that sounded cheesy didn't you?" he uttered, an amused flick of his fingers causing the ever so shining mantle strands to retreat behind his back.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean t- Hey, did you just read my mind?"

Honor let out a clear laughter, like a thousand bells had just been struck at the same time, and a pair of wings grew from his back and extended over the entire terrace for a while. After that, they broke off into thousands of shadeless feathers that fluttered away, once again becoming one with the scenery, though some continued to float and hover around both of them. "No, I did not," he clarified. "The look on your face just seemed to suggest you thought that."

The mage was somewhat surprised, since he thought he was better at masking his thoughts. "It can't have been **that** obvious..." he protested, though he stuck to a calm and low voice.

Pure energy gathered around Honor's right shoulder and formed into a pauldron, out of which the same type of light flowed and materialized into what could be considered a cloak. "Indeed, you were not, but neither were you as subtle as the only other person to have thought that very same thing. Granted, he didn't really try to hide it for very long, seeing as how he practically blurted out that opinion just a second later."

Alim stared at the spirit for a moment, the odd look on his face hinting at the fact that he actually thought he had an inkling of who 'that person' was. "Speaking of that, I actually came here looking for someone."

"Yes, I know," the being deadpanned, for once not changing its appearance overmuch.

"Really..." the mage debated, completely unconvinced.

Honor took another step forward, light forming into a cane in his left hand. "Why so incredulous? It was, after all, **I** that pulled you in here."

"Well then, why did you?" the elf pried.

"Raonar said 'It's okay. Let him in'," the Spirit rammed.

This was the point where Alim was thrown off track and he was forced to actually take a closer look at everything that had happened. For one, he had no idea how he had been pulled into the realm exactly and he was quite sure that there was a very high chance that he would not have found a way inside the gigantic sphere all by himself. Then, he met this incredibly intriguing Fade dweller that seemed to be defined by the concepts of absolute and sublime brilliance and sophistication. And now, that same being had actually called Raonar by his given name, with an unmistakable air of familiarity that he would never have expected in a spirit, much less one that actually seemed to be beyond his understanding.

"Wait... so he's here somewhere?" the elf finally managed to stutter.

Honor appeared to lean on one foot, his opposite hand resting on his cane in a very detached manner as his cloak glided through the air. "This **is **his dream after all."

Again, the mage was forced to increase his list of "Reasons why the Fade can irk you beyond all limits." He even considered writing a book about it once he woke up. "Wait, so you're saying he created all this?"

An air of candid amusement passed over the spirit as it quaintly took hold of a sparse, brilliant feather that had floated close enough to his right hand. "Come now, you know mortals, save mages, can barely create anything here, especially dwarves that shouldn't even be able to enter the Fade in the first place. It was, of course, **I** that brought this realm into being."

"So..." The elf decided it was faster to just skip ahead and leave the explanations for later, if they needed to be made at all. "He's here? I don't see him anywhere..."

"He is in this realm, yes," Honor confirmed, the feather that danced around his fingers turning into a top hat that he idiosyncratically placed on his head, though shadows still did not appear on any part of his 'body', much less his 'face'.

"You're the one who pulled him in, aren't you?" the Magus finally deigned to ask up front.

The cloak that Honor 'wore' shifted and took a form more akin to that of an overcoat as he brought both his hand together and rested them on the top-most pommel of his cane. "Yes, it was I, though it was difficult. I had to cope with interference from a rather intense stream of telepathic waves that almost shattered his psyche, and he landed in a rather far off section of this plane."

"Wait," the dreamer interrupted as he scratched his forehead. "So, you pulled him in... to protect him..."

"Yes," the spirit said as he spun the cane between his fingertips, finally resting its tip on the marble floor once more. "Why do you look so surprised?"

"Not to sound ignorant or anything," he warily tried to explain, "but you spirits aren't exactly known for your eagerness to jump in and interfere with the affairs of mortals."

"Now **that** sounded as if it was taken directly out of a textbook," Honor's thousands-in-one-type of voice candidly pointed out as he tapped his cane against the marble once, causing multiple strands of light to grow and come together in the shape of a lectern. Then, he picked up what looked like a light-bound tome and pretended to, or really did read from it. "Unlike demons, benevolent spirits do not wish to cross the veil, and their benevolence does not mean that they will go out of their way to help the mortal world." The spirit's voice was overly lecturing, as if he was trying to prove a point.

"Alright alright, I **get it**!" Alim couldn't stop himself from uttering, though he was somewhat amused that the Spirit of Honor was just as non-fond of preachy schoolmasters as he himself was.

The tome and lectern turned into glittering light dust and disappeared with the wind, just as Honor leaned on his other foot with his free hand resting on his hip. "So why did you come looking for our mutual friend?" he asked the guest.

Alim decided to leave asking why Honor thought of Raonar as his friend for later. "I was worried he had been pulled in by something... less benevolent and hoped I'd be able to track him down and bring him back," the magus replied, quite directly and with no noticeable amount of dishonesty.

The light coming from Honor seemed to grow a bit brighter, though the elf couldn't really understand how it could possibly get any stronger than it already was. Then, the spirit's top hat decomposed into several strands of pure energy that fell and formed into a scarf around his neck. "I see. Intriguing. I would ask why you would risk this after knowing him for but two of your weeks, but I doubt there is a need."

"Indeed?" the Magus gave out, no longer bothering to contain his skepticism. "You seem to be remarkably well informed."

The brilliant scarf grew in length and started to flutter. "I took the information out of his memory."

Alim raised an eyebrow at that, though the pieces of the puzzle did start to come together. For one, having a relationship with a Fade spirit seemed to explain pretty much every odd thing that Raonar had done since he left the Deep Roads. Granted, the whole 'Tear in the Veil' status was still not completely explained, but it was quite obvious that, at the very least, the dwarf's ability to influence darkspawn taint had something to do with this oddly detached dweller of the beyond. "Okay, I know I'll probably miss out on something by skipping ahead, but just what's with your interest in Raonar anyway?"

Honor's overcoat shred into a myriad of strands of light and came together once again, forming into what looked like a set of heavy plate armor. "He and I came to an arrangement, some time ago," he vicariously explained.

Now it was the mage's turn to tilt his head to the right in disbelief. "Really... Setting aside the fact that a dwarf shouldn't even be able to enter the Fade, much less come into contact with spirits, why would you do that? And what kind of deal was it? What did it imply?"

Honor's armor softened and reformed into a loose-fitting but somehow completely proper robe that extended outwards. "One question at a time," he requested as he leaned on the cane held in his left hand. Then, he turned his attention to the side. "Ah! And It seems you may actually get your answers directly from him."

Alim had finally gotten a good enough reason to turn his gaze away from the magnificent being that stood in front of him. He looked in the direction that Honor's 'face' was directed at, and saw how one of the seven far-off terraces became filled with magical energy. The light show eventually died down and a short, bipedal individual appeared. He was dressed in a white shirt and loose-fitting trousers and wore a pair of well-fitting leather boots, though they were also white somehow. The elf immediately recognized him, though he could not miss out on the obvious fact that there was something distinctly different about his appearance.

"Yo!" Raonar greeted the newcomer as he tactfully walked up to the two. "How interesting to find you here, in this little dream of mine."

The fact that the 'dream' was hardly small aside, that sentence would usually take him by surprise, but the mage had been through so many weird things that day that the novelty of the entire situation was completely wasted on him.

"Hello Honor," Raonar added as he looked at the fade dweller.

"Hello," the thousand-in-one voice just said back.

"You are incredibly odd, you know that?" Alim declared with a tint of frustration. "Being pulled into the Fade is one thing, but how can you even tell this is a dream, let alone navigate it?"

The dwarf shot him a raised eyebrow. "Well, I actually can't. Honor told me. That and, of course," he lifted up on of his beard braids "there is the fact that I am blond."

"And your eyes are dark blue," the other one added, trying to enforce his point.

"Yes, I thought as much..." The dwarf looked to the side, as if scouring the horizon, then he brushed aside one of the brilliant floating feathers that had gotten close enough to tickle his nose.

"What **happened** anyway?" the mage prodded.

Honor's brilliance retreated somewhat and his robe reformed into an overflowing cape, but it was the bearded one that responded. "I was about to die so Honor pulled me into the Fade in order to take over my body."

Alim was stunned for a moment, but was able to quickly put the pieces together. "So... you were going to die in the Joining?"

"Yes, I was," he simply confirmed with his hands behind his back.

The elf humored the thought that perhaps his first impression that Raonar wasn't Grey Warden material was on the mark. Then he remembered the incident in the Brecilian Forest, among other things, and realized that there was something else in play that he did not know about. "So will I **ever** find out the story behind all this?"

The prince looked thoughtful for a moment, as though he was considering whether or not he actually wanted to tell that story. After a while, he turned his gaze towards the Fade Spirit. "How much time do we have until my body recovers?"

Honor leaned on his cane as his brilliance shapeshifted, until he was dressed in a pure white tuxedo. "It will still take some time."

"Hmm..."

"In the meantime," the spirit continued as he slid the tip of his cane across the floor. "Perhaps we should have some tea?" The cane drew a circle on the ground, a trail of swirling light growing and shimmering, until it consolidated into a round surface that rested on a single supporting pole in the middle. It was made of the same solid marble and looked as though it was part of the same chunk as the entire floating island. Honor proceeded to tapping the surface of that table in multiple places, pure will materializing into a the full set of porcelain cups and teapot that one would expect to see in such a pastime.

"Awkward..." the mage remarked as he couldn't stop himself from thinking how totally strange it was to be having tea in the Fade.

Raonar said nothing, instead allowing himself to sit on one of the three armchairs that had taken form next to the tea table. Honor did the same, catching another floating feather and once again transforming it into a top hat. In the end, Alim decided there was no point in wondering about the logic of what was happening and simply joined the others.

Honor waved his cane ever so slightly, causing the silver teapot to float and pour the sweet liquid into the three cups in turn. A pleasant fragrance filled the area as it seemingly began to rain harmless but entrancing spirit sparks. "You know you don't necessarily have to tell that tale," the being reminded the dwarf dreamer.

"No, it's fine. Since he risked coming all this way, it's the least I can do," the other one replied as he took a cup into his hand and let the small plate beneath it rest on his lap as he leaned against the back of his armchair. He then stretched and crossed his legs, thoughtfully looking into the distance while taking a sip. The taste was magnificent. Honor definitely knew how to will tea into being.

"Why are you acting so melodramatic?" Alim asked as he took a hold of his own teacup.

"Just because," he deadpanned, barefaced. "Anyway, I suppose I should at least find a beginning," he went on to saying. Then he paused, as if trying to sort things out in his head. "You already know I participated in an expedition into the Deep Roads about four years ago, right?"

Alim took a sip of the tea and decided it was the best he had ever tasted. "Yes, and that you somehow changed during it."

"I wasn't supposed to participate," he finally started to relate. "I actually disguised myself as a common soldier and snuck off under the alias Rao. Yes, it was an obvious Alias, but people can be remarkably oblivious to the obvious and I actually enjoyed seeing them so. Mostly I kept to myself and tried to make sure Gorim wasn't too obvious about being my second. Back then, though, I wasn't how I am right now by a mile."

"I take it you're talking about something other than your odd hair color, weird eyes and penchant for completely ruining people's spellcasting?" the magus mercilessly spoke.

Honor leaned back against his own chair and let his cane rest on his knees as he placed one leg over the other, though he did not intervene in the discussion.

"Yes, I meant something else. I was actually more of a scout instead of a warrior. I was even a pretty good shot with the bow. I just marched alongside everyone else for a few weeks, though, since not having an actual identity also deprived you of any sort of background and, thus, reputation." The dwarf sipped some more tea. "Until our scouting party didn't return one day, that is."

Alim raised an eyebrow but decided to just wait.

"My father's coddling finally showed some use just then. Since he had pretty much not allowed me to leave the uppermost level of the Diamond Quarter in my life, even though I was already almost 19, most everyone in the city did not actually know what I looked like. This included the leader of said expedition, and I was able to convince him I was someone else. I volunteered to go ahead and scout alone, though Gorim predictably offered to accompany me. The commander reluctantly agreed. Later, the two of us found the previous party dead and being chewed on by a pack of deep stalkers. Gorim and I took them out and collapsed a weakened tunnel over their lair. After we got back and reported the situation, I was promoted to scout leader and left in charge of scouring ahead of the main troops and reporting on which paths could and should be taken."

Honor had a brilliant bow tie appear on the collar of his tuxedo and started to spin his top hat between his fingers. The Mage just drank some more tea and listened attentively.

"After a few days, I had already become one of Baizyl Harrowmont's advisors, that was the commander by the way, and participated in every strategy meeting and debate concerning where to go next. The expedition was actually going rather well and very few men had been lost along the way. It was around the start of the second half of the first month in the Deep Roads that things really got interesting."

"Interesting how?" the elf pried.

"Interesting for me personally," the exile clarified as he clinked the small teaspoon against the mouth of the cup. He then looked inexplicably melancholic for just a moment, though the exact expression could not be perfectly made out because of how the light emanating from Honor fell on his face. "There were a few women among the troops and one of them recognized me."

Honor leaned against the other arm of his chair and gently struck Alim's cup with the end of his cane, causing the tea inside it to replenish.

"She took me to the side one evening and told me that to my face," the now golden-haired dreamer continued as his own cup once again filled with tea on its own. "I recognized her as well. She was one of the better female fighters in the city, though far more attractive than most every other woman I had ever seen. She had dark, loose hair that hung in front of her face slightly, and a round face that just made her deep, brown eyes stand out even more. I had defeated her, barely, in the final bout of a Glory proving just a short while prior to my mother's death."

"You **barely** beat her?" the magus repeated, obviously mistrustful of that sentence.

"I wasn't always a master at arms, you know," the other one pointed out as he leaned his chair slightly backwards, his heels resting on the edge of the table and the right leg resting on top of the left one. "I didn't even like to wear anything heavier than medium armor back then. Anyway, she was really good at what she did... and she knew how to do a lot of things..."

Alim couldn't possibly not notice the wistful expression that covered the dwarf's face just then and inevitably deduced what would follow.

"Yes," Raonar confirmed as he guessed the other Grey Warden's thoughts. "This is one of those incredibly cliched stories where the **'hero'**," the word was pronounced with an astounding degree of sarcasm, "winds up with one of the only female characters in the tale and both fall madly in love." He paused, staring into the depths of the tea cup he was holding in his right hand. "And she knew her way around a lot more things that just her sword too... We actually ended up teaching each other tricks when we-"

"-We can't **possibly** be having this conversation!" the robed one cut him off as he was at once astounded and alarmed at possibly hearing something that could never be unheard.

Raonar threw him an annoyed look. "Seriously. You're a blood mage. As in, you can control other people's, and, by extension, **women's** actions. Need I say more? Don't tell me **you've** never had any naughty thoughts yourself."

Alim shrugged, though he decided not to challenge that statement, not just because it was a perfectly logical observation but also because the thought **had, **in fact, crossed his mind several times in the past.

"So yes, we fell for each other and slept together on multiple occasions, though not as often as we may have liked... She was a fiery one... Fine, I'll stop it," he relented as the elf frowned at him. "This went on for almost two months. She even became a permanent member of my scouting party and never revealed my identity to anyone else. There was also an incident with a kid that also recognized me and almost died while following us. I had to carry him on my back for hours as we hurried back to the main body of the military force. But that's besides the point," he took another sip from the tea cup and shot Honor a glance.

The spirit flashed lightly, weaves of power forming around his chair, but said nothing, settling for just fiddling with his ever present cane.

"You know," the dwarf's expression was colored by a wry smile as he started to stroke his beard. "She's the one who actually came up with this beard style. Yeah, she had excellent tastes. I didn't pay much attention to it but she just went over my head and arranged it like this in my sleep one night, after she had made sure to wear me out as utterly and completely as she could. I swear, that woman had some serious endurance."

The elf couldn't contain himself and burst forward, disgorging whatever tea he had just sipped, almost dropping the cup of tea on the stone floor. "Dammit dwarf... seriously!"

"Alright alright... So she came up with this beard style that Lord Pyral Harrowmont and, later, a whole drove of other nobles shamelessly copied," he finally concluded. A long silence followed after that, and Raonar looked as though he didn't know what to say next, or didn't want to for some reason.

"Her name was Leandra Untaam, by the way."

Even aggravated as he was, the sharp-eared one couldn't possibly fail to pick up on the fact that the speaker had just formulated that sentence while using past tense. His eyes widened as he finally realized why the one in front of him didn't seem at all enthusiastic about the whole storytelling. "You don't have to tell me everything at once," he concernedly told him, surprised at himself for so earnestly saying that.

"Bah," the prince let out, again looking away as he leaned his armchair backwards even deeper. "It was four years ago. if I hadn't gotten over it by now, I would have been way too pathetic." He stirred the tea with his spoon for a while. "Yes, this is one of those incredibly cliched stories where the '**hero**' ends up losing the one he loved in an ever so epic way."

Alim turned his gaze away from the other dreamer and looked at Honor for a moment, noticing that the spirit himself was shining irregularly and had let his cane rest against the floor. The many strands of will and power moved incredibly slowly now, as though the Spirit was trying to be as nonintrusive and non-distracting as possible.

"What happened," the mage predictably inquired, though he wasn't altogether convinced he should prod him so. "Was she killed by darkspawn?"

Raonar scoffed and looked disgusted for an instant, though he tried to shift his gaze in another direction in order to conceal that reaction. "No... The darkspawn definitely didn't **kill** her, no."

The mage naturally noticed that the story teller had used the definitive article, and this meant that the darkspawn were still probably involved in some way.

The dwarf put a look on his face that was so dark that even the sunrays coming out of Honor couldn't obscure it completely. The spirit bent forward and let his shadowless hands rest on the table, but his echoing, booming voice was not heard.

"Things were bound to turn bad sooner or later. We eventually reached an ancient Thaig, in whose middle was a huge rift whose bottom could not be seen. Over it was a large bridge, carved into the stone. Our expedition crossed it and decided to set up camp on the far end, with just a few meager traps around the encampment. Idiots, all of them. They had grown overconfident because of how smoothly the mission had gone up to that point." He tapped the bottom of his teacup against the plate underneath it a couple of times. "We were swarmed by hundreds of those monsters while everyone, except for a few sentries, was asleep. The traps managed to send out the alarm signals and the troops got wind of what was happening soon enough, but by the time they did, our pack of brontos, the animals that carried all the supplies, had already run off."

Even though he hardly knew anything about military command, Alim could easily discern that an army without supplies is not exactly in a good position.

"Fortunately, in their madness, some of the animals broke their harnesses and, thus, not **all** of our equipment was lost. We took it and retreated over the bridge, setting up magical charges behind us in a last effort to shake off the beasts by destroying the bridge itself. Some of us died while holding a meat wall at the far end, knowing they would have to remain behind so that the rest of us might flee. Gorim, Lea and I weren't among them, since out duties were different. In the confusion, I couldn't keep track of everything and was even forced to take it upon myself to light the fuses when the one assigned to it got killed by a darkspawn's arrow."

The listeners waited for the storyteller to drink some more tea and clear his throat. "Then I heard her call out to me, and the worst part was that the shout came from toward the horde, not the other way. I looked back and saw her as she was trying to shake off a group of hurlocks that had swarmed her all at once for some reason. She had fallen behind, but the charges were already set."

Honor's top hat dispersed into strands of energy and eventually scattered as he again leaned back against his chair. Alim just listened, no longer drawing his eyes away from the dwarf. Raonar's face was so obviously colored in grief that the other one could barely even imagine what would follow.

"I can see it even now," he stared at his palms. "The middle section of the bridge had already been destroyed, and the rest was gradually crumbling. She hadn't made it across. She was stranded there, along with just a few others that were being cut down one by one. But what was worse was that the darkspawn were trying to drag her off. Dammit, why were they dragging her off? I still don't know, even today." A faint nuance of rage almost surfaced, but the impulse faltered in the face of hopeless sadness. "'Rao, don't let them take me' she cried out as they grabbed her by both arms. I knew what she meant. She could well see there was no way I could get to her."

As realizations finally materialized, Alim's eyes widened in shock.

"I **did **tell you I was a pretty good shot with the bow back then," he wryly reminded the other dreamer. "Such vivid memories. My knees shaking. My arms trembling. Gorim yelling at me, telling me that the bridge beneath my feet was cracking. My hands refusing to let go of the bowstring as she looked at me and begged me to not let those things take her alive."

Alim couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"I was crying like an idiot. I was so pathetic." He practically threw the teacup and plate back on the table, though they somehow managed to land properly. "I bit my own tongue to get a grip on myself. And as my arrow sunk into her heart, she looked at me, and the look in her eyes only begged me to forgive her for having had to make me do that. And as she died, drowning in that regret, I couldn't even put on a strong face to make it easier on her."

The elf mage stared at Honor in shocked silence, as though he wanted a hint as to what to say. But the tuxedo-wearing Fade Dweller had simply crossed his arms and his radiant shape no longer shifted.

"I still don't know what the darkspawn wanted to do to her," he revealed, though there was hardly anything in his voice except calm grief.

The mage couldn't bear with it anymore and decided that stating the obvious was better than not saying anything at all. "It would probably have been a fate worse than death."

"I haven't touched a bow since..." he added, drawing a surprised sideway glance from the robed one. "I probably never will. There's just no right choice in a situation like that. And yet, In the end, it was still me that killed her."

"You can't **still** be blaming yourself for that!" the mage protested as he got agitated.

"I am **not **blaming myself for her **death** per se, weren't you listening?" Raonar surprised him. "I'm pissed off because I didn't give her a quick and regretless end. Yes, I know, it's stupid to still be affected by this four years later, but there it is." He got up and walked away a few steps, again studying the horizon of Honor's domain. "Bah, it does not matter. This isn't what you wanted to know anyway."

Alim finally realized that that story definitely did not explain anything about why the dwarf noble was so... odd in the mortal world.

"it was what happened immediately **after** the bridge event that led to my weird condition," he began once again, as if he was forcefully trying to turn the flow of the conversation in another direction. "The section of the bridge me and Gorim were on also crumbled, and we fell into the abyss."

Alim also got up, so Honor did the same and the tea table, along with everything on it, broke apart into thousands of spirit particles that filled the air with their enthralling glitter.

"We tried to run, to jump over the chasm, but it was too late. There was also the fact that my mind almost shut down from the shock. I don't know how, but Gorim spotted a hole, like a cave, in the cliff on the far end of the bridge section we were on as it started to descend into the bottomless rift. He managed to punch my senses back into me and we both went for it, hoping we would be able to jump at it in time. We managed to reach that big hole, only to find it was a remarkably abrupt but smooth tunnel. We fell and slid, and rolled, for Ancestors know how long. In the end, we woke up and found ourselves to be lying on the ground, though we had no idea where we had winded up."

Light strands again started to swirl as Honor's tuxedo shifted and tuned into what looked like an elaborate royal vestment, though the light pervading it was as brilliant and shadow-removing as ever.

"We were bruised and tired, and hungry. Still, we pressed on, for lack of a better idea, and followed whatever tunnels we could until we entered an immense dome within the foundations of Thedas itself. It was filled with huge, intricate veins of the purest lyrium on all sides and a strange power seemed to pervade it."

Honor stepped up and was now closer to the other two than he had ever been before. Then, he spoke words that almost caused the Magus' jaw to drop to the floor. "The former lair of Zazikel, Old God of Chaos and Archdemon of the Second Blight."

"Wha-"

"**Don't** react like **that**, please, at least **try** not to be so shamefully predictable," the currently blond dwarf flatly requested, though he was only given a look of absolute stupefaction. "It really wasn't much. Just a big place with a lot of 'pure' darkspawn taint floating about, a tear in the Veil the size of a house and a really nasty thing that almost sucked all the life out of Gorim and me as we non-inexplicably lost consciousness."

"Whoa whoa!" the mage let out, shaking his hands in agitation. "Slow down! This is not exactly easy to take in all at once! Archdemon lairs! Are you **kidding**?"

The ex-Aeducan sighed, but actually appeared slightly amused. "Well, Archdemons have to be waiting **somewhere **for those things to find them. And you **do** realize Zazikel died centuries ago right? There was hardly anything of epic proportions left in that place."

"Except for a Sloth Demon," Honor corrected as he again leaned on his cane, a royal cape once again fluttering behind him.

"That's **hardly** epic, Honor," he countered.

"Whoa! Just... WHOA!"

"What?" Raonar queried in feigned bemusement.

"Archdemons! Sloth Demons! You really don't think this is all a bit too unbelievable?"

"Well, how believable is it for a dwarf to be a Tear in the Veil and to be suddenly pulled into the Fade by the Spirit of Honor who, by the way, never lies?"

Alim finally managed to shut his gaping maw. "Pfah! You always have a point, don't you?"

Honor let out a blinding flash of light in order to put a stop to that exchange of lines. "The Sloth Demon was just the pawn of a particularly aggravating Pride Demon that had usurped my domain," he slammed.

"Wha..."

"Indeed," Raonar enforced, barefaced.

The mage was stunned beyond belief. "Right... I think I'll just... become a griffon and... fly waaay over there now."

"For someone with a will strong enough to resist Duty's intrusion, you certainly get stupefied easily," the spirit teased as it had its cape divide into a set of symmetrical strands of pure will once again.

"That you are peeved, Spirit, is **so** not my problem," Alim blabbed.

"Hey, you're the one who wanted to know," Raonar flatly noted.

"This is insane!"

The prince bent his head to the left, frustration almost visible in the look in his eyes. "Need I remind you that my entire life has been one string of madness after another? Did you already forget the chain of events involving me stabbing my brother, for his own good of course, that got me out of Orzammar?"

"Damn! Why do you always have a point? Why can you expose me to such maddening situations and still be the one who has a point?"

The dwarf couldn't stop a chuckle from leaving his lungs. "Faren would probably say 'I'm just funny that way.'"

"This isn't funny **at all**!" the other one challenged, crossing his arms in annoyed frustration and only barely restraining himself from zapping Raonar's face with lighting.

"(sigh)"

All of them paused for a time, letting the elf sort out his thoughts and finally restore his composure. Now, he was again willing to listen to the rest of the story. "Okay, so what happened next? I assume the Sloth Demon trapped you in a dream or somesuch."

The currently blue-eyed dwarf put his hands behind his back and looked straight at the floor for a moment. "A... dream, yes..."

Honor started shining brighter, drawing the mage's attention. "The Pride Demon had enabled that minion of his to cross the Veil through that particularly large crack. The purpose was for it to channel the inexhaustible energy of the lyrium back into the Fade through its own being. It was that energy that empowered the demon to overpower me and imprison me in the bowels of my own realm."

"Gorim and I were lucky though," the dwarf took the word as he looked up to his listener. "Since I had just suffered a particularly serious trauma, Sloth decided to act on his own, without his master's consent, and pulled me into a different dream. Apparently, demons really have a taste for intense emotions. Ironic isn't it? That the fact I had just had my lover die in front of my eyes actually worked out in my favor, odd though it may sound."

The elf was listening most intently, having resolved to at least not miss a single detail by blurting out anything unnecessary.

"And it could be said that it worked out in **my** favor as well," Honor added as his royal vestments shifted into a particularly intricate suit. "Though I was sealed, I was able to reach out to him and show him that it was an illusion. Then, we came to an arrangement that got us both out of that unfortunate situation."

Raonar again took the word. "The Pride Demon did as proud men always do and underestimated Honor. He was able to get through the dream created by the Sloth Demon and release my consciousness from it. Then I awoke, slew the demon's physical form and jumped into the Tear in the Veil myself."

Alim frowned at those words, since doing something like that isn't particularly healthy. "Why?"

"Because it enabled Honor to use my body much in the same way that the Pride Demon used his minion's," he explained.

"I partially possessed him," Honor rammed, stunning the other, "And directly tapped into the limitless supply of magical power that those lyrium veins carried. It was somewhat difficult to focus as the energies began to swirl and gush, but I was able to eventually bring them under my control and used them to engage the Pride Demon again on equal footing. I bested it quite easily, now that it had lost its dishonorable advantage, and it cowardly crossed the Veil through that very same crack in order to escape retribution."

"Of course, my own resistance to magic is what let me survive that process," Raonar pointed out. "Though I ended up losing it immediately afterwards."

The mage decided he just had to say something. "This tale ranks at the top in terms of how unbelievable tales can get, but go on."

"I did tell you that that place was thick with darkspawn corruption? Well, apparently, and ever so surprisingly, me and Gorim, who had almost been drained lifeless by Sloth already, had become very much infected with it. Really, we weren't supposed to survive."

Honor took a step to the side, his cane tapping against the marble a couple of times. "And the crack in the Veil put me and my realm at risk. So we struck a deal."

"I allowed him to anchor the Tear in the Veil in my body."

"And I drew all the taint inside of him and sealed it," Honor finished.

"My body became a permanent link between the Fade and the re... mortal world. That's how I became so weird, both in looks and in my odd ability to cause people's spells to blow up in their face. Granted, healing magic also has trouble working on me, so it's not really an advantage. And then I drained the corruption out of Gorim th-"

"-The same way you drew it out of Theron in the Brecilian Woods..." Alim realized, finishing the sentence himself. "This... this is unbelievable but... it makes absolute sense at the same time...Except for one thing... Why did your body react so negatively when you saved Theron?"

"Even **I** have limits," the fade Spirit unexpectedly uttered. "It was never Raonar that drew the taint out, it was I, and I only did it because his honor, and mine, demanded it. Keep in mind that we fade Spirits, like demons, don't exactly know much about this darkspawn taint, so sealing it in the bowels of his being was the best I could do. That taint drawn out of the elf was, shall we say, the drop that caused the glass to spill."

The Magus finally understood. "This whole talk worries me... just how **much **of that corruption has this guy (points at the dwarf) been carrying around with him all these years?"

"A lot..." the one that had been pointed at answered. "And that's why my muscles turned to shreds when I tried to help Kallian earlier. My body genuinely did almost break apart."

The three waited, silently, for a few moments, then the dwarf figured he would finish the story.

"So now you know the story. I had to realize that I was using Lea as an excuse to feel sorry for myself, in order to escape the dream. I gave up my pride to get understanding. I let my anger die to starve the demon and give Honor the leeway he needed to shatter the dream and grant me freedom. And after I destroyed the demon and tipped the scales, I gave up my magic resistance, part of what made me dwarva, so that I may survive." His tone could not exactly be made out.

"After that happened, I took Gorim, unconscious as he was, and carried him on my back for a time as I tried to track down the army. After he woke up, we managed to move faster and eventually found the brontos. We gathered them up and led them out of there, eventually picking up the army's trail. We found it just as it had been again swarmed by a large group of monsters. So I mounted one of the larger brontos and had Gorim use a fire bomb to scare the others and send them into a fit of panic. Then, I and my mount charged ahead, the tip of a stampede of sorts. It was quite satisfying to see mangled genlocks and hurlocks so artistically flying about. After the battle was over and almost no one of our own had died, because I had so epically arrived just in the nick of time of course, Gorim accidentally let out a "Your Highness" as he addressed me and that blew my cover. Ah well, at least the mission was successful in the end."

Alim almost let out a chuckle but realized that Raonar was just relating that totally irrelevant piece so that he could chase away his bad memories about his lover with some more pleasant ones.

"So there you have it," the dwarf concluded as he was once again able to smile. "Thanks for listening as I rambled on," he then turned to the lord of the realm, "And I suppose it's about time I got back, yes?"

Honor's entire body lost its form and turned into a swirling mass of pure brilliance, though a myriad of strands and weaves hovered about him as he practically flew through the air back to the middle of the floating marble island. There, he resumed his previous form quite sleekly and tapped the cane against the floor once.

The marble turned to mist, and the mist cleared, receding ever away from the middle until there was a hole, ten meters in diameter, that looked upon the abyss underneath, where the endless waters fell incessantly. "The Joining is complete," he declared as the two dreamers walked up to the circular shaft. "Now you are immune to the corruption and can finally return to your mortal coil."

"This hole is not here for the purpose I just thought about, is it?" the elf asked, worriedly, though he knew that was exactly why.

"My body is on the other end of this seemingly endless and ever so ominous waterfall," Raonar deadpanned as he gave the other one a playful nudge. "And this 'water' is actually the stream of magic that constantly flows out of me and meddles in your spells when you get too close."

"Thought so..."

"I'll see you back in Ostagar then."

"Yeah..."

The dwarf walked up to the edge of it and waited for a moment, after which he looked back at the mage one last time, his dark blue eyes glittering in the brightness that Honor still gave out. "And here I am again, a final leap of faith as the curtain closes on this chapter of my life," he solemnly stated as a gust of wind caused his clothes to flutter slightly. Then, he just turned his gaze to his front, staring deep, as though the object of his focus was beyond the edge of the Fade itself.

"I am Raonar Aeducan, Prince of Orzammar and Commander of her armies. And now, I fall, only to rise anew."

_"Let one who comes within the thaig,_  
_know that Paragons have walked within these halls,_  
_know that mothers have bled upon these stones,_  
_and when from the Deep Roads shadows crept_  
_we clans arose, our vows were kept_  
_deaths resolute, no tears were wept."_

He stretched his arms outward, as if embracing the infinity that lay before him. "And now, for the cheesiness to be complete. Atrast Vala! I'll see you on the other side."

He leapt, both arms still outstretched, and did not even blink or chase the calm look off his face as he took the plunge.

"-. This spirit would offer you a deal, young blood mage .-"

Alim Surana stood on the precipice and just thoughtfully stared at his new brother in duty as he fell and disappeared in the seemingly insurmountable darkness. He still could not believe half of what he had heard, but realized that his denial was useless. After all, the Spirit of Honor was **right there,** next to him, and the light he shone was somehow brighter than the sun but not at all hard on his eyes. Then, the Prince of Orzammar finally passed beyond the edge of his sight, and he realized he would now have to return to his body himself.

Light strands grew and faded out of Honor's body as he was once again clad in kingly vestments, just as shadowless and bright as all of his previous forms. Then, he touched the floor with his cane one last time and a mirror, similar in form to the one in the Tevinter Ruins, grew directly out of the white marble. "You may use this to return to your own world. But before you go, there is something I would ask of you," his penetrating voice like a thousand echoes from the future and the past pronounced.

Alim was somewhat surprised and stared at the Spirit, though he actually had questions of his own. "Before that, tell me. Why are you doing this?"

The hundreds of waves of light momentarily stopped completely and Honor looked like a glowing statue for an instant. "What I do I do because honor dictates it," he retorted, quite diplomatically.

"There's more to it than that," the dreamer debated. "Now that he's no longer affected by the taint you kept sealed all these years, you could just close off the veil completely and be done with this association with him."

The shining being leaned on one foot as he once again resumed his usual, continuously shifting appearance. "True. Honor demanded that I keep him alive, since I was in his debt after he helped me overcome that Pride Demon. And now, his life is no longer in danger from anything that can be seen as having me as part of the cause."

"So, now what? Are you going to close the Veil and end your association with this mortal?" The elf only slightly tried to mask his sarcasm.

Honor laughed. "No."

That answer echoed throughout the entire realm, not just the floating marble island, and Alim couldn't help but be surprised. "No? And why does he still interest you?"

The sprit once again brought his hands together on the hilt of his cane. "Do you want to know why he still has such vivid memories of that event? it is because the 'dream' that the demon pulled him into was, in fact, a nightmare in which he was forced to relive that scene, over and over again."

Alim momentarily closed his eyes, as if trying to get rid of a mental image he had just conjured up.

"Do you want to know why he changed?" the being followed up. "Why he took a liking to massive armors and adopted such a practical and detached attitude? Why he plans so far ahead, and for almost, if not every, possible outcome that could ever be envisioned? **He** knows why, of course. He does not waste time on denial, on lying to himself. He knows it's because he wants to keep himself from getting hurt even further. That armor he wears is just like the one he built around his heart."

"You are fond of him aren't you?" the Magus finally realized, though he was more in awe than surprised.

"Are you surprised? You are fond of him as well."

"Yes..." he was surprised at how quickly he admitted that. "Because he was the only person who didn't judge me for being a Bl-" he stopped himself, realizing that it may not be a good idea to tell the spirit of Honor he was versed in magic used by malefikarum.

"I know you are a blood mage," Honor slammed, causing the elf to take a step back and become worried. "Fear not. What you can do will not earn my ire, so long as it does not overstep the bounds of honor. Regardless, it is **because** you know such magic that I wish to make you a proposition."

**That** was definitely unexpected. Alim knew he should never even consider making deals with demons, but Honor was no demon and, well, he was **Honor.** "A deal? What kind of deal?"

Honor put his arms behind his back and walked a few steps away. "That armor around his heart... he took it off only once in the past four years. And that was just weeks ago. He exposed his heart so that he could trample it. He exposed it so that his brother may tell him he wished him dead, so that he could use that to bring himself to stab him, only to keep him alive in the end. He exposed his heart so that he could become hurt enough to have the strength to write such harsh words to his father. He did it so that nothing could stop him from seeing just how selfish of him it was to force such a fate upon his second. He did it, only so he could never forget. He never forgets. he never lets himself forget."

"That doesn't sound right. He should be able to move on, especially considering that he can practically rationalize everything," the mage uttered.

"That is not how he is. He does not move on, nor does he fall back. He just stays and grows, becoming ever more than he was before. He takes every experience, pleasant or not so, and makes it a part of him. That is what allowed him to become who he is. You can see it, can't you? He can understand anything and see the reasoning behind it, even though the ones who do the things he analyzes sometimes do not know their own reasons themselves."

"What are you getting at?"

"I fear he may end up hurting himself even more if he goes on like this, and that something irreparable will happen when he finally takes that armor around his heart off again. If his plan to save Trian had failed, it would have already happened and we would not be having this conversation."

"That's his choice to make, isn't it?"

"You say that, but you still came all the way into the Fade after him," Honor flatly pointed out.

Alim stared into the ground. "I suppose that's true." He then looked back at him. "So, what exactly do you propose?"

Honor took a straightforward stance and let himself shine as bright as light could possibly get. "I will teach you some things. In return, you will have to do something for me when the time comes."

Alim Surana, Elven Blood Mage of the Circle tower, narrowed his eyes slightly and engaged in a staredown with the magnificent being that stood before him.

"-. Welcome, Brother .-"

When he finally came to, the mage felt hazy and somewhat weakened, but he managed to grasp the situation quickly enough and noticed that the silver-haired dwarf had only just woken up himself and was scratching his eyes. Then, he noticed Duncan and Alistair standing over the two of them, and the others lined up against the wall, waiting for them to get back to their senses.

"It is finished," Duncan solemnly uttered. "Welcome."

Duncan helped Raonar to his feet, while Alistair did the same to the ever so aggravating Blood Mage that he had still not come to accept as a brother.

"You two gave us quite a scare," Gwenith told from the side.

"Yes," the Warden Commander enforced. "I don't suppose you could actually tell us what happened?"

The Prince and the Mage exchanged quizzical looks for a moment, after which the former looked up at Duncan with a sly grin.

"We had tea..."

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

Author's footnote: I know this may seem overly tragic, but despite what game mechanics show, this **is** actually what Dwarves have been going through for centuries. Also:

Disclaimer: The poem that Raonar recites is taken from the codex.

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

_And that review space is still waiting!_


	13. Joining Arc 6: The Calm Before the Storm

**Chapter 12: The Calm Before the Storm**

"-. I **so** like being a Grey Warden .-"

"Are they **still** at it?" Alistair asked Faren in absolute disbelief as he walked up to him.

The new Grey Warden was leaning against a tree, chewing on an apple he had picked up immediately after they had finally arrived at the Grey Wardens' actual encampment. As recruits, they hadn't been allowed to enter the main army camp, where the few Grey Wardens had set up their special barracks. Still, he found it quite intriguing, though the multitude of tall people made him feel slightly uneasy. Now, he was watching a particular scene most intently and had his entire face covered in a grin as wide as the Waking Sea. "Yep."

Alistair was utterly aggravated. "Unbelievable. They've been going at it for **an hour and a half** without stopping even a second..." he noted, in as low a voice he could, knowing that Duncan would probably scold him for freaking out again. "What **is it** with that guy anyway?"

Faren glanced to the side, where Raonar's shield and weapons, except Gorim's Sword, were lying. "What do you mean 'What is it with that guy'?" he asked, feigning confusion as obviously as he could, if only to see the poor Templar get even more impatient. "I mean, which of his odd quirks are you referring to exactly?"

Alistair mumbled something as he scratched his forehead. "Are all you dwarves so impossible?" He was incredibly frustrated, even though he hid it well. His templar discipline wasn't completely wasted at least. When he saw himself ignored, however, he couldn't help but ask what he actually wanted to know. "Do all people end up acting completely out of character around that creepy guy?"

The redhead covered his chuckle with another bite from his apple, after which he threw the leftovers to the side and took out one of his throwing knives. "Yeah." He didn't elaborate, resolving, instead, to start picking his teeth with the blade.

The human almost groaned. "You don't talk much, do you?" His tone clearly transmitted his frustration.

Faren spit out an apple seed and smirked. "Not when I'm watching a duel."

For the most part, Alistair was frustrated because Duncan was acting particularly odd lately, or so it seemed to him. Until recently, the 'old' man had been mostly serious and quite careful in his dealing with anyone. That, and he had made a point of making sure Alistair was as clear as he could be on "staying out of trouble and getting along with everyone". Then, after he got back from his last trip with the two elves and two dwarves, he began to show a different side of himself that the almost templar had never seen or, indeed, known about.

The bit about being pro recruiting a Blood Mage was the most scandalous, and it took Alistair a long time to finally submit to Duncan's judgment. The man even had to insinuate that his templar training was showing a bit too strongly. That, however, was not all that Alistair didn't understand or outright disapproved of. For one, the Commander had gracefully covered for Kallian and Faren as they practically ran rampant through the entire army camp, picking everyone's pockets and robbing them blind. The two even had the audacity of engaging in a contest of who could pick more in the shortest time (Kallian apparently won, since men seemed quite eager to become enraptured at her slightest wink).

Then, of course, there was that business with Theron so slyly sneaking about where the trees were thickest and making strange animal noises, startling the sentries on duty out of their minds. Apparently, he decided he would make the best of being confined with shemlen on every side, and playing pranks on them was at once rewarding and relaxing, or so he had said when Kallian asked him about it.

After the Joining business was over, Raonar had slammed them all by giving them an explanation that was at once revelatory and completely bewildering. "The Spirit of Honor pulled me into the Fade and took care of my body while it dealt with the stress of the Joining and the taint I already had inside, after which he helped me come back. And while that happened, he, Alim and I had some tea and told stories," was all he had said. He even made a point of acting as though what he had just uttered wasn't complete and absolute lunacy.

Alim **did**, of course, offer to explain a bit of what had happened to that guy's body, but Alistair still didn't trust him. Thus, he refused to stick around as the mage started to so scientifically elaborate upon Raonar's nature to Gwen, Theron and the city elf, **after** they last two had finished their respective crime sprees of course. Later, the human remembered Faren mentioning how the other dwarf and Duncan had had a very long chat one night in Lothering, and figured he may actually know what it all was about. The problem, however, was that Duncan was... preoccupied.

What Alistair really couldn't understand was why, in the name of the Maker, Duncan was still dueling that white-haired dwarf. For some reason, that individual asked, more like challenged Duncan again immediately after they arrived at the Grey Wardens barracks, and the latter actually accepted. Duncan **accepted** a duel just like **that, **even though it was already getting late and all the other Wardens were having dinner or preparing to rest, in anticipation of the battle that was going to take place the next day. And it had been half past an hour and they were still at it, each with one blade in their hand and striking so quickly and precisely that Alistair actually had trouble following.

"Up for a bet?" a particularly huge human asked the two as he drew close. He was, by far, the tallest individual in the entire army and had an incredibly muscular build. His eyes were, oddly enough, grey, though they didn't seem to glow like Raonar's sometimes did when he was meditating with his eyes open, and that happened rarely. His hair was shaved short, though he wasn't actually bald, and looked like he was about 40. His most noteworthy feature, however, seemed to be the large pint that never seemed to leave his grasp.

"Well?" he pushed, emptying his pint of the last drop of beer that was in it. "Up for a bet or not?"

"I'll pass Solveig," Alistair flatly answered, drawing a raised eyebrow as a response.

"You're always so weary of these things, like a chaste cloistered sister," the large one answered back, following with a loud laughter when he noticed the templar's face get as red as a tomato. "And what about you?" he followed up, looking down at the short redhead. "Want to bet on who'll win?"

Faren leaned back against the tree and looked up at the incredibly tall man. The dwarf just smiled slyly from the corner of this mouth, though, and answered him with a question of his own. "And what'll you bet with?"

"AHA!" Solveig let out, glad to have finally found someone willing to gamble. "Finally! Some real stones on this one!"

Alistair blushed even more intensely and looked away, though he failed to come up with a line meant to help him extricate himself from that embarrassing situation. His attention was at once drawn back to Solveig, however, as he noticed that he seemed to be searching his own body for something but could not find it.

"Are you looking for this?" Faren coyly asked the giant as he held up a pouch of sovereigns which the latter immediately recognized as his own.

The no longer junior Warden couldn't stop himself from looking at the two as they engaged in a staredown. Solveig looked peeved and had a rather unhinged look on his face, while Faren did not seem to back down and just grinned at him. After a while, the huge one reached down, grabbed the dwarf by the back of his collar and shamelessly lifted him up until his face was at the same height as his own (his feet hung about a meter above the ground). The redhead dwarf didn't blink even once and, in fact, adopted a fairly cold face himself.

"Maybe you should learn to keep your hands to yourself," the man flatly advised as his free arm took a hold of the dwarf's shoulder and started to tighten its grip ever so slowly. "You may end up losing them..."

Faren narrowed his eyes, and the light given out by the fire that blazed some feet away cast shadows over his brand and made his hazel eyes look incredibly menacing. "And maybe you should get your head out of the clouds every so often, or you may lose track of what's happening below your eye level." At that, Solveig felt a rather sharp object pressing against his abdomen, just below his sternum, and when he looked down, he saw that the dwarf's hand was just a small flick away from driving a silverite dagger straight into him. "Really," Faren continued, just as coldly, as the electricity in the knife sent a shiver through the human's entire body. "Don't take it personally. You're not the only one I robbed blind today."

Alistair thought of intervening, but he didn't exactly have a very good track record at putting a stop to serious situations and thought that, maybe, he should ask the still dueling Duncan to intervene. Fortunately, there was no need, as both Wardens decided to indulge in a heartfelt laughter.

"Ha! You're definitely not as green as some of the soldier here," the huge man uttered as he quaintly placed the other back on the ground.

"Here," the other one let out as he tossed the tall one his pouch back. "Next time, tie it closer to your front."

"That bet is still, up by the by" Solveig decided to enforce.

Solveig was a Grey Warden that had come to Ferelden all the way from the Anderfels and was best known amongst his peers as a very heavy drinker, though he somehow managed never to get drunk somehow. Unfortunately, his bet would not come to pass, as the sound of heavy armored footsteps started to be heard, even over the noises made by Duncan and Raonar as metal struck against metal.

The two duelists, each wielding a single blade and nothing else, continued their hour and a half-long fight, even as the many onlookers who had formed a very wide circle around them, wardens and soldiers alike, kept staring with great interest. After all, it was not often that two Grey Warden got into such a duel and none of them could dispute the fact that it was a magnificent sight. Unfortunately, some of the viewers had to step aside and make room for an armored man and his two escorts to approach.

Duncan side-stepped, a quick spin of his blade deflecting an ascending thrust that the dwarf had keenly placed, only to see him spin on his heels himself and evade the descending strike that followed immediately. Thrust, parry, evade, block, deflect, parry again, side-step and envelop, both held their ground perfectly, even as neither seemed at all inclined to leave the other enough time for a breather. Block, parry and sidestep again, and Duncan managed to slip around Raonar and hit him in the back of his head with his elbow. The latter lost his balance, but let himself fall to the ground in order to avoid a horizontal slash, after which he followed up with a swift kick to the ankles that caused Duncan to slip off his feet himself.

Metal on metal was heard one last time only an instant after they both jumped back to their feet, and they were caught in a deadlock that did not seem like it would be broken any time soon.

His entire body was coursing with adrenaline and he felt a few drops of cold sweat tickle down his cheeks and lose themselves in his thick, black beard. "I must say you are holding your ground quite well, My Lord Aeducan, far better than what your ailing body allowed you to show earlier" the Warden Commander assessed, though he made sure not to loosen his stance in the slightest.

"You're not too bad yourself, especially for an arguably old man," the other retorted, just as exhilarated, and letting a pleased smile show on his face.

"Well!" a familiar voice was suddenly heard from the side.

Both fighters looked surprised at the fact that they had been so caught up in their duel that not only had they failed to notice that the Sun had almost disappeared from the sky, but also that the king of Ferelden had meanwhile arrived on the site. They broke their stances and bowed at each other.

"I initially planned to send a messenger to summon the Commander of the Grey to the strategy meeting," Cailan started, quite intrigued, though he still shot the dwarf prince a strange glance. "But when I heard the mighty Duncan had engaged in an hour-long duel with another Grey Warden, I just had to see it for myself. Still, I admit, I did not expect it to be one of the newer recruits."

Duncan accepted a handkerchief from one of the nearest Wardens and wiped the sweat off his brow. "We only accept the best, Your Majesty."

Raonar considered telling him how the duel had actually lasted longer and that he owed them one for interrupting, but figured it would **not** be a good idea to put on a defiant and sarcastic attitude towards the King on the eve of battle, not in front of the soldiers. Everyone was already tense as it was without them having reasons to question the King's ability to keep the men in line, Grey Wardens though they may be. So he just put his hands behind his back and waited, though he didn't shy away from looking at the young monarch.

Cailan looked a bit uncomfortable but didn't seem ready to leave after Duncan excused himself (saying he would go freshen up before attending the meeting), and met the dwarf's gaze easily enough. "You look like you'd want to say something and I admit I am rather surprised you didn't do it yet," the tall man stated, though he couldn't exactly conceal his slight desire to avoid any further verbal clashes.

"I said nothing because it was the Commander you came here to see, not I, Your Majesty" he answered quite directly and with absolutely no sort of irony or sarcasm or any other type of unruly emotion in the tone of his voice.

The King looked somewhat surprised at that. "I see..."

"Regardless," the dwarf prince uttered, "I ask that you excuse me while I also go freshen up. Keeping an equal footing with that old man was taxing, to say the least, even though neither of us was actually going all out." He then gave a short bow and almost turned around, but the king stopped him.

"Wait." Cailan then whispered something to his two guards.

"Alright! Show's over, nothing to see here anymore," one of them shouted, notifying the troops that they would now have to get back to their own posts and duties.

"Come on! Move along!" the other one enforced, somewhat gruffly.

Eventually, the soldiers dispersed and the rest of the Wardens took their places besides the fairly large campfire that their peers were keeping. Finally, the king dismissed his guards and was left more or less alone with the dwarf. The latter, however, didn't say anything, and the silence dragged on until the human finally decided to speak up. "Seeing how there is a battle tomorrow I wouldn't want that unfortunate run-in we had this morning to lead t-"

"My apologies," the other one cut him off, taking him completely off guard as he bowed deeply.

Cailan was a bit taken aback and he even frowned in slight confusion. "I... did not expect you to do that..."

"Forgive me for turning that situation awkward but I just couldn't help myself."

The human king was quite curious. "What do you mean, you couldn't help yourself?"

"Well, mostly it was because you seemed to resemble my older brother too much and, unlike him, you have no siblings in a position to keep your own manner from getting you killed, so I was at once worried and utterly annoyed."

Cailan had absolutely no idea what the short one had meant by that statement but decided he may be better off not knowing, at least until the time came for him and Faren to regale him with their story. "I suppose I do not have siblings in such a position, true..." he mused, rather neutrally.

As the two royal personas appeared to engage in a friendly conversation for once, Faren finished picking his teeth and Alistair made himself scarce, no doubt to go pester Duncan about one thing or another. The only other person left there, Solveig that is, was quite disheartened at seeing that the opportunity for placing a good bet had suddenly disappeared.

"Andraste's ass, I'll never get a chance to place such a good bet again," he fumed, though he sounded inexplicably hopeless and looked quite stricken as he stared into the depths of his now empty pint.

"Come on, surely there's **something** else you can have a bet on..." the red-haired dwarf suggested, unexpectedly sympathetically.

"The only other thing I'd be willing to do right now is have a drink-off," he responded, but he immediately got a glint in his eye that looked like he had gotten an idea. "Wait, actually, that's not a bad idea. Hey!" he shouted, drawing the attention of all the other Wardens that were now sitting around the fire. "How about it? I'll have a pint for every half pint you guys have."

All of them laughed to their hearts content. "Sorry Solveig," one of the more robust human women began, "but you know how that ended last time. Duncan walked in on us and found you still drinking and all of us passed out on the floor."

"You're all just scared little lady elves," he berated, at once bored and annoyed, though he would soon learn the gravity of having said that line.

"My my!" a graceful female voice like the tinkle of a silver bell was heard from behind him. "A racist **and **a sexist! How charming!"

Faren didn't budge, allowing himself to, instead, indulge in an incredibly wide grin. Solveig, however, was quite surprised at not having realized when that person had come up from behind. He turned around, only to be met by what he judged as a very eye-pleasing view.

"Aren't **you** the big, strong man!" Kallian joked in her incredibly seductive voice, letting her fingertips stroke the man's chin as she quaintly passed him by, shooting him a sideway glance that only transmitted an unmistakable air of "you're all bluster". "Though a bit coarse and biased," she added. "Truly, the dream of any woman."

Solveig caught her hand before she had a chance to withdraw it, stopping her in her tracks. "And who might you be, fair maiden?" he asked in a surprisingly chivalrous manner.

A flutter of golden hair and a flash of a pair of entrancing dark blue eyes later, the elven lass drew close to him and let her free hand draw his face lower and closer by its chin. "Someone who can drink you under the table."

She spoke those words in a suave but loud enough voice for everyone to hear, and the other wardens were especially surprised. They immediately burst in a rain of laughter that again drew the attention of the soldiers camped close to the Grey Warden barracks. Solveig, however, narrowed his eyes quite mischievously and drew even closer, until he could speak what he wanted to say directly into her ear. "Is that a bet, you pretty thing?"

She closed her eyes quite slyly and took her own turn at speaking in his ear, making sure to let the fingertips of her free hand come between her neck and his voracious lips. "Last one sanding gets all the other one's gold and the right to give him one order that he will **absolutely** have to obey."

"You hear that fellas!" the Ander shouted. "You're witnesses! Last man standing gets to order the other one around!"

"That's last **one** standing, sexist one," the slender elf corrected him as she effortlessly slipped her hand out of his grasp, firm though it was. Then, she turned around, her hair gliding in the shadows of the eve as the light from the fire seemed to emphasize her features as she walked away.

_ "I __**so**__ like being a Grey Warden," _Faren happily thought to himself as he bit on another apple and followed to see what would happen, resolving to make sure his special rope was ready to tie Solveig up in case he got any 'unfortunate' ideas. The other Wardens will **definitely** help in stopping that huge man from doing anything weird, right?

"-. Tacticians and Politicians .-"

"Hey... Duncan?"

"Yes, Lord Aeducan?"

"Thanks."

"Truly, the pleasure was all mine," the Commander curtly replied.

"Might one of you bother telling me what you two are going on about?" Gwenith Cousland intervened, slightly impatient, as she let herself walk in the same pace as the other two.

"What?" Raonar actually looked a bit confused as he looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "Didn't Alim give you the general idea? He was practically talking to you, Theron and Kallian for about the whole time Duncan and I were dueling."

"He only explained that part about you and the old Archdemon lair and the demons and, frankly, I'm having trouble believing any of it, but that's not the point. What are you two **talking** about?"

"The duel of course..." the dwarf simply replied, as if it were obvious.

"Yes, well why **did** you insist on it? I admit that you actually **do **strike me as someone who would enjoy the attention, and you definitely got attention, not just from the army but from the **King** of all people, but it didn't really seem like that was all there was to it." Gwen's tone was akin to that of an interrogator but it didn't seem like there was anything besides curiosity behind her desire to know.

The ex-prince paused and, for a time, only the three Grey Wardens' heavy footsteps could be heard as they walked in silence. After a while, the dwarf put his hands behind his back and finally answered, taking the human lady by surprise with his frankness. "That... trip to the Fade stirred some... old memories and I asked Duncan to duel me so that I could get them off my mind. Really, it's not much different from how you vented your obvious anger at those darkspawn in the Wilds. Don't worry, I won't try to pry it out of you."

Gwen looked away for a while, the soft breeze causing her overflowing dark brown hair to dance in the moonlight and her deep brown eyes to come into stark contrast with the ivory walls and columns that they passed along the way to the higher levels of the ancient fortress. She was again wearing her Royal Silverite Plate, no doubt knowing that the King and Teyrn Loghain would try to put on the same type of lordly countenance. Duncan was, of course, dressed in his intricate but highly practical suit of armor, and the prince was once again clad in his own set of veridium plate mail.

"It's... a long story," she finally uttered, though her eyes narrowed under her frown as she looked straight ahead.

"Painful tales always are..." the short one agreed, melancholically, causing the lady to wonder just what kind of memories the dwarf had revived if it took an hour and a half of fighting **Duncan**, of all people, to chase them off, if they had even gone away at all.

"We should be there shortly," Duncan said, drawing their attention.

"I know you brushed the subject aside before, but why **is** it that the two of us were summoned to the strategy meeting?" The lady was quite curious, in fact. She could, of course, understand that, being the last of the Cousland line and, thus, practically the highest rank of nobility herself, on par with Loghain Mac Tir if such ranks were to be abided by, her presence at the pre-battle strategy meeting would not exactly be looked upon as unusual. Granted, she **was** quite young, only 21, but Loghain and Maric were actually very young themselves during the Rebellion, and she **was** a Grey Warden now, which was definitely no small accomplishment, though maybe not as great as their own.

What she didn't understand was why Raonar had been summoned as well. Of course, she had not yet found out about the exchanges that Cailan and the former had had that day. Still, even knowing about those, it would have still struck her as odd that a fresh recruit with absolutely no prior involvement in Ferelden affairs whatsoever, not to mention the fact he wasn't even human, would actually have much business there.

"The King insisted," the Commander neutrally answered as they climbed the last steps and finally arrived back at the Ostagar inner and uppermost fortress. "I am not sure **why** he has requested your presence."

Yes, royalty and their whims. Really, she was not at all intent on passing up on the opportunity to attend such a gathering, but she would at least like to know what the others were thinking instead of potentially not knowing what to actually do or say when she got there. And what was worse was that that white-haired dwarf didn't look concerned at all. Sometimes, she wished her parents hadn't sheltered her so much and just let her attend more Landsmeet gatherings. Still, it was also her own fault for being more inclined to joust and beat down every possible knight she came across instead of seeing to protocol.

At least she had done most of her homework when it came to politics, though she had recently learned that they can be much more bitter and easy to exploit to one's own ends that she would have thought. She wondered just how aware her diminutive companion was of that and if it would really matter. However, this was going to be a war meeting, not a political debate.

It was getting quite late. The moon was already quite high in the sky and the battle was supposedly going to occur in the afternoon of the following day. Scouts had reported that the bulk of the horde would show itself all at once. The King and his generals were supposedly optimistic about the fight and no one was really convinced this was a true Blight actually. Duncan, however, was sure there was an Archdemon behind it, and Gwenith knew just how aggravated he was with the fact that neither Orlesian nor Redcliffe reinforcements had been summoned or, in the case of the former, allowed to come.

As far as Orlais went, the lady could well understand. No one wants to accept people who used to rape their wives and daughters back into their country, regardless of reason. What irked her was that Cailan had refused Eamon's help. She couldn't help but wonder just what that man was thinking, if he was thinking at all. Regardless, she would have to leave thinking about that for later, as they had finally reached the site of the gathering, where King Cailan Theirin and Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir had already arrived.

"Loghain, my decision is final!" the young King declared as the three Grey Wardens finally moved up to their spots around the table covered in maps and tactical sketches. "I will stand by the Grey Wardens in this assault."

"You risk too much, Cailan!" Loghain protested, somewhat aggravated. "The darkspawn horde is too dangerous for you to be playing hero on the front lines."

Gwenith definitely agreed with that statement, though the king was not at all pleased with it, if the way he frowned was any indication.

"If that's the case," he replied, "Perhaps we should wait for the Orlesians to join us after all."

Now it was Mac Tir's turn to be outraged. "I must **repeat** my protest to your fool notion that we need the Orlesians to defend ourselves."

"It is **not** a 'fool notion'" the young king sharply shot back. "Our arguments with the Orlesians are a thing of the past."

_"Marvelous, so are we to start speaking politics on the eve of battle now?"_Gwen thought to herself in annoyance. She crossed her hands and started tapping the ground with her heavy metal boot in an effort to shake away impatience.

"How fortunate that Maric could not live to see his son ready to hand Ferelden over to those who enslaved us for a century!" Loghain let out as he turned around and started to scratch his forehead in a last effort to stop himself from saying anything particularly vexing.

"Then our current forces will have to suffice, won't they?" Cailan assessed, quite peeved himself. "Duncan, are your men ready for battle?"

"They are, Your Majesty." The Commander did his best to make it sound as courteous and proper as possible, but Gwenith could still catch a semblance of worry in his tone.

"Ah, and these are the Lady from Highever and the Prince of Orzammar that I met earlier on the road. I would like to congratulate both of you on becoming Grey Wardens!"

"Thank you, Your Majesty," the lady responded, deciding that it was easier to just follow protocol instead of somehow causing that meeting to draw out even longer.

"Though we are **hardly** the only ones to become Grey Wardens today," the dwarf pointed out as he leaned on one foot.

"Ah, and that is very fortunate," Cailan praised. "Every Grey Warden is needed now more than ever."

Mac Tir looked like he had enough, so deeply his brow scowled. "Your fascination with the Grey Wardens will be your undoing Cailan! We must attend to reality!"

The gold armor-wearing monarch groaned, but relented. "Fine! Speak your strategies then."

Gwen would have expected something sophisticated, some delaying tactics, perhaps even diversions, maybe having the Mages set parts of the forests on fire in order to wilt down the number of enemies. Turns out that the plan was actually going to be much more straightforward. The King's men and the Wardens would have to goad the darkspawn into charging their lines, after which the beacon on top of the largest of Ostagar's towers would have to be lit, signaling Loghain's own men to charge from cover.

"To flank the darkspawn! I remember," The son of Maric uttered. "This is the Tower of Ishal in the ruins yes? Well who shall light this beacon?"

"I have a few men stationed there," the Teyrn explained. "It's not a dangerous task, but it **is** vital."

"Then we should send our best," Cailan solemnly proclaimed. "Send Alistair and the two new Grey Wardens to make sure this is done."

Gwen and Raonar each raised an eyebrow.

"You rely on these Grey Wardens too much, is that truly wise?" the master tactician asked, seeming somewhat mistrustful of the idea.

"Enough Loghain! Grey Wardens battle the Blight no matter where they're from."

"Not to be a prude or anything," the white-haired dwarf unexpectedly uttered. "But I refuse."

Four very stupefied heads turned towards the short warrior. It was one thing to disagree with a plan, but to blurt it out so suddenly was another thing entirely, especially when the decision belonged to someone else.

"Pardon?" the king let out, unsure that he had heard it correctly, as he let his hands rest on the table.

"You **hardly** need **two** Wardens up there, much less **three**. And while I'm not exactly sure **why **you specifically asked for Alistair to be the one to go..." he noticed Cailan narrowing his eyes slightly. "... Gwen here is more than capable of handling the task by herself if need be. After all, she practically finished off almost half of all the darkspawn we encountered in the Korcari Wilds all on her own."

Strangely enough, there wasn't a shred of sarcasm in that statement and Gwen was quite surprised at hearing that new brother in arms of her say something like that so suddenly. After the duel incident, she would have thought he would jump at any opportunity to stand out, but now he had practically said she was **better** than him at killing darkspawn. Was she hearing this right?

"I see..." Cailan looked a bit uncertain for a moment. "Duncan, what do you think?"

Duncan and Raonar exchanged glances and the human scratched his chin for a while before finally drawing his gaze away and looking back at the king. "I'm afraid I'm with Lord Aeducan on this one, Your Majesty. Lady Cousland and Alistair should have no trouble with their task and I'd prefer to have as many Grey Wardens on hand during the battle as possible. After all, we should also consider the possibility of the Archdemon appearing."

Both Cailan and Loghain straightened up, then the latter voiced his opinion. "There have been no sightings of dragons in the wilds."

"Isn't that what your men are here for, Duncan?" Cailan asked.

"I... yes, Your Majesty."

Gwenith almost scoffed at that. How in Thedas could those two act so completely unimpressed with the prospect of an Archdemon? The King she could understand, but Loghain? He was supposed to be the tactician, the voice of reason, and yet he had so easily dismissed the prospect of a dragon showing up. On the other hand, after that horrible business with almost her entire family getting killed, and the rest unaccounted for, she admitted to herself that she may be a bit biased and prone to consider the worst possible scenarios.

She would immediately discover that what she saw as the worst may, in fact, not be the worst after all.

The dwarf prince massaged his eyes in frustration. "The degree of obliviousness you two human lords choose to indulge in **astounds** me."

Cailan almost drew back in surprise, and even Loghain looked to be at a loss for words for a moment. "Excuse me?" the Teryn protested.

"Are you two serious? I mean, **really**?" his face was covered in a complete combination of astonishment and utmost disapproval.

"Is there a problem?" Cailan asked, somewhat irked.

Duncan tried to intervene. "No, your maj-"

"Yes there **is**, by the Ancestors!" Raonar cut him off in a louder voice than all the others had heard him use before. "Are you two for real?" he bent forward and leaned against the table with both hands. "I mean, you have the Commander of the Grey, the** Commander of the Grey**, telling you there is an Archdemon behind this, and you **don't believe him? **So much for respecting the Grey Wardens!"

"This isn't a guessing game," the Teyrn retorted, quite patronizingly. "We cannot base our fighting tactics on the 'feeling' of one man, Grey Warden or no."

"Pfah! Right, as if your great tactics are all that extraordinary! To think you actually believe this force you amassed here is enough for you to not even consider accepting reinforcements from Redcliffe!"

Cailan narrowed his eyes slightly, but it was Mac Tir who, again, took the word. "Oh? And what is that supposed to mean? I suggest you weigh your words carefully, young man-"

"Bah!" He frowned, drawing away from the table and crossing his arms as he looked up at the two from underneath his bright eyebrows. His white eyes reflected the moonlight and gave him an eerie appearance. "Don't patronize me as if you think your age gives you the right! This isn't **war,** this is a damned Blight! And you actually think you can stop it with a little feint? Didn't history teach you anything at all?"

"Stand down, that's enough," Duncan commanded with a harsh glare that only got a peeved glance in response.

"The sod I will!" he shouted back, surprising everyone present yet again. Then, he turned back to the other two heavily armored men. "Darkspawn aren't just something you can outmaneuver! They aren't an army or even a coherent force, they are a **disease**. They'll break upon you like death itself, a swarm of beasts that never ends, and the very ground will turn black and rotten at their touch! Ostagar is a choke point, a dead end and you have no cavalry! And the beasts will have the high ground. If the main force gets overwhelmed, what then? And you actually think this plan will suffice?"

Gwen was astounded at seeing the normally candid and detached dwarf get so agitated, though he looked more like he was annoyed and disappointed than anything else, at least to her, even though he had performed heartfelt facepalm already. What worried her most, however, was that he actually made some good points.

"That's enough," the Commander enforced in a strong voice.

"Hmpf!" The prince scoffed, then glared most disapprovingly at everyone except Gwen in turn. "Whatever! I'm done here. I guess I'll just have to kill every single one of those things myself if anyone is going to get out of this place alive after the battle tomorrow night. Ancestors catch you if the Archdemon does appear, though he probably won't see the reason to bother."

The exiled Prince of Orzammar didn't even wait for anyone to reply and simply walked off, giving a dismissive wave to the others before they had a chance to address him directly. At least the soldiers weren't there to hear and morale wouldn't suffer from that outburst. Then again, though the others didn't know, that outburst was actually forced, and the goal behind it was quite different than what the humans may have suspected.

Loghain was a master tactician, so it was definitely odd that his battle plan would be so very simple. There was something else in play here, and his mistrust of the Grey Wardens was definitely going to be a problem, if it hadn't become one already.

Mixing politics with military affairs was never a good sign.

"Enough," the exile barely heard the Teyrn say as he left. "This plan will suffice, the two Grey Wardens will light the beacon."

Yes, Raonar would definitely have his hands full with killing darkspawn tomorrow.

"-. Just how good is it to get utterly drunk on the eve of battle anyway? .-"

That contest had gone on for too long.

"_Just how much can Kal drink?"_ Faren asked himself (again) as he realized that he had lost count of how many pints she and Solveig had already emptied. Even the other Wardens were staring at them with gaping maws and so were a drove of soldiers that had again formed a circle around the camp. What was worse, however, was that the two contestants had been openly and shamelessly flirting for quite a while and the redhead wasn't sure the city elf was bluffing it anymore.

Solveig drank down another large part of the beer that his large pint carried and belched. "Well, you're more resilient than you look."

"Truly?" she drew close to him, which was quite easy since they were now seated on the same log. "I daresay that almost sounded like a compliment, to a woman **and** an elf no less!"

He let his free arm slip around her waist and practically hoisted her up on his knee. "I can show you some real compliments if you like," he suggested in a totally unrestrained manner.

Faren took a hold of his special rope, though the other Wardens didn't look like they were about to jump in any time soon. He only got an extra reason to be stupefied, however.

She leaned closer and practically let her head rest on his shoulder. The two were now cuddled together, facepalm-inducing though it may seem. "Forgive me ser," she began, quite innocently, "but I don't believe I've had enough drinks to properly engage in such a conversation." She then let her light touch slide down his forearm, then across his hand, until they stroked the fingers that held onto the handle of the pint.

Faren let go of his rope.

"Ha! Then we should best make sure we catch up!" Solveig declared as he took the pint to his mouth and didn't lower it until he had completely emptied it of every last drop. "bring on the next one!" he then demanded, but was cut off when Kallian's soft touch was felt on his cheek and she turned his face towards her own. He met her eyes, and the look on her face was quite devious.

"Are you certain you're feeling up to the task, ser?" she coyly asked, pursing her lips as she drew her face closer. "I dare say you are feeling quite feverish, and your eyes look ever so tired..."

Solveig looked as though he tried to shake off some unexpected dizziness for a moment, but let his empty pint fall to the floor as he took her by the waist with both of his large, strong hands. "Are you forfeiting perhaps?" he half-joked, though his voice was a bit irregular. "You know that means you'll have to... obey one of my orders."

She took hold of his face with both her hands and slowly drew ever closer, until it looked as though their lips were about to connect. Then, her own slipped past and whispered in his ear. "Maybe some other time."

The others couldn't believe their eyes as the huge man's eyes rolled aimlessly and he lost his balance, finally falling off the log he was sitting on and ending up collapsed on the ground, unconscious. Grey Wardens and soldier alike stared at the scene in stunned silence as the graceful elf simply straightened up and finished her own beer.

"Ah! Another one falls to the elves' adaptive physiology!" she declared in triumph, even as she looked as though the alcohol hadn't grazed her even in the least.

Whatever men or women were present exploded in a rain of laughter so loud that no one could ever think this was the eve of an uncertain battle against monsters from fairy tales. The Wardens were especially astounded, as the human giant from the Anderfels, renowned for his seemingly endless drinking ability, had just been out-drunk by a fresh recruit, and a elf lady at that.

But as she walked off, now the subject of adulation for practically everyone there, her eyes met Faren's, and the look on his face bore an unmistakable tint of "I know what you just did." He shook his head at her, telling to follow him, and they put some distance between them and the camp, until it was only the two of them in the shadow that a tree cast under the moonlight.

"You, Kal, are insane," he told her, grinning from ear to ear. "You played the seductress and spiked his last drink, didn't you?"

Kallian indulged in a wide grin of her own as she leaned forward, with her hands leaning against her kneecaps. "I only said I'd drink him under the table. It's his own fault for not setting up any rules." She then poked the dwarf's head again and gave him a last, playful glance as she walked off.

_"Yes, I definitely like being a Grey Warden," _Faren decided.

"-. Between cheese and impending doom .-"

The sun was finally up in the sky and the armies had gotten ready for battle. The King and Loghain decided to stick to their initial plan after all, and the latter had already taken his men to their positions. The bulk of the king's men were now waiting at the base of the fortress for the horde to show itself, and all the Wardens, save but Gwen and Alistair, were to be on the frontlines with them. Alistair was especially put off when he heard he wasn't going to be in the battle, though he did look pleased that it was Gwen he had been paired with. They had just finished having some last pre-battle words with the other members of the order and were getting ready to leave for the Tower of ishal.

Faren was a bit nervous as he looked in the distance and saw the Blight clouds nearing, a huge, wretched phenomenon that darkened the sky above where the horde had amassed. He looked behind him and noticed his fellows getting their final preparations done. Some were sharpening their blades with whetstones, others were just having some last minute chats. He saw Alim putting some things in order in his pack, and the disgruntled look on Solveig's face as Kallian was no doubt teasing him for losing a drink-off with a female elf.

Then, of course, there was Theron, who looked quite annoyed, most likely because he didn't think he had any business there and resented not having had a choice in becoming a Warden in the first place. He still hated humans after all.

He noticed that Raonar was nowhere in sight, but he looked around and saw him talking with the king again, oddly enough. They were quite far and he couldn't tell what they were saying. Eventually, Cailan seemed to pass the other one something, a small package that the dwarf stared at for a while before placing it inside one of his armor's hidden pockets. After that, they ex-prince just bowed at him and they took each other's leave.

"Nervous?" the white-haired one asked his companion as he eventually walked up to him.

"What do you **think**? Just look at those clouds. They're unnatural..."

"That they are," he agreed, though he just gave him a reassuring smile and put his arm around his shoulders. "Don't worry. You're a survivor."

Again with the praises. That guy definitely knew what to say, didn't he? "Thanks man," the rogue let out as he smiled back.

"Is Duncan in his tent right now?" the prince unexpectedly asked.

Faren was a bit surprised. "Actually, I think I saw him leave just a while ago..."

"Hmm... I'll be back later." With that, Raonar just left. Still, Faren couldn't help himself and let his eyes follow him as he entered the commander's tent and came back just a short time later. Then, he just walked off in the direction that Alistair and Gwen were waiting.

"Alistair, did you eat all of the cheese again?" the former Aeducan joked as he reached the couple, instantly causing the templar to blush under Gwen's inquisitive gaze. "Anyway, you should probably go see Duncan in case there's anything you missed. I understand you'll be leaving shortly."

"Right! I guess I'll do that. Don't run off without me Gwen," he jokingly begged with his pair of deep, brown puppy eyes.

"Shoo! I'll be right here," she assured him with a wink.

The former templar gave her a last glance and walked off, unsure of what Duncan was going to say to him when he found him. He never even considered that the dwarf had ulterior motives for suggesting he meet the commander.

"Right," Raonar began, with a serious look on his face whose gravity was not lessened by how tactfully he stroked his silver-white beard. "Now that he's gone, we can finally talk."

The human lady raised one of her eyebrows and leaned on one foot. "And why, might I ask, should Alistair not be here for this?"

The short one looked straight at her and spoke as flatly and seriously as he could. "Gwen, I want you to listen to me, and I want you to do it very carefully."

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

Yes, this was a transitory chapter, more or less. The next one will show the battle of Ostagar. And yes, everyone except Gwen and Alistair will be in the main fight.


	14. Joining Arc 7: The Storm of the Century

**Chapter 13: The Storm of the Century**

"-. When blood surrounds you on all sides .-"

_"Listen to me! You have to listen! We have to run! The soldiers will die, the Grey Wardens will die, the King will die, they'll all die!"_

Those words still rung in Faren's ears. He didn't pay much attention to them when that distraught survivor had spoken them the previous day, but with each passing minute, the red-haired Grey Warden felt his heart sinking.

The horde was drawing near. The cloud of pestilence that covered the forest was drifting closer and closer and he could practically feel the air become chilly and heavy. He looked around, trying to get an idea of what the other soldiers were feeling, only to find that, save perhaps for the Grey Wardens themselves, all the men and women were very nervous.

The army had gathered at the choke point, just underneath the great bridge that linked the two sections of Ostagar together. There, above, he remembered, were the ballistas and a division of archers meant to provide cover fire, while the bulk of the army, himself included, was ready to play its role as bait.

The Wardens were going to play their part as frontline fighters in this assault, and the King was going to be with them the whole time. For one, this did seem like a good idea, since staying with the Wardens ensured the highest probability of survival. On the other hand, the King participating in the battle at all was not exactly a good idea in itself.

Kallian had somehow ended up paired with Solveig of all people, while Theron had somehow managed to wind up in the position of archer Commander, at Duncan's behest, and, thus, was further to the back. Alim had chosen to stay with the archers, intent on backing them up with fireballs and other tricks. Meanwhile, Duncan had taken his place beside the King, up on a hill to the right.

"You've never been in an actual large-scale battle before, have you?" the other dwarf asked him. He was standing next to him, hands behind his back, and looked straight ahead at the ever approaching corruption. For some reason, the king had appointed the dwarf noble as one of the Commanders of the frontline forces, which meant he essentially had to keep everyone alive and ready to fight for as long as possible.

Faren only gulped and couldn't completely hide his nervousness, though truth be told, there was probably no one in the entire army that didn't at least feel uneasy. He knew, of course, he was probably more skilled than all of them, but that didn't really make all of the tension go away. Raonar himself had a slight scowl on his face and studied the horizon intently.

"How do you feel?" the white-haired one followed up.

"You're worried about **me**?" Faren retorted, somewhat incredulously. "Man... You almost died yesterday... twice... **again**... Worry about yourself."

"Ha!" that laugh sounded heartfelt. "'Almost' is **definitely** the key word there."

Faren said nothing for a while, looking, instead, at the two rows of soldiers that had formed up in front of where the Wardens themselves were stationed. There was one line of melee fighters and another one right behind it. In front was the kennel master and all the mabari war hounds that the army had available, save for the ones belonging to the Ash Warriors.

Behind the second line of melee troops was the main buffer force, which included the Grey Wardens and the aforementioned Ash Warriors. Then, some paces behind them was a row of archers, with two other groups having been strategically placed on two higher slopes on both flanks. The rest of the army was distributed much in the same manner across the level field behind them.

Basically, the men were arranged in "waves". Should the darkspawn somehow break one of these lines, the survivors would have to fall back and add to the one behind them, the goal being to halt the enemy's advance for as long as possible. The purpose was to goad the horde into charging in full force, leaving it vulnerable to being flanked by Loghain's own men once the beacon atop the Tower of Ishal was lit.

The sickly mists that came ahead of the darkspawn slipped ever closer through the trees and stumps, and the foliage, the vegetation itself, seemed to die as the taint filled the air. And as that happened, the blight clouds became even thicker, blocking out most of the sun's light and twisting the sky itself into a color that was at once blood-red and pitch-black. It was the middle of the afternoon and already it looked like night had fallen.

A faint rustle finally started to be heard as the creatures loomed ever closer, until, finally, the tips of their swords and they themselves started to become visible. Grunts, screeches, growls, groans, shouts, if they could so be called, began to slowly feel the air, even as unnatural thunder and lightning started to taint the sky in their unholy song. And as they did, the bloodthirsty mabari responded with angry barking and growls of their own, contributing to the symphony of death.

Faren felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up as the first Hurlock Vanguard stepped forward, taunting the human army.

"Hear me Stone..." he heard Raonar's soft voice uttering. He looked to the side and saw that he had stooped low and had his right palm resting against the ground, and his eyes closed in prayer.

"Though I left your embrace, grant that my mind be clear, my grip be firm, my steps be certain and my heart be void of fear." He took some dirt and rubbed it between his hands as he got back to his feet, a look of grim resolution covering his expression. "May the Stone support us, and the Ancestors catch us if we fall."

Faren took a hold of his unique weapon and began to nervously fiddle with the chain as he noticed some of the soldiers in front of him back away in fear as the darkspawn horde started to wail and rage, causing a clamor that filled their hearts with dread. The castless rogue now remembered the stragglers he fought in the Deep Roads, and in the Wilds, and realized they were hardly worth notice compared to the immensity of the threat that stood before him now.

Those were **nothing** compared to that seemingly endless sea of monsters and death that practically poisoned even the air itself. He gripped his chain even more worriedly and felt as his heart started pounding. Was this fear? If it was, he had definitely never felt it before. He had never had all of his senses so completely overwhelmed.

Faren was almost startled as he felt a hand rest on his shoulder. "Fear is not their main weapon, it's only the seasoning. Their real power is the corruption, Faren, that taint that spreads at their touch. So don't be afraid of them, for you are already beyond their reach."

That's right. He was a Grey Warden now, he didn't have anything to worry about, not anymore then he would when facing off bandits or just plain thugs. But Stone, there were so **many **of them.

He felt the Raonar's grip on his shoulder suddenly tighten. "Here they come."

And they did. They swarmed, flooded forward, an endless stream of monsters. Genlocks, hurlocks, shrieks, ogres, they charged at once, coming downhill like an avalanche that had the tainted and twisted wilds as their spring.

**"Archers!" **the King's voice was heard shouting.

Faren didn't look back, since the encroaching horde had captured all of his attention, but saw his own shadow lengthening and extending in front of him beneath the light of the flaming arrows that had been drawn by those behind him.

"Fire!" Theron yelled as his arrow sung through the air, the first of a cloud of flame and smoke that went up into the sky. Darkspawn fell in droves as the wave of flaming projectiles rained down upon them, and their mad yells an screams were rendered inaudible by the loud thunder that struck the very instant those flaming arrows landed on their targets.

This was going to be the first rain he ever experienced, and he never thought it would be so loud and ground-shaking.

"Fire!" the Dalish Elf's voice was again heard as another rain of arrows came down upon the horde. And Stone, they didn't look like those things were witling in number at all.

**"Hounds!"** the king ordered.

The wave of mabari war hounds charged forth, eager barks and growls mixed with yelps and cries as they carved through the spawn or were cut down themselves. Enemies fell in numbers, a blanket of flesh that was different from before only in that it had stopped moving, since dead it was already. And still the horde charged forward, relentless and mad with the desire to eradicate all on their path.

He could feel it, he could practically sense what they wanted as they poured forth in their madness.

_**"Kill!"**_

The grip on his shoulder suddenly tightened even further, bringing him back to his senses. He looked to the side and saw the only other dwarf present looking straight at the maddened monsters as he spoke to him. "Stay close to me." He looked stoic, fearless, the same as always.

_"I'm definitely not going to cower in fear like this." _"Roger."

**"For Ferelden!"** Cailan declared, his battlecry at once sending the first row of men charging at the fiends.

Faren took out his weapons, chains eager to grapple and blades thirsty for tainted blood, just as the Prince drew his hand away and armed himself with Gorim's sword and his own shield.

"Watch and remember them Faren, those men went ahead to die in order to trim the beasts' numbers."

So he did, he looked straight and did not blink as the humans died and took as many of the spawn down with them as they could. But it was not enough, the creatures just killed them, bit at their necks, clawed at their eyes and chewed on their flesh. And still they poured forth, ever closer, and finally, as the darkened sky lit up with lighting, they clashed into the main line that had formed a shield wall, desperately trying to stem their attack.

The entire battlefield trembled under the rumbling roar of the thunder and the heavy rain finally started to pour down upon the scene of carnage. And as the water poured down his face, Faren felt the bitter-salty taste of his own sweat somehow finding its way to his tongue.

Suddenly, rage and will materialized into a giant fireball that descended upon the bulk of the horde. The darkspawn were blown away in all directions and left disoriented, some squirming and screeching as they continued to be burned alive. Alim Surana was a force of nature, as he could will his fire to keep burning even with the rain pouring as it was.

Another fireball descended upon the monsters, finally causing a hole in the force big enough for the real battle to begin.

"Ancestors guide my arm," Raonar calmly uttered as he leaned back, ready to charge in as soon as the best opportunity presented itself. "Remember, stay close to me."

He charged forth, his blade extended backwards, perfectly prepared for the ascending slash that cut down the very first hurlock that breached the meat shield.

"Hold the line!" he yelled, at once taking the place of the one that had fallen, filing in the hole. "Faren, take care of whatever passes through!"

"Right!" he did just that, and his chained knives began to fly through the air, back and forth, and again back and forth, skewering or grappling genlocks and hurlocks one after another. He noticed Kallian taking a few of them out with some well-placed throwing knives as Solveig mercilessly and effortlessly used his immense, two-handed war axe to carve a path of blood and gore through the monsters that were unfortunate enough to get near him.

"Form up!" the Prince shouted again, causing the men to take their positions next to each other as they waited for the next wave of darkspawn to descend upon them. "Shield bash!" he then yelled, and the front line reacted in unison, ramming their targes, bulwarks or whatever they wielded straight into the creatures that had tried to strike at them.

Faren killed off a few of his own, but noticed it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep track of them all. The line was breaking, and far too quickly. He killed another hurlock, but would have been struck by a straggler that had almost reached him, if it had not been at once frozen solid. The dwarf drove his dagger straight through its face, making a mental note to thank the elf mage for saving his hide later.

"Stone dammit!" he then heard the white-haired Commander yell. He looked in the direction of the shout and saw the prince pulling his sword out of the chest of a genlock, following up with a swift frontal hit with the shield. "Ogre!"

It was huge and charged, sending four soldiers flying as though they were sheets of paper.

_"Shit!" _ The redhead took out one of his throwing knives and was aiming for the huge beast's eye, but didn't get a chance to follow up as an arrow promptly drove straight through that same eye and came out through the back of its skull. And as the ogre fell, Faren looked back and saw Theron getting ready for another well-placed shot.

He threw his knife at a genlock, but still felt amazed at how that elf actually managed to time and aim his shot properly in that darkness and under such heavily pouring rain, a rain whose only benefit was that it washed the blood off his face and hands. He didn't have time to indulge that awe, however, as an emissary's fireball exploded some distance to his right, taking out a large part of the defensive formation. The line had been breached.

Then, arrows started to fall sporadically all round him, and he noticed that darkspawn archers had finally started their onslaught, chaotic though it was. They were mixed with all the other creatures and while their fire was not focused, it was irregular, which meant that there was no way of knowing when a projectile was going to fall from the sky.

"Fall back to the second line!" Raonar suddenly shouted. "Fall back! Fall back!"

The dwarf commoner looked up from his latest kill to see that almost all of the soldiers had died, except for half of the Ash Warriors, their respective hounds, Solveig, Kallian and the other Grey Wardens. A 'friendly' fireball again struck the field, giving the others the reprieve they needed to back away and reinforce the second line. Looking at it, it seemed like all the other platoons on the field had retreated quite some time ago.

Theron and his archers retreated to the back just in time, followed by Alim. The others, along with the survivors from the front, took their new positions, but the battlefield was quickly turning into a chaotic mess.

Faren was going to throw his chained silverite knife through the head of a disoriented shriek, but Raonar grabbed him by the arm and pulled him after him as he strode to the back. "Let's go, I said fall back to the second line!"

He relented and followed after him, doing his best to keep his balance now that the rain had turned the ground into slippery mud. Deep puddles of filthy waters covered the entire battlefield, making movement difficult. He actually envied the prince and his massive veridium armor. At least he was heavy enough to not slip at every step.

They only barely reached the second formation as the horde broke upon them once more. Some spawn slipped and fell on their bellies or backs because of their own clumsiness, only to be trampled underfoot by the wave that came from behind them, blinded by bloodlust.

"Stay together!" the dwarven Commander's voice was heard again as he cut down yet another shriek with a swift decapitation. "Theron!"

"Here!" he acknowledged, accompanied by the song of his bowstring as yet another ogre fell to his keen shot.

"New plan! Take out every emissary you can spot!"

"Ma nuvenin! I shall have them fall to the vhen'alas before they can utter a sound!"

True to his word, one of the wretched tainted creatures met its end the very same moment. And still it was not enough, as a rain of fireballs kept coming down from the front, decimating the humans and even destroying parts of the bridge and even some of the great towers that stood high up on the higher levels of the ancient stronghold.

Roars, metal on metal, rumble, screams, crumbling, shouts, barking, yelps, unheard orders, thunder, more screams and, of course, cries of pain and agony. All of these sounds again came together and formed into a symphony of death and terror. The Wardens and the soldiers kept slaying monster after monster, the Ash Warriors, those still alive, kept hacking at them as their hounds bit on their throats, covering the earth in a myriad of corpses and mixing them with the mud and water, slowly turning Ostagar into a quagmire.

Where were they coming from? They were an endless stream and no matter how many he cut down, three or four more took the place of each one. Swing, lunge, grapple, thrust, slash, stab, grapple, stab again, by now the movements had become mechanical and Faren's chained blades flew certain and deadly, killing and killing and killing and killing, and still accomplishing nothing. Blood and water mixed with sweat and his body count was rising so quickly, spraying blood in all directions that he could no longer make out if the many heavy drops falling on him were rain or the creatures' bodily fluids.

Tainted magic emerged from the ground some way to his left, and all the men and women that were trying to hold off the enemies were suddenly magically paralyzed. _"CrapI"_ He wanted to charge to their aid, but a strong had grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him back, just as a sword breezed past him, just inches away from his face, only before being hacked off by a lightning-fast strike.

"There's nothing you can do for them!" the dwarf Prince shouted in his ear as he drove his blade through the creature's throat, ending its sharp screeches.

_"Dammit! This is getting bad!" _

It really was. Despite the humans' attempts to hold organized lines, the darkspawn had pierced them in several places and the entire battleground was readily turning into an orderless brawl. And even as the humans strove to keep the horde back, they were being progressively pushed back and killed off by the onslaught of the enemies. The archers had been engaged at close range and Theron was having trouble using his bow as he was constantly forced to use the small knife he always had in his right hand.

Faren threw his chained dagger at a hurlock and grappled it by the throat, but his attempt at heaving it in went awry as he slipped on the thick mud and fell on his back. He struggled to his feet but slipped again, falling on his face in the muddy water. His nose and mouth filled with the taste of wet dirt, mixed with tainted blood an bile, and he felt his insides churn as he pushed himself up and gasped for air.

He was disoriented and barely managed to get to his feet, but was immediately struck through the shoulder and the abdomen by the arrows of two creatures. He failed to completely restrain his scream and toppled...

...His head was hazy and he could hear his blood flowing through his temples, but felt as though his arms and legs weighed one ton each. How did he come to be lying on his back? He had to be lying on his back for those heavy rain drops to so mercilessly patter on his face. No wait, was he being dragged? He couldn't see, but he easily felt mud and water splashing over his face as something fell to the ground with a wet thud right next to him. Then, a hand slipped underneath the back of his head, holding his head up, just as the distinct feeling of glass on his lips caused him to react automatically and drink down the drought he was being fed.

He could hear something, like a mumble.

"-appened? Is he alright?"

Was that Kallian? Wait, what was happening? Hadn't he just gotten back to his feet after falling on his face? Why was he lying on the ground?

He let himself be fed another potion and finally noticed that his gut and shoulder were aching horribly, only to have the pain disappear and the wounds finally close.

"Faren! Faren! Wake up!" a pair of firm arms shook him by both shoulders and his vision finally started to return. "By the Stone, wake up!"

His vision was misty, but managed to make out a blade swinging and gutting a creature just before the pair of arms shook him by the shoulders again. "By the Stone, get a **grip** already!"

"Wha... what..." he finally managed to move his hand and tried to feel around, eventually finding something, like a stick that was firmly driven through something solid.

"Guh!" he heard Raonar gasp as soon as he grabbed onto that 'stick'. Then, one of his shoulders was set free from the tight grip and the hand took a hold of his wrist instead, forcing his grasp open.

"Whoa..." he finally let out as he got back to his senses and realized that stick was a rather tough arrow sunk deep into the white-haired one's right leg.

"By the Maker, is he going to be alright?' Kallian asked. Faren finally realized it was she that had killed the darkspawn now lying around him.

"I said get up Faren!" the prince yelled at him, even louder than the thunder that roared the very same instant. "On your feet!" he pressed, pulling him up by both arms.

"Whoa... this isn't where I was! Did I faint?"

"Yes!" the city elf confirmed as one of her remaining knives sunk deep between the eyes of a hurlock archer.

"Here!" Raonar again shouted, passing him his chained daggers. "That's twice I saved your hide. Now we're even!"

A brush with death, was it? Too bad it didn't look like it would take long for the next one to come upon him. He managed to get his grip on himself, however, and resumed his darkspawn-killing ways, just as Raonar yanked the arrow out of his leg and drank a poultice himself.

But Stone, those things were still so many! There was no longer any semblance of order on the battlefield and the dwarf Commander didn't have any soldiers left to order around anymore. All that was left was to keep slowly falling back to where Duncan, the King and his escort were stationed, killing as many of those fiends on the way as possible.

Kallian kept skillfully dismembering her opponents or using grips, throws and feints to throw them off balance and make them stab each other. It was like she was an expert at misdirection and turning her enemies own attacks against them. Her right hand held her curved sword firmly, while her left periodically grabbed onto enemy arms or hands, twisting them around and throwing them into one another.

Solveig was some paces away, fighting a dozen of the enemies by himself, the rain being the only reason he wasn't completely covered in gore and flesh. Theron was in the opposite direction and, along with the few remaining archers, kept striking down ranged enemies and emissaries while a few other surviving Grey Wardens made sure nothing got close enough to him. He looked like he would soon be left with no arrows and no archer corpses nearby to restock himself.

And all around, human soldiers, Ash Warriors and the few hounds still alive were scattered, fighting whichever monster they ran into first until they themselves were struck dead.

Faren glanced in the direction of the Tower of Ishal. "Didn't anyone send out the signal yet? Why isn't that damned beacon burning?"

"They **did** send the signal!" the prince shouted back, a loud thunder obscuring the gurgling noise made by his latest victim. "Gwen and Alistair must be having trouble of their own!"

"Fuck!"

"Just kill things for now!"

"I know!"

He wanted to say "_I'm getting tired man!"_but he noticed that the other dwarf had just stopped himself from saying that very same thing.

"Just keep killing things and let's fall back! We have to get to where Duncan and the King's men are and regroup!"

The second and third frontlines had been breached and all survivors were now retreating to the fourth and final line, where Duncan and the King were also waiting with drawn blades. All they could see as they looked ahead was a field covered in corpses of all kinds, some mangled beyond recognition and mixed with the mire and filth that the rain had diluted, turning the entire battleground into a stench-ridden bog.

"Theron! Get up on the hill, where Duncan and the King are!" Raonar ordered. "You'll have a wider range there!"

The Dalish elf obeyed instantly.

"Now, let's start round two... or four, in this case!"

The fourth battle line met the ravenous horde head-on and, once again, the symphony of death echoed from one side of Ostagar to the other. The entire sky lit up with lighting, and the thunder that followed was heard like an avalanche. Faren wondered how such a sight could be at once so very beautiful and terrifying, but left the business of musing for later as the tune of his own weapons cutting through the air added to the song of bloodshed.

But they were losing. Stone, they were being overwhelmed. They had exhausted almost all of their poultices and the soldiers were being cut down one after the other. Red and black blood flowed out and mixed with dirt and rain water. No doubt the ground would be black itself if there was enough light to actually make the colors obvious.

"Maker's breath!" Cailan's voice was heard as his greatsword mangled a pair of hurlocks at once. Apparently, the surviving Wardens had retreated far enough for the voices of the King and Duncan, who had now entered the battle themselves, to be heard. "Why hasn't the beacon been-?"

"The beacon!"a random voice was heard shouting. "The beacon atop the tower of Ishal is lit!"

Faren noticed Calan's incredibly hopeful look as he gazed upon the large, majestic flames that at once erupted from atop the tower.

**"Finally! Men, regroup around me and hold the beasts off! Loghain and his men ****should be coming from the flank!"**

Everyone who could still move, the Wardens included, pulled back and formed a final line as they engaged the horde one last time. Theron put his bow on his back, his quiver now exhausted, and drew his Dar'Misaan, ready to engage in close combat himself.

Words of power were heard and a mental blast went out in all direction, stunning al the darkspawn that had poured upon the armed force. "Now!" the mage's voice was heard. "Slaughter them!"

They did, for once staining the ground exclusively with tainted gore. But there were still too many. Wardens, soldiers, Duncan, the King, everyone hacked, and stabbed and slashed, killed and slew and mutilated, but the horde was still pressing, still overflowing out of those unchartered wilds. The Fereldans stood their ground, holding out as long as they could, but still the force was growing thinner, men and women dying to darkspawn blades and arrows and spells with each passing minute.

Loghain's forces hadn't shown up.

"Hold fast! By the Maker, hold them off!" Cailan yelled as he let his greatsword swing freely, staining his golden armor with the red-black fluid that gushed out of the beheaded corpses he left in his wake.

"Stay in formation!" Duncan enforced as he passed like a tempest through the horde, leaving nothing alive in his path.

Loghain still didn't show up.

"Dammit!" Faren burst out as he became annoyed at being tired enough to no longer be able to fell his targets with a single strike. "Where is that army?" He looked at the bright-haired dwarf for a moment, hoping for a logical, assuring explanation, but only saw a deep frown casting a shadow over his eyes as he killed three genlocks in little over two seconds.

"Where is that damned force!" the giant from the Anderfels demanded as his great war axe continued to spread disembodied limbs and corpse halves across the battlefield. "What the fuck is that Teyrn Loghain doing?"

Faren looked around but saw no human army, only more darkspawn. Then, a tickling sensation awoke in the back of his eyes and he felt like he was hearing whispers, or knew them.

"King Cailan!" Duncan's nervous, loud voice was heard, at once drawing the attention of everyone who wasn't too busy hacking away at something.

Cailan didn't hear him over the sound of thunder.

"Your majesty!" the bearded human yelled again. "Behind you!"

The monarch still didn't hear him, so strong the rain was pouring, but was at once startled by the rumbling footsteps of a large beast that crushed the mud and splashed the filthy water aside as it came up at the armored King from behind.

"Not good!" Raonar let out as he thought of running to the scene, only to be intercepted by some trouble of his own. "Somebody kill that thing!"

No one was close enough. The giant ogre just smashed the back of its huge hand into the single Grey Warden that stood between it and Cailan, sending him flying and smashing into a wall, his blood painting it as he slid off.

Cailan tried to swing his sword at it, but missed and the giant beast just grabbed him, knocking the weapon out of his grasp and lifting him high up, all the way to its eye level.

Duncan tried to reach him but ended up stabbed in the side instead. He staggered slightly, but kept his cool and took out his assailant.

Thunder roared through the skies again, only to be eclipsed by the mad rage of the Ogre as it roared at Cailan's face. Then, it started squeezing him, its grip tightening, and when it saw that the armor was strong enough to withstand the pressure, the beast clenched its free fist and rammed it straight into its captive.

"Faren!" the dwarf Prince shouted, snapping the rogue out of his uncertainty over what to do. "Take out its eyes!"

Its eyes! That's it!

He let his chained knives fall to the floor, clinks and clanks mixed with the splatter of mud and blood, and immediately drew out two throwing knives, one in each hand. He gathered all of his attention in a single point, crossed his arms and got ready.

The weapons flew.

They flew through the air, cutting the rain drops in half as they went.

And as they breezed past Cailan's hair and ears on each side, their tips buried deep into the dark orbits, sending such a sharp pain straight into the Ogre's brain that it recoiled and screamed, snarled, groaned and roared uncontrollably. It panicked and just threw Cailan away like some worthless plaything, sending him flying quite a distance before he collided with two of the soldiers that were still standing.

"Where the **fuck** is that army?" Solveig yelled again.

Faren wanted to ask the same, but when he looked at the exiled noble and saw the look on his face, he immediately understood. "I don't think Loghain is coming..."

"What?" Kallian protested, her dark blue eyes glinting as a rage briefly surfaced.

"Damn!" the prince yelled as an arrow sunk into his arm, just before an enemy's knee collided with his face, throwing him on his back.

"Look out!" Faren yelled as he picked up his unique weapon, but it was Kallian's last throwing knife that felled the beast before it finished the job. Faren ran towards his position.

Raonar got back up just in time to kill a shriek that had tried to skewer him. "So it came to this after all..." the castless rogue heard him murmur, just as he pulled out the arrow and drank down one of his remaining poultices.

The rogue looked around and saw that the roughly a few of dozen soldiers were still holding, but it was only a matter of time before they all went down. Then, the corner of his eye saw something very troubling.

A hurlock had just slammed his shield into Alim's face, knocking the mage on his back before he had a chance to drive horror into its mind. The elf was already covered in many cuts and his blood was flowing out of his mouth and many wounds. Faren widened his eyes in horror as he saw the entire situation turn hopeless.

The army was being overwhelmed.

Cailan was dying, if he wasn't dead already.

Duncan was badly injured.

Kallian was preoccupied.

Theron had no more arrows.

Raonar looked to be bleeding from under his armor.

Loghain had quit the field.

And he, Faren himself, was too far from where Alim stood to even have a chance at getting to him before the monster drove its blade through his bloodied face.

And just when the situation looked on the verge of completely falling apart...

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

Author's Note:

This is where Alim goes wild and shows just what a blood mage can do on a battlefield with a lot of fresh blood lying around. I'd strongly suggest listening to Navras, the ending song of the film "Matrix: Revolutions", in order to get a proper feeling when reading this.

http: / / www . youtube . com/watch?v=rxn4pYMdhZ8

Paste in browser and remove spaces.

Also, it will get a bit bloody and deranged for a bit, so don't say I didn't warn you.

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

Alim's assailant exploded.

Blood and gore splattered in all directions, covering him head to toe as he let his barefaced expression slowly twist into an almost unhinged grin.

His eyes shone crimson.

He got to his feet.

Waved his hands.

And another five beasts burst into mangled pieces of flesh, only to be suddenly drawn in, straight at the mage, and be turned to shreds by the thousands of blood blades that began spinning around him like a vortex of death. So many those blades were, charged with electricity, and so swiftly they cut through the air that they were making a sound akin to a thousand birds chirping all at once.

Monsters raged and failed to scream as they met the same fate, pulled into the blood tornado only to become fuel for his spells.

_"More..."_

Three more creatures burst into pieces, like virulent walking bombs that infected those in their vicinity, culminating in a ceaseless string of maddening yells that fell silent once they became one with the blood vortex.

The skies roared with thunder, and those Fereldan soldiers still alive and fighting for their lives felt something brush past their heads and hands in the darkness, only to notice, upon the flash of lightning, that the darkspawn they were battling had been impaled by a myriad of blood needles each.

_"More..."_

All fresh corpses were drawn in, the tornado grew and started spinning far more fiercely as the blood mage took a step forward. He lunged his hand to both his sides, lifting a pair of hurlocks into the air.

He clenched his fists.

And their insides were crushed, their blood bursting out of them through their eyes and mouth, only to fly towards the mage and add to the ever increasing bloodstorm.

Some enemy archers loosed their shots upon him, only to see their arrows turned to dust as they met the infinity of revolving blood blades. An emissary tried to curse him, but the magic twisted and added to the raging, gory madness at whose epicenter stood the malefikar, his eyes narrowed in bloodthirst and his exhilaration showing in the grin on the corner of his mouth.

_**"More!**__**"**_

He raised his hands forward, and whatever creatures were left in the vicinity started to fight amongst each other, flaying each other alive, only to be hacked apart themselves once they exhausted their targets. The blood vortex grew, and grew, and rose, and spun, and grew some more, until it became so thick that Alim Surana could no longer be seen inside that giant, towering twister that reached towards the ever more furious sky.

All the others were staring in wonder and horror at the scene that was unfolding, and even the Grey Wardens themselves, now just twenty paces away from the fearsome storm of blood, watched in amazement. They no longer had any targets to distract them.

The sky lit up as lightning flared once more, and the thunder that followed was prolonged by the raving roar of an Ogre Alpha that came out of nowhere and charged the injured Duncan.

It was stopped in its tracks as a giant arm of flesh and blood, coursing with electricity, with a palm as big as the Ogre itself was, slammed it into the ground from above. The creature squirmed and struggled, only to be skewered by four sharp talons that dragged it backwards, pulling it into the pillar of raging blood.

The humans, elves and dwarves suddenly felt the air become ice-cold and a strange crackle started to be heard from the quagmire around them.

_"__Freeze!"_

The horde was still pouring out of the wilds, but suddenly had its advance halted they felt their feet refused to step forward. A breath of death was felt leaving the vortex in all direction, and the mud, water, the ground itself froze solid, trapping the feet of all, darkspawn and humans alike, located within several hundreds of meters.

And as they were trapped there, all could only watch in fear as the blood vortex started ascending towards the skies, filling the air with its unholy song that only added to the madness of the thunderstorm.

Lightning struck again, making the blood completely visible as it started to take form. Gory talons cut the wind, a whip-like tail became visible and, finally, the blood griffon spread its wings and filled the battleground with its enraged bellow.

_"Die! Die, all of you!"_

The horde broke out in yet another cascade of screams as a wave of blood feathers came down upon them, faster that the rain itself, and struck them down, sending the survivors into a mindless fury. Then, another rain of blood arrows skewered them, and another, and another, until the ground was covered in three layers of corrupted corpses.

The malefikar had taken control of the battlefield, and even with the horde streaming out of the wilds as it was, the line was being pushed back. The mage was pushing the army back all by himself, his power fueled by death and the magic in the creatures' tainted blood.

The blood griffon bellowed one last time and surrendered its form, the blood and gore descending, until Alim Surana landed on the ground. He straightened up and stared ahead, lifting his arms ever so slowly, taunting the monsters as he stood there, alone and eager for more.

So the darkspawn charged again, only to have their arrows shred and their fireballs turned against them with accurate counterspells.

_"I said __**die!**__"_

The blood vortex suddenly stopped spinning and turned into pure magical power that gathered around the elf's entire body and focused around his arms. He waved them slightly, and the ground in front of him cracked and started to rumble as it degenerated into a massive earthquake that caused the spawn to fall off their feet as the tremors extended ever ahead and uphill.

He lunged his hands in front of him again, causing the earthquake to become even more powerful, until the sound of crumbling earth could be heard even over the thunder itself. The rain kept pouring, melting the ground and making it all the more easier for the creatures that slipped through the new cracks in the earth to die under the weight and suffocation of the thick mud.

Then, just as he was getting ready to draw in another wave of blood and fuel his retribution even further, now that there was no longer any vortex around him...

An arrow struck him from behind and sunk deep into his right lung, the tip coming out through his chest.

He staggered and choked, and his spell fizzled.

The others were stunned.

Raonar started to look around in confusion, only to have his eyes locate a human with his bow at the ready and a confused and horrified look on his face.

"Wha-" Faren gasped.

"Stupid shem!" Theron yelled as he started to look around nervously, looking for something.

Duncan had recovered after drinking a potion and had run to check on the unconscious king, but now looked at Alim quite nervously as the iced ground started to melt and the earthquake seemed to be nearing the end of its duration.

"Shit!" the dwarf prince let out as he ran off, hoping to get to the elf in time to be of any use.

"Damned human! What are you thinking!" Kallian yelled as she grabbed the soldier by the throat. "What are you doing!"

The human looked confused and stupefied as he forced the words through the choking neck. "But... but he's a malef-"

"He was saving all of our asses you idiot" she screamed as her fist collided with the man's face.

"He's a malefikar!" the man yelled back as he struggled to keep his balance. "He was going berserk and would have killed us ne-" he was cut off as an arrow flew straight through his neck, instantly killing him.

Kallian looked around in surprise and saw Theron's spiteful glare as he lowered his bow in disgust.

"To think I'm actually helping stupid shemlen like him!" he spat out.

Alim gasped for air, but his punctured lung didn't help much and he felt the blood flooding him on the inside. He looked down when his fingers felt the tip of the arrow as it had come straight through him. His head was feeling dizzy and the blood was flowing uncontrollably.

And still he managed to stay on his feet, despite the fact that he had lost control of his spell and the earthquake had begun to shake the ground in all directions.

He could barely even feel the rain pouring on his face and dripping off his long, flowing black hair that was gathered in a single tail at the back. And as he almost lost his balance, he felt something, or someone come up from the side and take a hold of him.

"Alim! Get a hold of yourself!" the exile demanded.

Though dizzy and in pain, the elf managed to look in his direction, noticing the bright light that came out of the dwarf's eyes as he tried to see if he could use his connection to the Fade in any useful way.

But he was no healer.

"Dammit!" the prince cursed as he almost fell over because of the rumbling tremors, even as the mage stood rooted to his spot, like a statue whose foundation was buried deep beneath the earth.

The rain poured and diluted the dirt, the mire deepening and continuing to mix with the gore from the hundreds of corpses, darkspawn and humans, that were now commonplace.

Thunder struck again, and what the prince heard immediately after his hearing returned sounded like a slow, steady and deep exhalation. He looked at the elf again, and his eyes once more lit up afire, bloody power swirling throughout and within him.

"Get away from me..."

The prince felt a chill run down his spine as the Veil reacted, and he backed off as quickly as the shaking ground let him, only barely catching the words spoken by the blood mage as he touched the tip of the arrow again and practically vaporized it.

"To think I'd have to use this boon so soon..."

The upper part of his robe turned to shreds, leaving his torso bare. The next moment, brilliant strands of power that looked very familiar in the prince's eyes started to appear all over the elf's back and probably front. And as they did, the wound completely regenerated, as though it had never been there before.

Blood rose from the corpses that covered the ground and formed a globe around the magus, and Raonar only barely managed to jump away in time to avoid being torn to pieces as the vortex of blood blades again took form.

But the gory tornado would not take being again.

Alim slammed his foot against the ground, reinvigorating the tremors whose rumbling noises competed with the thunder and the patter of the raindrops in terms of intensity. Then, he took a straight stance and started to slowly lift his arms on both sides.

Magic gathered around his being, focused on his forearms.

Pure electricity coursed through his left arm.

While the icy breath of winter caused the rain to turn to snow around his right.

And just as the sky lit up one more time, the blood mage brought his arms together above his head, in a motion that would lead to what would be remembered, by the few survivors of the Battle of Ostagar, as a phenomenon worthy of having an age named after it.

**"Now! T****empest in my left hand, and the Blizzard in my right! The forces of nature are at my command! **

**"Come wind, come snow, come lighting, come!"**

**"****Destroy them!"**

**"Destroy everything!"**

As he shouted those words of power, his hands met, and as they did, the entire battlefield was engulfed in a storm of lighting, ice and rumble. Thunders were heard from all sides as the wrath of nature descended upon the still shaking battleground. The giant tornado of electricity grew and spun, and grew and raged, and grew again, a giant twister of magic that fed on the power in the blood of all those it caught and destroyed.

"Everybody run!" the dwarf prince yelled as he grabbed a hold of Alim and both made a run for it.

Kallian, who was nearest, tried to ask what was happening. "What! Wh-"

"Just run!" he yelled again as he grabbed her by the arm and practically dragged her after him. "Just run! Everyone **run**!"

The Storm of the Century had been summoned, and as it grew and grew, killing and vaporizing everything in its path, it reached ever upwards, a swirling mass of maddening destruction that threatened to swallow the field of battle and eventually Ostagar whole. Thunders roared in the sky but their noise was obscured as it could not make it past the unleashed magic.

"Duncan!" the white-haired one shouted as he reached him. "Is he alive?"

Duncan looked grim and nodded, though it was plain to understand from the look on his face that the King didn't have long.

"Darkspawn!" Solveig yelled as he started hacking at monsters again. The earthquake had settled down and even with the thunderstorm raging, the horde still kept pouring endlessly out of the wilds.

Duncan looked at the beacon one last time and narrowed his eyes as anger surfaced at having been so callously betrayed by Teyrn Loghain and his men.

"We have to get out of here!" Faren shouted as he killed a monster. "The battle is lost!"

"Theron! Alim! Pick up the king!' Raonar ordered, then turned immediately to Duncan, who was kneeling beside the dying monarch. "Duncan, let's go!"

The two elves did as they were told and picked Cailan up, his bones broken and his armor mostly battered, by either arm.

The commander jumped to his feet and decapitated a shriek. "We have to get the King out of here and find Gwen and Alistair!"

"Go!" Solveig yelled as he freely swung his axe. "The few of us left will hold them off! You get away from here!"

"What! We can't just leave you here!" Kallian protested, clutching at her arm as it had suffered a minor cut some time earlier.

"No, he's right." the prince unexpectedly uttered, drawing surprised glances from all the others. "There's no way we're all getting out of here alive."

"Fuck!" Faren slurred as he relieved his anger on a genlock, just as the sky rumbled in thunder once more.

They took the king and fell back, just as the storm Alim had summoned rose and finally reached as high as the clouds. And as that happened, the blighted clouds churned, the thunder roared and lighting strikes began to randomly fall directly to the ground, a rain of electricity vaporizing everything. Thunderstrike followed thunderstrike in a rage that came at once from the heavens and the ground itself.

And as hell practically broke loose, a bolt descended dangerously close to where the retreating Grey Wardens were located, just between the recruits and Duncan, who was some steps behind them, witling the stragglers that had somehow passed through the last defense line. The human was thrown to his back and disoriented.

"Duncan!" Kallian yelled as she was the first to get her bearings after the loud blast caused them all to momentarily lose their sense of hearing.

"We have to go back!" Faren postulated, but was stopped by Raonar's grip as he took him by the wrist.

"No!" He paused briefly, as if considering something, then frowned as he took his decision. "I'll go after him! You have to take the king and get out of here!"

Those words fell like a hammer on the rogue's head. "Wh- What! No way!"

Another thunderbolt struck the ground not far from where the others were fighting, and an ogre somehow appeared from the side and smashed through two of the last surviving Grey Wardens, then began to advance on the unfortunate Duncan, who was struggling to get back to his feet.

"These guys can handle the king, I'm not leaving you behind!" he protested with a horrified look on his face that was not at all tempered by the heavy rain and continuous flashes of light.

"You have to! Listen," Raonar reached inside a hidden pocket in his armor and pulled out a leather-bound package. "Here!" he pushed the package into his arms. "This is the treaty between the Grey Wardens and the Circle of Magi! Take it away from here!"

The other's surprised gazes were suddenly drawn as he spoke those words, and Faren finally understood why the exile had been inside Duncan's tent earlier. "Wha- you... you knew this was going to happen all along?"

The three elves looked at each other for a moment, their amazement obvious on their faces.

"I didn't. But I didn't rule out the possibility. I'll keep the treaty with Orzammar. Gwen has the one with the Dalish. This way we have the biggest chance of getting at least one out of here. Now go! Go, flee to the North, leave Ostagar as quickly as you can!"

"What about you!" Faren pushed as he was still unwilling to leave him behind.

"I'm going back for Duncan, and there's still something else I have to do."

"What do y-... no, fuck that, there's no **way** I'm going along with this!"

"Listen to me!" the prince shouted in Faren's face as he grabbed him by both shoulders. "The Grey Wardens must **not** all die here! I'm sorry I'm making you do this, but please, just do as I say."

The redhead was so distraught that he could barely let out anything more, even as another thunderbolt fell upon the battleground. "This... This can't be happening... Don't do th-" he was cut off as the other one took his face in his hands and kissed him on the forehead.

"Just in case I don't catch up with you by next month." Raonar closed his eyes and let his brow rest on the rogue's own forehead for a brief moment. "Happy Birthday."

Faren was shocked. "What... Wait!" he grabbed the prince by the wrist as he tried to turn around and run to where Duncan was struggling against a group of hurlocks. "How do you know when my birthday is? I never told you..."

The other one looked back at him. "'She always says how I was born on the 13th of Solace, like a bad omen.'" the prince replied, at once causing Faren to widen his eyes in stupefaction.

"That's... that's what my mother said... but how did y-"

"You talk in your sleep."

The chained dagger-wielding dwarf was left speechless and, for a moment, he was aware of only the rain falling and, vaguely, the thunder once again roaring in the heavens.

Raonar drew his sword and let his fingertips slide across its edge, causing it to be engulfed in a white light. "Leave! Now!"

But Faren again resisted him, only to be grabbed by the neck and thrown back, almost falling on his back if not for Kallian, who managed to catch him.

"**DO AS I SAY BRAND!"**

Snap.

Those loud words struck something deep inside the castless bruiser and he felt his feet walking backwards without his command. _"Why am I leaving. Legs, what are you doing?"_

He couldn't stop, he just retreated along with the other three and kept looking back repeatedly, catching only a few more glances of the dwarf prince before the lightning blinded him.

Raonar ran off, his blade extended backwards and shining as white as the light coming out of his eyes. And as Duncan was kicked to the ground by the Ogre, the dwarf came up from behind the human and crouched.

He jumped, energies from Beyond the Veil leaving his feet and causing a shockwave that propelled him upwards, as high as the beast's eye level. An instant passed and felt like an eternity, and the Ogre's eyes were met by two shining stars as the sword engulfed in light all but lopped the head off its shoulders.

Then, a lightning bolt finally came down from the heavens right before Faren's eyes, and he saw no more. The flash blinded him, the booming rumble all but momentarily deafened him, and all he could feel was Kallian tugging at him as they made their escape from the doomed battleground.

''''''''''

Yes, Alim is really powerful when he has enough blood lying around.

Also, the way he inexplicably healed will be explained later.

_And that review space is still waiting!_


	15. Intermission 1: Surrounded by Wolves

**Chapter 14:**** Surrounded by Wolves**

"-. You could try and tell them that. I'm sure they'd be quite eager to rectify their mistake .-"

Blood sprayed over Faren's face, making it almost indistinguishable from his red hair and thick stubble, as he yanked his dagger out of the hurlock's throat and gave it a strong push. "Damn!" he could barely speak, so heavy his breaths were. "How many... are still on out tail?"

"I don't know!" Kallian shouted back to the dwarf as she decapitated a shriek that had tried to sneak up on her from behind. "That thunderstorm must have caused some of them to break off from the main horde!"

The four Grey Wardens had been fleeing from the site of battle for about an hour. They had had to shake off or kill a fair amount of darkspawn as they tried to get as far away from the thunderstorm as they could. Soon after, they managed to escape from Ostagar through the wilds, as there was no way to get to the Imperial Highway from where they had been fighting. Much to their increasing aggravation, however, raving creatures started to crop up from amidst the trees and foliage. That was when Theron realized his skills as a hunter would be pushed to their limits.

Alim looked completely exhausted and his eyes kept giving out their sickly, red light, as he helped the Dalish hunter carry the King. Theron was actually amazed he could even move after what he had pulled off, and he still couldn't understand how he had recovered from that arrow shot. Darkspawn finally caught up to them, however, and he knew he would have to somehow find a faster path through those wilds. There weren't as many trees as in the Brecilian Forest, but there weren't any beaten paths either.

The problem was not that he would have had trouble guiding everyone away safely. The issue was that their progress was quite slow because of the dying shem they had been forced to take along. Even though they had taken his armor off and left it behind as they fled, one piece at a time, Cailan, now dressed in a thin jacket and leather pants, was still a fairly heavy burden. Theron half wanted to suggest they just leave him there to his fate, since it was obvious he wasn't going to live through this anyway, but knew that the redhead dwarf would go ballistic if he even suggested it.

The sound of metal cutting through flesh and bone was heard one last time, accompanied by an agonizing scream that filled the wilds and scared off whatever birds or critters hadn't yet fled for their lives.

"Dammit dwarf!" the hunter shouted as he looked back over his shoulder. "I told you to kill them quickly and not give them a chance to scream! It'll alert others to our position!" His words had merit, he knew this, but regret for having said them so brusquely suddenly fell over him when he saw that Faren let himself fall to his knees, next to his latest kill, and clutched at his left arm, now heavily bleeding from a fresh but deep cut.

Kallian ran to where Faren was and knelt in the shrubbery next to him, trying to find whatever bandages she had in the small pack at her side. "Maker's breath, we're out of poultices."

Faren winced slightly as she started to tie the bandages but looked as though the possibility of bleeding to death was the least of his problems. He was still in denial after having abandoned the others.

Meanwhile, Theron and Alim put down the unconscious king. Alim, dressed in his now ragged robes and with his torso completely bare, let himself sit down and lean with his back against a very thick, moss-covered log, even though the ground was still soaking wet from the rain. It wasn't raining anymore, but sporadic thunderclaps could still be heard from the south, no doubt the last cries of an otherwise dying cloudburst.

"Alim, how are you holding up?" the Dalish inquired, quite worried, though he was a bit amazed and, regardless of how much he hated to admit it, a bit scared of the mage. After all, he **had** ravaged quite a sizable chunk of the horde by himself just an hour earlier.

Surana was barely able to breathe anymore, and even though his eyes still shone red, he looked as if he was about to pass out any minute. "It wasn't... It.." His words faded into a whisper.

Theron leaned in close to listen, and put his hand on the other one's chest, feeling for his heartbeat. "What's wrong, lethallan?"

The mage could barely whisper now, making Theron wonder just how he had managed to carry that king for so long. "It wasn't supposed to go off... It wasn't supposed to go off like that..."

"What are you talking about?"

"The storm... I didn't... It shouldn't... By the Fade, It shouldn't have blown up like that!" Alim just barely managed to exceed the whispering decibel barrier, drawing the attention of the other two. Then, he covered his face with his hands, not at all helping Theron to get over his confusion.

"What's he going on about?" Faren called out from his position, his grumbling voice a testament to the city elf's resolution to tie the knots on the bandages as tight as she could.

"It wasn't... wasn't supposed to go off like that..." the weakened elf faintly repeated.

"He's not looking too good... He's getting delirious..." the hunter replied, not drawing his eyes away from Alim. On the surface, he looked mostly uninjured, likely something to do with his inexplicable regeneration after he was struck by that arrow. Strangely enough, there seemed to be odd, flowing white lines on his body, all of them giving a faint glow. Theron didn't know what to make of them, however, as they didn't resemble any of the old magics that their keeper ever used, none he'd seen anyway.

"Creators, I have no idea what's happening to him. I think he may be suffering from overexertion, but I'm not a magic expert and I'm not sure this... delayed reaction would be normal anyway."

"What about the king?" Kallian reminded, quite curious herself.

Theron glanced at the others impassively and spoke in a fairly dismissive tone. "I don't think he'll make it. He's not bleeding that much on the outside, but I'm quite sure his insides, and bones, are a mess. Even if we had spare poultices, they wouldn't do any good. I'm surprised he's still breathing. Really, I don't know why that dwarf prince even bothered telling us to take him along."

Faren frowned and looked away in subdued rage as he was once again reminded that he had just abandoned him to his fate. "Che!"

Kallian returned whatever supplies she had left to her small pack and immediately tried to shift the conversation in another direction. "I don't think we should dally here. Can Alim still move?"

Theron looked over the blood mage one more time, but before he could answer, Alim managed to pull out a blue vial from his small pouch, the last one apparently, and drank it down. The crimson light in his eyes seemed to gain some intensity, but only slightly. "Just... give me another minute..."

The situation was hardly one that favored such a respite. Though everyone was injured, Theron was well aware that staying in one place for long was a distinctly bad idea, knowing that they were probably still being pursued. Not to mention that that darkspawn's scream earlier had likely drawn the attention of other creatures. On the other hand, Alim looked like it was taking everything he had to stay conscious, and Faren was pretty beaten up himself. Between that, the fact that it was getting dark even without the blight clouds, and the fact that they were all exhausted, it was quite clear there was no way they would be making much progress without rest, especially while carrying that shem along.

Unfortunately, that reasoning would prove pointless as the hunter's incredibly sharp hearing picked up a very familiar sound.

Theron instantly tilted his upper body to the left, dodging a flying arrow by just an inch as it almost grazed his neck and stuck into the trunk of a tree that stood proud and tall just a couple o feet behind him. "Darkspawn."

Again arrows were heard flying, two this time, and the elf managed to crouch and bend quickly enough to evade them.

"Damn!" the city elf let out in aggravation as she sprung to her feet. "That darkspawn sensing ability would be really handy about now! Why can't we sense them?"

"Maybe it takes time for our bodies to adjust!" the dwarf hypothesized as he jumped to his feet himself. He and Kallian were standing with their backs at each other, trying to guess where the enemies were. Panic died before it had a chance to surface and all the pain, worry and any other type of emotion that Faren felt at that moment were overshadowed by a single feeling that he couldn't stop from giving form as he helplessly tried to guess from behind which bush the monsters would jump out. "I **hate** forests."

"Shut up!" the Dalish hunter suddenly shouted.

The rogue couldn't help but feel stupefied at what he perceived as aggravation over insulting the elf's habitat. "You can't seriously be getting pissed about th-"

"Shut **up**!" he enforced, as firmly as he could, with a raised hand and eyes closed. A moment later, his ears twitched and he managed to duck and avoid another shot that lodged into the trunk of another tree. "Stay still unless I tell you otherwise... and don't make a sound."

Silence fell as everyone did their best to obey that order. Faren finally understood what the elf wanted, so he tried to stop his chain from making noise as he practically stood rooted to his spot. Kallian sought to stay still as well, trying to listen as closely as she could. Cailan was unconscious already, and Alim wasn't too far off from drifting away either.

For a very long minute, almost nothing could be heard. The thunderstorm in the south had finally stopped, or so it seemed, and the lack of critters in the trees excluded any possibility of animal sounds. So Theron was finally able to listen closely, trying to discern where his enemies actually were. He closed his eyes and listened to the faint lisp of the fern as the rain water dripped on its leaves from the trees above. He noticed how the weak breeze cut through the underbrush, and he could also distinguish the familiarly-sounding gale as it passed through the perennial broadleaf trees that towered around him on all sides.

He heard Kallian and Faren as their muscles tensed and their feet crushed the grass underneath as they fidgeted. He took note of Alim's slow breathing as he clung to consciousness, and of the almost inaudible jingle his Warden Pendant gave out as it slid across his bare chest as he inhaled and exhaled. He listened to Cailan's irregular breaths as he clung to life.

And finally, like soft leaves falling to the ground during an autumn day, he heard his own steps as he tiptoed ever so slowly towards the nearest tree and carefully, almost soundlessly, dislodged the arrow that had embedded itself into its bark.

"Keep quiet," he carefully uttered as he slowly drew back his bowstring.

His mind tapped into all the years of experience he had accumulated, of walking the wilds and coming face to face with dangerous animals that he barely managed to escape, almost dying several times if not for the keeper's magic. Memories were awakened, of weeks spent traveling the forests blindfolded, suffering Tamlen's jibes and bad jokes as he couldn't help but stumble on every root he came upon.

His muscles flexed as he remembered the first time he managed to hit a bullseye blindfolded, then relaxed as his awareness expanded beyond what he and the other could see, until it finally reached far enough to bring the huffed steps of multiple creatures to his attention. Then, the familiar sound of a vibrating string notified him that the wait was over.

"Duck!" he yelled as he side-stepped, dodging yet another bowshot. The other two reacted instantly, the corrupted projectiles only narrowly grazing them on the side and shoulder as they let themselves fall to the ground.

And at last, Theron opened his eyes wide and let go of his arrow, sending it flying through the foliage and trees, until it was heard piercing bloody sinews, finally sending its previous owner into a fit of agonizing hollers.

"Here they come!" he instantly notified them as he hurriedly picked up another arrow.

The band of darkspawn showed itself and immediately began to give the city elf and the dwarf a fair bit of trouble. They managed to take them out, however, and Theron even succeeded in killing two of the archers with whatever arrows he could retrieve. Unfortunately, he was again left with no projectiles, and just as the other two managed to defeat whatever enemies were near them, they noticed that five archers, plus three genlock rogues, had formed a group on the mound just twenty paces away from them.

"Bronto shit..." Faren mumbled as his right arm held tight to his chained knife. His left was mostly useless after having been cut so deeply, but still managed to clutch at his chest pocket, where the treaty entrusted to him was hidden.

The fair-haired elf just cursed something, unintelligibly, most likely outraged that she had used up all of her throwing daggers in the battle of Ostagar.

Saying that the situation was bad was a serious understatement, and Theron couldn't help himself from throwing Alim a hopeful look. Out of everyone, he was the only person with the power to change the course of the fight. But he didn't even move. He just lay there, his emerald-green eyes twisted into the same crimson they had been shining since he went wild on the battleground. The hunter couldn't even tell if he was still aware or not.

He was getting ready to take out his Dar'Misaan and make a last stand, when his sharp hearing picked up another set of hurried footsteps, this time sounding quite different and much more numerous. The sounds got closer at an alarmingly fast rate, until he could actually guess what they were, so many times he had heard those sounds before.

Obviously the darkspawn picked up on those noises as well, as they started to look around in confusion and delayed their shots. Their mistake, as a pack of wolves suddenly jumped out of the deep shadows and broke through them like a scythe through the grass. Barks, snarls and growls mixed with screams and bloody cries, and the denizens of the forest, more than a dozen in number, easily neutralized every last monster.

The slaughter ended as the largest of the wolves bit off half of a hurlock's throat and spat it out. Then, it howled at the full moon that had just appeared in the rapidly darkening sky.

The Grey Wardens, those still conscious, were left speechless, but their amazement steadily turned into nervousness as the animals, grey and menacing, started to spread around, until they formed a circle around them. The wolves held their heads low, as though they were getting ready to jump at their throats.

Faren's expression twisted, his outrage visible for all to see. "I. Really. **HATE.** Forests."

Kallian clutched at her hair in frustration. "This just keep getting worse!"

The wolves kept closing in, one step at a time, snarling at them, blood and spittle dripping from their fangs. But just as Faren was about to snap and lunge his silverite knife at the one nearest to him, the apparent alpha male growled menacingly and howled from the bottom of its lungs.

The rest of the pack suddenly drew back a step, but did not lose eye contact with the bipeds, still snarling as they made room for the pack leader to approach. Some of them seemed to relax as they walked to the side, slobber dripping from their mouths incessantly.

"What are they doing?" the redhead warily asked, still clutching at his blade.

Theron seemed to relax and took his hand off the hilt of the sword that hung off his side. "I think... I think they're purposely salivating in order to get the tainted blood out of their mouths before they have a chance to swallow it..."

Kallian kept her blade between her and one of the wolves that was waiting just a few feet away, staring straight at her. "I... don't think that's what he meant by that question..."

"I mean why aren't they chewing on us yet?" the dwarf articulated with a shrug of frustration.

"Do you **want** them to?" the hunter scolded him, getting only a scoff in response.

The animals made way for the alpha male to walk near. It was larger than the others, with white fur on its underside but its back and head covered in a dark shade of grey. Two keen, brown eyes were distinctly visible, even now that the light was growing dimmer and dimmer, and every step that it took could barely be heard. It stopped a couple of meters ahead of the city elf and eyed her, and Faren, in turn, after which it just tilted its head to the left, as though it were studying them.

Faren clasped its chain tight and didn't even try to stop himself from grumbling. "Fuck, it looks like it's trying to decide which of us is the tastiest. Damned animals and their fetishes."

Theron rolled his eyes in annoyance. "Faren... shut up."

"Hmpf!"

The animal studied them intently for a time, after which it slowly drew its gaze away and met the archer's stare. Its eyes flickered in the pale moonlight that was now stronger than the one conveyed by the dying sun, whose last sunrays were fading behind the dispersing clouds. Then, the animal just ignored everyone and everything else and walked up to him.

The two odd actors stared at each other for what seemed like hours, but it really only was a few minutes, until, finally, the Dalish elf got on one knee and made a reverent bow, to which the Alpha wolf answered with what seemed like a bow of its own.

At that point, all the other wolves relaxed and snarled dismissively a few times, after which they walked away, leaving the Wardens in a state of mind that only allowed for the articulation of a single sound. "Uuuhh..."

"Ma serannas, great wolf, for your timely rescue!" Theron pronounced as he kept his head low, though he was now looking straight into the animal's eyes.

Kallian and Faren exchanged confused glances but couldn't bring themselves to say anything, so completely stumped they both were. Fortunately, the other one took pity on their poor, confused souls and explained the situation. "This is the same wolf I treated in the wilds yesterday."

Both of the still conscious wardens made a face in surprise, but they finally realized why it was that the wolves hadn't yet turned them into mince meat, especially knowing it would have been easy, considering how beaten up they all were.

"Oh..." Faren finally managed to let out.

Kallian, on the other hand, was far more reserved about the entire situation. "This is just like one of those fairy tales completely bereft of logic that my mother used to tell me when I was little."

"You know," Theron carefully retorted, "you **could** try and tell **them **that. I'm sure they'd be quite eager to rectify their mistake."

The blonde decided that that sarcasm had its place and decided to just play along. "So, now that it repaid you for saving it, what next?"

The alpha male barked a few times, alerting the rest of its pack, which quickly assembled, as if they were getting ready to leave. The animals still eyed the elves and dwarf with weary eyes, but they obeyed their leader. Then, the great wolf glanced at Theron one last time and slipped past him.

"Come on, I think it wants us to follow him," the hunter notified the others as he went over to check on the mage.

"Awkward..." two voices articulated.

"I'm... I'm fine, I can still walk," Alim told him as he let himself be helped to his feet. He almost lost his balance, but eventually regained his footing and, along with the dwarf rogue, followed after him and the she-elf as she took the mage's place as carrier of the dying king.

For a while, they walked in silence, resigned to just following their unusual escort, though they were growing increasingly anxious the darker it got. Most animals had already fled north, trying to escape the corruption of the Blight, and this made the entire wood almost totally silent, except for whatever rustle the leaves produced as the wind passed through them. The wolves would also occasionally snort or groan, but they mostly strode onwards.

Kallian subtly cleared her throat, drawing Theron's attention as they hoisted Cailan over a fairly large unearthed root. "Isn't this a bit too convenient?"

The tattooed one raised an eyebrow at her. "What, you think these wolves are leading us into an ambush or something?"

"(scoff) Very funny. I mean that it's a bit too much of a coincidence that these wolves showed up when they did."

"Actually, they'd been following us for a while before the last group of darkspawn attacked us."

The lass almost gasped at that, but immediately realized that it made sense. "So... you knew they were there all along?"

"Yes, but I didn't expect them to be 'friendly'. It's more of an alliance of convenience, if what I could sense from the pack leader is anything to go by," Theron explained. "The darkspawn drove them out of their home, these wilds. We fight to eradicate the darkspawn, so they jumped our attackers. It's a more refined form of survival instinct on the Alpha male's part to help us after we helped it yesterday. I think it's about as smart as Gwen's mabari, though it doesn't actually understand human speech. I guess we're lucky I'm Dalish."

"Still too convenient, but whatever."

The Wardens continued their wandering of the wilds, until, finally, the pack of wolves led them to what looked like a particularly large cave entrance. There, some of them scattered, seemingly in order to keep watch for whatever dangers may still be lurking about. Needless to say, the Wardens wasted no time in getting the king inside the cave, where they let him lie down. The cave floor was covered in a thick layer of dry leaves, likely there since the autumn of the previous year, and Theron realized that it was, in fact, a den of some kind, possibly belonging to one or all of their 'rescuers'.

The wolves didn't enter the grotto, some falling asleep outside while others just wondered about, doing whatever it was wolves did when they weren't killing or eating things.

"Oh, nug spit, my feet are killing me..." the dwarf interjected as he sat down with a thud, leaning with his back against the cavern wall. He restrained himself from saying how dreadfully hungry he was, and somehow managed to prevent his stomach from making any horrid noises.

"Andraste's warts, this shem is heavy," Kallian complained as she massaged her shoulder.

"Here," the hunter exclaimed as he threw Faren a chunk of dried meat. He always had some supplies, he had learned long ago that one should never be caught unprepared. "You're probably starving. I know I am." He then passed Kallian a similar chunk and wanted to do the same to Alim, but the latter gestured at him that he didn't need any.

The mage was massaging his temples and looked spend, his eyes still red and his upper body still covered in lines of shimmering white. Still, he moved in close to Cailan and started to feel for his life signs. First he checked the pulse on his neck, then he put his ear on his chest and abdomen, his expression becoming more and more grim as he neared the end of the medical inspection. Eventually, by the time the three had finished munching on their meager snack, he put his hand on the human's forehead and sighed deeply.

"Theron was right, the king isn't going to make it," he finally assessed, only confirming the fears that the others hoped would not come to pass.

The Dalish was not overly phased by this news. In fact, even though he definitely felt some sympathy with the dying man, he was more annoyed at having had to carry him along, endangering all of them in the process. They **had** almost died because of it after all. "Great, so we dragged him after us for nothing. Why did that guy tell us to take him along again?"

There was no answer, and for awhile, nothing could be heard except for the occasional yelps of some of the wolves, now locked in a wrestling match meant to help pass the time. The lass just sat there, resting her head against the rocky cave wall and looking outside, and Faren hung his head low and was staring at the ground while his elbows rested on his bent knees. Eventually, the latter looked up to the tired circle mage and finally asked what they all were wondering about. "Can you wake him up?"

Alim nodded in confirmation, though he didn't look at all pleased with the prospect. "I think I might have enough strength left to bring him back to consciousness for a short while, but healing magic can only do so much. I'm not exactly an expert healer, but I know enough to say for sure it wouldn't do him good even if I were."

"Are you sure we should wake him?" the tattooed hunter suddenly surprised them.

Even Kallian frowned at that as she drew her gaze away from the cave entrance and scrutinized her fellow elf. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"(scoff) Well, forgive me for caring, but I don't think hearing he led his men to slaughter will give him an easy death."

Regardless of how biased Theron may have seemed, his words still had some merit and actually made the others wonder whether they should wake him up after all. On the other hand, if they just left him there, it would have made carrying him all that way completely pointless.

It was the dwarf that finally helped everyone make up their minds. "That guy obviously knew this Cailan wasn't going to make it, but he made us take him away anyway. Maybe he just felt that letting him die there wasn't worthy of him. Or he thought this king may have some last words he would like to say before he went on to wherever humans go when they die."

The four exchanged looks for a moment, and the others finally caved in.

"Alright, then I'll use the last of my magic to wake him up," Surana reluctantly declared as he focused a golden light into his palm. He threw a last glance at the others before forcing that spell into the human's body. "Make it count."

Alim firmly pushed the creation magic into Cailan's chest, and all of the human's muscles suddenly strained, causing him to rack in pain and gasp helplessly as his returning consciousness mercilessly made him aware of the facts that his left shoulder was dislocated and that several of his ribs were broken and had punctured his lung. He tried to inhale, but ended up coughing out blood instead, and when he finally opened his eyes, he could barely see anything, not just because his vision was blurry but also because it was already very dark in that den, especially now that night had fallen.

The mage somehow invoked a final ounce of energy and used his blood magic to stem the king's internal bleeding enough to allow him to breathe. That seemed to slightly alleviate his panic attack, and the human at last managed to take a deep breath that ended in a pained moan.

The elf then let himself lean against the rock that surrounded them on all sides, signaling that the deed was done. The other three, except Theron, crawled closer, just as the shem stirred and his hands started to reach out, desperate for a reference point that would make his head stop spinning.

Kallian took his hand into hers and was amazed at how strong Cailan's grip was. It took all her might to prevent him from crushing her slim finger bones, but she managed to hold out until the man's fear subsided and his grasp relaxed. That was when she was finally able to take a close look at him and see how visible the agony showed on his face, even despite the deep shadows and the fact that the moonlight just barely reached inside the cavern. Nevertheless, it was enough to expose his profile and his blue eyes that somehow managed to glint ever so faintly. They were wide open, the instant emergence of physical and mental distress not strong enough to outweigh his shock at not being able to see anything in front of him.

"I can't see... Why can't I s-" he broke off in a fit of coughs that ended with his blood flowing out through both corners of his mouth. "Guh..."

Even though she had little love for humans, the city elf couldn't help but feel deeply perturbed when she saw how helplessly he struggled. "It's alright. You're not blind, it's just dark because it's nighttime." She then felt his hand twitch, as though he had only just now realized it was her hand he was holding.

"Who is there...?" he barely whispered. "Where am I?"

"You're-"

"In a wolf's den," Theron rammed, cutting her off and drawing a shocked and disapproving glare from the only woman and dwarf present.

The king gasped, once again being reminded that sudden efforts in his thorax were a distinctly bad and painful idea. "What...?" He sought to turn around, but only saw a blur coming from the direction of the cave entrance, his eyes having not completely adjusted. "Who is there?" he beseeched, a last ditch effort to make sense of things.

His vision eventually started to clear, until he could make out the vague silhouette of an elf, clad in fine-made but worn leather armor, sitting a foot away from him, with the right forearm resting on his bent knee and the upper part of his body obscured by the thick shadows that pervaded the area.

Faren, who was sitting next to Kallian the whole time, finally couldn't stay silent anymore and put his hand on the human' shoulder in an effort to reassure him. "Chill man, we're Grey Wardens. You remember us right?"

Much to his dismay, his effort backfired as the human was startled at how suddenly that voice and hand had come out of nowhere, and the rogue mentally cursed his all too strong tendency to move silently even in the weirdest of situations. At least Cailan seemed to calm down again after the words 'Grey Wardens' managed to sink in, though they only seemed to become a cause to worry.

"Grey Wardens... but then, where am I... what happened...?"

"Don't you remember anything?" the hunter pressed, just as flatly as before. "That Ogre didn't hit you in the head as far as I could see."

"Really man, no need to be such an ass!" the redhead snapped at him.

"Ogre..." Cailan echoed, his eyes widening as memories were unlocked and flooded his mind, completely overcoming his feeling of awareness as he vividly relived the last moments of the battle.

He remembered how he clenched his teeth, to resist the disorienting effect of the thunderclap, but only barely managed to hear the thump that the monster's large foot gave out as it stomped the ground behind him. He tried to spin around, but slipped on the thick mud and only grazed the beast's leg before it grabbed him, knocking the greatsword out of his grasp and lifting him off the ground, even heavily armored as he was, with the smallest of effort but the greatest of bloodthirst.

His insides twisted from the foul stench of the ogre's breath as it roared in his face, angered at not being able to crush through his plate mail. Then, he gasped and felt his humerus jumping out of its shoulder and his ribs snapping as a huge, rock-hard fist slammed into him from the side. And finally, he could barely recall drifting in and out of consciousness as he was being flung around, the beast roaring like mad after having had both its eyes pierced by knives.

The trail of memories immediately jumped into a sharp, electrical pain that arched through his entire body, then an odd feeling in his chest as his lungs finally let him speak, until his recollection caught up to the present.

"-n't have to be so sodding blunt!" he just barely caught Faren saying, though he had more pressing thoughts on his mind.

"The battle... what happened with the battle...?"

There was a long silence, and as the human's vision finally managed to clear and adjust to the dim light, he noticed Kallian, Faren and Theron looking at each other, as though they didn't know how to begin.

But it was the hunter that, again, took the word, seemingly less distraught, though no less put off. "Are you sure you want to hear it?"

He winced and shut his eyes momentarily, suppressing the impulse to try to sit up, knowing it would only send another sharp pain straight into his brain. "Yes..."

When it became obvious that the others could not bring themselves to say it, the Dalish was forced to, again, act the bad guy and just blurt out the truth. "The battle was lost."

The confirmation of his fears squirmed inside the king, and the denial grew into a mixture of sorrow, regret and shame, until the internal distress reached such an intensity that his face twisted as though he had just been stabbed from all sides. "By the Maker..." he cringed as he hopelessly shut his eyes. "But, how could it... Why? Was our army not enough after all? Did... did the tactic really fail?"

Kallian grimaced and looked away, unwilling to ram Cailan with the horrible truth, and Faren just stared at the scene, being no stranger to agonizing death. He didn't say anything, however, as he had no experience with helping someone move on and didn't really know how he could say what needed to be said.

So Theron had to be the bearer of bad news again. He frowned, glad that the darkness obscured his face. "Loghain quit the field. He didn't charge when he was supposed to."

"He...what?" The dying human gasped in disbelief, causing yet another explosion of pain in the side of his chest as his broken ribs shred another bit of his lung. He choked on his blood once more, only barely managing to cough it out as Kallian held his head up. "But... why would he... Was it really so... so hopeless that he wouldn't risk his men...?"

That thought gave the Grey Wardens pause. They hadn't exactly had much time to consider what had happened, between fleeing the darkspawn and trying to stay alive, but there was something about Cailan's confusion that threw them off. That man didn't even consider that Loghain pulled out because he was a traitor, even though all signs pointed to it. After all, the beacon **had** been lit and there would have still been enough time to flank the horde.

But why **had** Loghain quit? The fact was that they really didn't know, even though they were quite bent on assuming it was definitely done for malicious reasons.

Kallian used a spare bandage to wipe the blood of Cailan's face and just barely managed to stammer a few words. "We're not sure why he... We don't really know what happened."

Yes, perhaps it was better if the King died without knowing he had been betrayed by his father's best friend, the Hero of River Dane.

"Maker, this... this is a nightmare..." he trailed off, barely able to even move anymore, so completely broken he was. But as reality finally sunk in, he at last noticed that only the three elves and the dwarf were there, raising yet another question that demanded an answer. "Why are only the four of you here... Where are the other Wardens...? And the men, they... Andraste's mercy, this can't be..."

Faren opened his mouth, but no words came out, his mind again drifting into rage over having left everyone else behind, though he knew he was really only worried about one person in particular. Dammit, he was so biased and selfish.

The silence only confirmed Calan's suspicions, and his heartbeat escalated, his breathing got even more alert, until his voice became weak and anguished. "Even... even the other Wardens? Even Duncan? Impossible... This... this can't be real... Maker, say it's not real..."

The city elf finally managed to get her will together and speak up front, if only to prevent the blunt Theron from slamming the truth in the human's face again. "We just barely got out of there ourselves... The army had already been almost wiped out when we retreated, but Duncan and some of the others were still alive. They may have escaped..."

"They **must** have escaped," Faren enforced. "Dammit, he'd better-... **they'd** better not be dead or I'll..."

An almost completely faint ray of hope surfaced in the shem's expression just then, but the pain in the right side of his chest suddenly spiked, chasing it away instantly. "The army... all those men and women were slaughtered weren't they...?" he realized, aghast at what his eagerness for battle had wrought.

The silence only confirmed his worst fears. "By the Maker, I led them to their deaths..."

On second thought, maybe it wasn't such a good idea for him not to know that Loghain had turned his back on him just like that. The Wardens couldn't decide which feeling they should let Cailan die with: betrayal or shame.

"This is stupid!" the lass let out in outrage. "This only happened because that Loghain turned his back on us! It wasn't your fault!"

"No..." the agonizing shem weakly whispered. "It is my fault... I led my men to slaughter... I've handed my country to the darkspawn with my stubbornness, even though I was warned this could happen... and not just by Loghain..."

Silence fell yet again, and time looked as though it had come to a stop. The wolves themselves were quiet now, and the Alpha male had come and sat down at the entrance to the den and just stared at the scene, though no one actually noticed it. Cailan now choked on almost every breath, and the physical pain, combined with internal turmoil, flowed out of him in waves as his almost every attempt at inhaling ended in just another cough of blood.

"I'm... dying aren't I?"

It was not really a question, and his tone was deathly already.

"I've handed Ferelden over to the Blight..."

"Now hold on th-" Kallian was cut off as she felt the human's hold on her hand tighten instantly.

A lone tear appeared at the corner of the man's eye, the materialization of his regret, and reflected the pale moonlight as it slid away. "The son of King Maric Theirin the Savior... becomes the Doombringer of Ferelden... I am such a fool..." He coughed again, his eyes finally overflowing, no longer able to contain the rivers. "I've failed my people... I've failed my father. I've doomed us all..."

The wardens felt their hearts jump all the way up to their throats and they all felt utterly helpless. What could they possible say to that? They were barely 20 years of age, or less, and had just started out their lives in the most bloody of possible ways. How were they supposed to know what to say to make someone's passing easier, and a king of all things? Trying to tell him that it wasn't his fault had already failed miserably and they were already out of other ideas.

"Dammit," the redhead spat out in aggravation at not knowing what to do. He only knew how to bring death, not how to soften it. What could he say? "Dammit, if Raonar were here, he'd know what to say."

For some reason, Cailan's whole body twitched when he heard that and his eyes opened wide. "The prince from Orzammar... He's not here is he...?"

"He ordered us to retreat but stayed behind, saying that there was still something he had to do," the dwarf informed him, though he was seething with anger again. "Probably had something to do with that talk you two had before the fight started."

"I... I've doomed him as well... This... this is a disaster..."

"Okay, stop it!" a stricken Kallian pleaded, drawing a concerned look from the rogue that sat right next to her. "Just... stop it."

The king slowly turned his head towards her, remembering that it was her hand he was crushing in his grasp. So he let go, and allowed the back of his fingers to slide across her cheek and gave her a wry smile. "Why do you look like you're about to cry? A pretty girl like you shouldn't have to grieve over a foolish human like me... Just... leave me to the wolves..."

"Stupid shem!" She blurted out as an echo filled the entire cavern. A moment later, she stared at her hand in disbelief as she realized it had just slapped the man over the face. Hard. Everyone was shocked, her most of all, but the surprise only made way for what she wanted to say. "Stop moaning! Show some backbone and just... Andraste's ass! We're here, aren't we? Grey Wardens! Alive! We'll handle this somehow! So just... Tell us your last words already and die with dignity, like a king is supposed to!"

Everyone looked at her in stunned silence, Cailan apparently having seen the worst of it, but his shocked expression soon loosened. He actually sighed softly and again took her hand in his, though the hold was tender now. "You must have had good parents. I'm glad."

"I..." she was taken completely by surprise. "What are you going on about?"

"They used to tell you bedtime stories didn't they?" he continued, his warm gaze somehow going straight through her, causing her to visibly blush even in the darkness. She looked to the side, her blonde hair fluttering lightly, almost glittering as it whipped through the air.

But he kept going. "Tales about knights in shining armor, and of valiant kings that saved the day as they rode in on their proud stallions... then died with honor when their time came..."

"Shut up shem..."

"And even after humans abused your family, and though you're still so... so young and would have every reason to be bitter... you still care enough to cry at the death of the first among those stupid shems..."

"Shut up..."

He smiled warmly, the blood trickling from his mouth not nearly enough to eclipse his unexpected dispassion. "Alright..."

The young lady was taken aback and widened her eyes in bewilderment. "What?"

Cailan again lift his hand, the last of his energy channeled towards keeping it steady, and wiped a lone tear off her face. "If it will stop you from crying, I'll be the king from those fairy tales."

She took his hand in hers and covered her eyes with the other one as they spilled. "Idiot shem... it won't stop me from crying..."

He smiled earnestly at her. "Then I guess... I'll just have to try harder now won't I?"

"Che! You shem are so annoying..."

At long last, Theron detached his back from the cave wall and moved closer, taking his place besides the human, opposite to the other two. And with a last effort, Alim, who had been hanging onto his rapidly fading consciousness throughout that whole time, somehow succeeded in sitting up, so that he too may hear the King's last words.

They kept silent, pricking up their ears so that they could catch each word that came out of Cailan's mouth, and so that they could distinguish between the coughs and speech. They waited and listened, and noticed as his voice became more faint and almost ethereal, as though his soul was already half-way into the Beyond. But most of all, they were amazed at the clarity of what he told them, of how he somehow addressed each possible loose end that could appear as a consequence of his premature death. At least, that's what it sounded like to them, though they hardly knew much about Ferelden itself, or governing, or politics for that matter, so it wasn't possible to know for sure.

He no longer brooded over his failure. He set aside his shame so that he may at least help make things right, even if only a little. He moaned not over Loghain's apparent betrayal and told the four others everything he could think of that might help them and Ferelden once he gave his last breath.

Strange that he should have an outcast dwarf and three elves, the supposed dregs of society, as final confidants, and no human, let alone a noble, beside him as he crossed into the next life. And yet he did not feel in the least dissatisfied with this outcome.

The Grey Wardens will definitely stop the Blight. They had to. It was just who they were.

"-. ... .-"

Kallian twitched slightly as the last of the human's strength left his body and he accepted his end. "Is he..."

The hunter let his palm rest on Cailan's face, pulling his eyelids over his eyes, his clear blue irises never again destined to see the light. "He is gone now, to whatever end awaits him."

"Of all the shem in the world, why did he... why do the good guys die?"

"Pfah!" Faren grumbled. "Because this whole world is screwed up, that's why." He pushed himself backwards, until he was once again with his back against the rocky cave wall. "This whole situation feels like it's pulled out of a second-rate novel and just thrown in for dramatic effect, not that I read many in my time."

Theron looked around for a moment, noticing that Alim had already drifted out of consciousness, so he moved in close and wrapped him in his own cloak, the only one available, to shield him from the cold night air and rock. But it was the other two he addressed as he got to his feet. "You two should get some sleep. It's probably unnecessary but I'll keep watch tonight. So try not to worry about the wolves."

As he walked out of the cave, the city elf drew back as well, leaning against the rock and finally realizing that all of her bones ached. She never imagined she would ever be in a situation like that. A few weeks ago she was getting married, that it was against her wishes being a fairly moot point, and now she was about to fall asleep in what was literally a wolves' den, a claimed one even. Fate really had a perverted sense of humor. The only thing she was glad about was that it was the middle of summer and, thus, not exactly cold, so she wouldn't have to worry about hypothermia. She was also really pleased with herself for having faced so many cases of frostbite during those winters when she just wouldn't stop fooling around in the Alienage. if there was anything she could deal with, it was cold, and that night definitely wasn't even remotely cold for her.

Faren was not so lucky. He had bled quite a bit, which definitely didn't help matters, but the worst part was that he came from Dust Town. The fact that his life had been a living hell aside, that meant he had spent most his days nearer to Orzammar's lava than any member of the castes, so he was at somewhat of a disadvantage on the surface, where it could actually get chilly. He started trembling and coiled himself up as tight as he could, not at all resistant to the low temperatures of the nights, though surfacers would hardly call that particular night chilly. Until that point, the adrenaline and the seething anger that had only just gone away had kept his blood flowing quite effectively.

Now he was freezing and he couldn't do anything about it. He didn't even have a cloak of his own anymore, having somehow lost it during the fight.

He almost recoiled when a hand gently touched his arm. He hadn't noticed her coming near, which made him feel even more worried about his level of awareness.

"Are you alright? You're shaking..." Her tone was genuinely concerned.

_"Her hand's kind of warm... No, wait. Man up, dwarf, man up!_ "I'm fine, I... I'm just a little cold..." _"NUG SPIT!"_

"I don't know much about dwarves or where the ones underground live, but I heard there's a lot of lava there. It must be hot... and stuffy..."

_"Okay, her hand is still there, so she doesn't find you completely revolting yet." _"Yeah... that's one way of putting it I guess. These woods are definitely a step down on that scale though." _"That's right, you're doing great, just play it cool!" _He suddenly shuddered, quite noticeably, _"Shit, not that kind of cool!"_

"You're really cold aren't you."

_"Dammit... So much for wanting to appear the strong, macho type..."_

"Come here."

The dwarf was completely astonished as she put her arm around him and drew him close, just like his sister Rica used to do so many years ago. "Don't freak out, people do this sort of thing in order to prevent the cold from killing them in their sleep. Come on, get over here."

He would have thought about drawing away, but he really was too cold to even think. His body reacted automatically and he just huddled closer, until the back of his head was resting on her chest of all places. _"Shit, she's warm... Why do things have to be so awkward?" _"Sorry I... I turned the situation awkward again. You just cried and I..."

She cut him off and gave him a protective hug. "Shut up and go to sleep Faren..."

"..."

"Alright..."

He curled himself up again and eventually felt his shivering lessen. He became aware of the steady beats of her heart as they sent the warmth into his back, and of her equally steady breathing as her chin rested on the top of his head. He decided he wouldn't think about how ridiculous he must have looked just then and was, for once in his life, grateful for the dark. So he reached up, searching for his Warden Pendant, but stumbled over her hands instead, clasped together in front of his chest, and subconsciously took a hold of them.

"Kal...?"

"Hmm?"

"Thanks."

She inhaled deeply, then gave another, long suffering sigh. "Just go to sleep."

"Right... sorry..."

He took a last look at the dead king, but the fact that he himself was still alive seemed to somehow outweigh the grief caused by that whole day, and his consciousness finally slipped away, leaving behind only the echoes of his last thought.

_ "On the other hand, maybe forests aren't so bad."_

_''''''''''''''''''''''''_

Author's Note:

Mostly I found it odd how Rangers could just have their animals "bamf" in out of thin air in the game, despite not having any magic. So Theron will just have a permanent animal companion._  
_

_That review space is, of course, eager to be filled!__  
_


	16. Intermission 2: Rage

**Chapter 15: ****Rage**

**"-. .-"**

Gwen slowly drew on the small leather belt that was supposed to keep her gauntlet in place. She had put on her armor as slowly as she could, trying with everything she had to somehow delay the moment when she would have to walk out through that hut's door. She couldn't face him yet, what was she supposed to do? What could she say?

What **could** she say?

I'm sorry Duncan died? At best it would just freshen up the grief Alistair was feeling after losing not only his father figure, but all the other Grey Wardens, his extended family as it were. In a way, she could totally relate to that, since it hadn't been long since she had lost her own parents and sister in law, and nephew for that matter. She could even claim to have been through something worse than what Alistair was going through because she had actually been there to see it. She saw, touched their lifeless bodies. And she even abandoned her mother and father, the latter bleeding all over the floor...

No, this wasn't the time for guilt. Guilt was bad. Guilt was distracting. She had to focus, fasten the buckle on her gauntlet and make a last check to see that all her equipment was in order. Yes, practicality. She needed something else to focus on, anything that could somehow help her put on a strong face, prevent her from blurting out something that would make Alistair feel worse that he surely already was.

Are you alright? Oldest question in the book. Sufficiently vague to not sound insulting while still capable enough of carrying that hint of "I don't want to deal with this right now." As such, it was the very worst, and dumbest, thing she could ask him.

Is there anything I can do? Almost as bad. Judging by the last look Alistair had given Duncan before leaving for the tower, it was already clear he would start blaming himself if anything happened to him. Asking him if she could do anything would just make him think he was pushing his problems onto her, and that would just make him feel even more guilty, and **that** she definitely did not want. Guilt she was acquainted with well, perhaps too well.

Should she just try to steer the conversation ahead of the sentimental bullshit and make it easier on both of them? By all accounts, that's probably what Alistair would try to do as well, but both of them doing that very same thing would practically put a distance between them, and distance was definitely not what she wanted.

Without realizing it, she had already put everything in order and strapped her greatsword on her back. Then, she brought her right hand to her side, reaching for the Cousland Family Sword, the silverite longsword that had been in her family for generations. That blade held all the will of the Couslands inside it, and she somehow always felt as if doing her duty came easier when she had that heirloom close, even if she didn't really use it in battle.

Her hand grasped on air, and she stared in shock at the empty space where the scabbard should be, finally remembering that she hadn't taken that blade along to the Tower of Ishal. By the memory of her parents! She had left the Cousland Family Blade, along with the Shield of Highever, in the Grey Warden's camp! She had left her family's legacy and now...

No, this was impossible, she couldn't have been so irresponsible.

She looked around frantically, emptying her pack on the bed that she had woken up in, grateful for the fact that Morrigan had gone out for whatever she was looking for. As if that blade was small enough to fit in that small bag! How could she have been so stupid!

No, focus. She had to focus. There was no way of knowing what would happen, by all accounts she could not have known that the mission would turn into a disaster and that Loghain would abandon the King and the other Wardens to be massacred. She was sure that the battle would just come and go and she would just go back to the Warden's camp later and retrieve her extra equipment.

No, that wasn't it. She simply forgot about them. She forgot because being close to Alistair had about the same effect as having that sword at her side, only it didn't remind her of the guilt over abandoning her parents to that treacherous bastard Howe.

And now, the Family Blade was gone... the shield as well.

She cursed and punched the side of the bed, leaving a fairly deep set of dents as the hard, silverite knuckles of her plated glove struck against the wood.

"My my! The sting of rage shows itself so soon?" a voice was heard from the direction of the door.

Gwen forced her anger back into the deepest reaches of her mind and put on a straight face before meeting Morrigan's gaze.

"Twould seem you have recovered well if you so easily deform that hard cedar. Still, I suppose 'tis better than moping about like that suspicious dim-witted friend of yours."

It took all of Gwen's will to kill the emotion in her voice. "I told you not to call him that."

"You disagree then?" the witch of the wilds asked, feigning confusion or truly being puzzled. "No matter, I am sure a discussion on his mental capacity can wait. Regardless, I suggest you speak to my mother now."

Morrigan, the witch with a sharp tongue. Gwen felt it was already bad enough that she had woken up in a room with her as the only other person present. She didn't trust her. On the other hand, she and her mother appeared to have been the ones that rescued the two of them from the Tower, though their reasons were not exactly known yet. What **was** clear, however, was that Morrigan's mother had to be both powerful and a skilled healer to save her life and cure every wound they had suffered, near-lethal though they were. Granted, the process did seem to take about a week to complete, but it was still remarkable.

Morrigan slipped past her and attended to the bubbling kettle that hung above the burning wood in the fireplace, leaving the new Grey Warden to do as she wished.

The lady could no longer delay, however, so she took a deep breath and walked out the door, trying to prevent her armor and heavy boots from making too much noise as she stepped forward. She was again in the clearing besides the great lake that she, along with Alistair and the other recruits, now presumed and, let's face it, surely... probably dead, were led to by the young 'owner' of the wilds little over a week earlier. Near the hut stood the old woman, the one she had called a crazy school mistress. And farther ahead, on the bank of the lake and staring at the sunset, with his back turned to her, was Alistair. He must have truly been deep in thought, or reliving some intense memory, to not hear the rustle of her coat of plates as she walked towards him.

The old woman, however, was not as distracted.

"See!" she called to him in her rough, elderly but somehow pointed voice, almost startling him out of his daydreaming. "Here is your fellow Grey Warden. You worry too much young man."

Alistair suddenly turned around, widening his eyes in relief and incapable of stopping his maw from gaping as he saw Gwen coming closer.

This was it. This is where she'd have to say something, but she had absolutely no idea what that could be. In her agitation for having so irresponsibly misplaced her family's legacy she had forgotten about her search for a viable conversation starter.

"I-" she could barely utter a sound before Alistair's unusually strong hands encircled her and his tight embrace prevented her from saying anything more.

"You! You're alive! I thought you were dead for sure."

At last she managed to gather her wits and returned his hug, though the closeness was rather lackluster because of the thick metal that harbored each of their respective bodies and prevented them from feeling each other's warmth and heartbeats.

"Well, obviously I'm not dead, so you can stop worrying about me now."

"Oh this doesn't seem real," the templar let out as he drew away and walked a few steps away, trying to recollect his thoughts before turning to face and Gwen again. "If it weren't for Morrigan's mother, we'd be dead on top of that tower."

The old, grey-haired and significantly wrinkled old crone crossed her arms in slight annoyance. "Do not talk of me as if I am not present lad."

"I didn't mean-" the poor, distraught man instantly turned defensive. "But what do we call you? You never told us your name."

"Names are pretty, but useless. The Chasind folk call me Flemeth. I suppose it will do."

Alistair's eyes widened, his utter bewilderment obvious for anyone to see. "**The** Flemeth? Then... Kallian guessed right! You- You're the witch of the Wilds!"

"Yes, I suppose now it makes sense that you'd be able to save us from almost dying," Gwen remarked dryly.

"And you'd do well to be grateful," the old woman suggested.

"We are. But our situation is hardly a cause for joy if the battle really did turn as bad as Morrigan suggested." Yes, this type of practical talk was good, like this she could bypass any chance of making Alistair feel worse than he already was.

"I don't understand!" Alistair burst. "Why would Loghain do it? Why would he turn his back on us? Everyone's dead! The Grey Wardens, Duncan... The King, the Army, everyone's dead, they're all dead!"

Or maybe it wasn't such a good idea.

Gwen though of saying that some may still be alive, but she couldn't bring herself to give Alistair false hope.

"Why would he do it?" he asked again, as if he were just talking to himself.

"Now **there** is an interesting question!" Morrigan's supposed mother remarked. "Men's hearts hide shadows darker than any tainted creature. Perhaps he thinks this Blight is an enemy he can outmaneuver."

"Only he **doesn't** think it's a Blight," Gwenith pointed out. "He made that perfectly clear at the war meeting."

"So what will you do then?" Flemeth asked. "For centuries it has been the task of the Grey Wardens to unite the lands against the Blight. Or did that change when I wasn't looking?"

"But what can we do? Loghain is a Hero to Ferelden after his victory at River Dane. it's not like we'll just be able to go and convince the nobles he's a rotten traitor," the lady sharply pointed out. "So unless an ally with a lot of political backing magically appears out of nowhere..."

Alistair seemed to realize something. "Of course! Arl Eamon! We could go to Redcliffe and appeal to him for help!"

This did make sense actually. Arl Eamon was not at Ostagar during the fights, which meant he still had all his soldiers. He was also quite popular with the people, though not quite on par with Loghain in that field. It was a fairly pertinent assumption that he would be willing to hear them out, though Gwen was still quite skeptical. After what Howe had turned out to be, she was hardly ready to just trust a hope, especially after Loghain had proven himself to be the same type of turncoat.

"Would he even believe us?" she finally deigned to ask.

"Arl Eamon's a good man," he quickly assured her, as though he had a very personal reason for praising him. "If he knew what Loghain did, he wouldn't stand for it, the Landsmeet wouldn't stand for it, there would be civil war!"

"You sound really sure of that," she observed with a raised eyebrow.

"I **am** sure. Look I.. I know Arl Eamon, he practically raised me. He's a good man and, more importantly, very popular with the people."

"Surely you have more than that at your disposal?" the old woman suggested, quite shrewdly.

"Of course!" Alistair yelled again, unexpectedly enthusiastic. "The treaties!" His joy was doomed to fade instantly, however. "Oh no... The treaties were in Duncan's tent, in the main army camp."

"You believe that, do you? You'll find that there are things your friend here has not yet told you young man," Flemeth coyly told him.

Alistair scowled as he heard that and gave the other Grey Warden the look. "Wait so, we do have them?" Surprisingly, he was more willing to indulge in hope instead of demanding to know why she'd gone behind his back.

"Not all of them," she warily told him, reaching inside the small pack that hung on her side. "I have one, the one for the Dalish elves that is."

"You do! That's great news!" He took a step forward, as if he was going to hug her again, but suddenly stopped. "Wait. You mean... Duncan gave it to **you** instead of me? And I wasn't told anything?" Alistair looked like a small puppy that had just been kicked for no reason. "And you went behind my back? Why? Didn't- Didn't Duncan trust me at all?"

"Now hold on!" it was Gwen's turn to be defensive. "I didn't go behind your back... Well yes, I did go behind your back actually but it wasn't Duncan that gave this to me."

Alistair's maw shut tight. "Wait. What?"

"-. There are three things that anyone should know about war .-"

"Gwen, I want you to listen to me, and I want you to do it very carefully."

The human lady looked at the odd dwarf for a while, trying to guess what he was getting at, but she couldn't deduce anything from examining his candid face. Still, seeing how she was supposed to soon head for the Tower of Ishal with Alistair, she was quite interested in knowing just what the apparently pompous dwarf wanted.

"Okay fine, what is it?"

"You're going to be at the Tower of Ishal with Alistair yes?"

"That's right, as everyone in the camp knows already."

"And you'll be far away from the main battle," he continued, causing Gwenith to ask herself why he was stating the obvious in such an academic manner.

"Yes," she confirmed with a hushed mumble.

"So you'll be in the least danger of dying then," he continued.

"Yes. What are you getting at?"

The Orzammar prince held up a leather-bound package that Lady Cousland immediately recognized, but it was at once whisked aside before she could snatch it out of his grasp.

"What are you doing with that treaty?" she demanded to know in a low voice as her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Me? Nothing," he innocently replied, but grinned immediately afterwards as he looked up at her. "You're the one that's going to take it along with you on your little mission."

"You assume much, don't you think?" she gruffly rebuffed. "How did you get those? Unless Duncan gave them to you, which I doubt, I can only assume you went behind his back, otherwise he would have come up to me himself, though I see no reason why."

"You've obviously lived a sheltered life then," the other one coldly countered, causing her to look daggers straight at him. "Now now, no need to want to stare me dead. I'm here for the best of reasons."

"Really? And those are?"

"Glad you asked!" Raonar beamed. "I want you to take this with you in case the battle doesn't go as planned."

Now the human lady really scowled. "What do you mean?"

"Come now, battles can always go wrong. Actually, anything can go wrong, that's why people make plans."

"Just make your point already," she pressed, quite sharply.

"Now now, no need to line your voice with needles," he scolded her, quite straightforwardly. "You were at the strategy meeting yesterday, you should know why I'm worried."

"Yes, the meeting you so disrespectfully left in the middle of," she retorted, just as crass.

"Yes yes, I knew what I was doing," he simply brushed it aside. "Anyway, people here seem incredibly absent-minded and it would really suck for these treaties to just wind up in a mud puddle or be obliterated during the aftermarth of the battle."

"I still don't see why it's any of your business. Duncan's the one who should decide this."

"Yes yes, only there's too much on his mind right now because those two humans in charge of tactics just won't listen to him telling them there's an Archdemon behind this."

"Maybe there really isn't one."

"Oh please! Darkspawn haven't been above ground in 400 years and you think this 'raid' is just a coincidence?"

Gwen couldn't help but admit to herself that he did have a point.

"Anyway," he went on. "I want you to take this with you and not tell Duncan and Alistair anything."

"Why? Why shouldn't they know?"

"Because then they'd be accomplices to potential high treason," he flatly rammed.

Gwen drew back a step. "What?"

"Keep your voice down," he cautioned in a low whisper hinting at the inquisitive looks that the soldiers in the vicinity were giving them, though they were beyond the range of hearing normal voice intensity. Then, he gestured to her to follow after him and they put some distance between them and the main force.

"Okay," she took a deep breath in preparation. "I'll probably regret listening to this, but again I say, what?"

"Gwen, there are three things that anyone should know about war," Raonar unexpectedly began in a tone she could not exactly grasp.

"Rule number one: War sucks."

Gwen just looked at him, raising her other eyebrow.

"Rule number two: War sucks."

Gwen scoffed. "I'm just going to state the obvious here and say that those two are identical."

"Yes, because a war has at least two factions, so it sucks twice as much."

"I suppose that's true..." she conceded, though she was obviously growing impatient.

"And finally, rule number three: In war, either you have a contingency plan or you're a total idiot."

The lady took some moments to weigh and absorb those words, but eventually decided that they had no obvious link to the current situation. "Right, only you said yourself that this isn't a war, it's a Blight."

"Well yes," he acquiesced. "But that doesn't mean other people see things my way, and there's one person in particular that sees this as a war."

Gwen tilted her head to the left, finally beginning to understand what he meant, though she still didn't know exactly what he was thinking. "Again I ask, what are you getting at?"

"Loghain has been Ferelden's master tactician since Maric's days, correct?"

"Yes," she grumbled, resigning herself to just playing along.

"So everyone would automatically assume his tactics to be the best course of action, yes?"

"..."

"But what if a third party was suddenly brought into question? Say, the Orlesians?"

"..."

"You and I already saw that he would never accept help from Orlais, regardless of how serious this darkspawn threat would be."

"And the king was quite pro the idea too," she remembered.

"Exactly. And Loghain told me, to my face, that he would do anything to preserve Ferelden's independence," the dwarf informed her.

"To your face? Wait, you mean you had a private talk with him?"

"I make it a point to get acquainted with everyone important. I'm a bloody Prince and Stone knows I've dealt with subterfuge for years. Anyway, that's irrelevant. Moving on. Say Cailan was **really** pro Orlesian help."

"What about it?" she grumbled.

"And say he would actually decide to invite the Chevaliers into Ferelden, despite Loghain's protests."

"There would be a falling out," she realized.

"They've already been arguing about it for a while, among other things."

"Just get to the point," she demanded again.

"This **is** the point, pay attention girl," he said, seemingly patronizingly, earning even more of her hushed ire. "So, say Cailan decided to invite Orlesian forces. This automatically corresponds, in Loghain's mind, to a direct affront to Ferelden's independence. And since Cailan would be the direct cause for this... I'm sure you can put two and two together."

"You're saying Loghain would see Cailan as a threat to Ferelden?" Her voice was almost startled.

He confirmed by pointing out another worrisome detail. "And what if the tactic he devised in order to 'defeat this darkspawn incursion' conveniently had him and all his men standing a safe distance away from the fight for the first half of the battle? And what if his own decision was all that could determine whether or not he would actually participate in the rest of it?"

Gwen's eyes widened and her heart started racing as she finally started to realize what the diminutive one was implying. "You- Are you insane?"

"Maybe, but that's hardly relevant. All I'm saying is that Loghain is a master tactician and that he has a contingency plan," he outlined again, raising one of his snow eyebrows at the supposed last of the Cousland line. "That, at least, you have to agree with."

"I can't believe I'm listening to this..."

"To be fair, if the darkspawn did turn out to be too many, pulling out at that point could even seem like the best tactical decision, regardless of whether it lets a certain someone on the frontlines die or not. So, all the more believability to him."

"You're actually saying Loghain is plotting against the king?"

"Not really. I'm pretty sure Loghain doesn't really want to do any of this, it would give him more wrinkles to scare his daughter with, but the fact is that the battle turning bad is a very real possibility. He already tried to persuade Cailan not to participate in the fight and failed, so it's not like he actually has a choice besides planning for the worst."

"I think you're seriously overthinking this..."

"Need I point out that he also wanted his own men to be in charge of lighting the beacon?"

"You are seriously paranoid," she told him. "The mages also wanted to do it, but you missed that part because you just walked out of the meeting."

"Right, you can be ignorant if you want. I'm **sure** that mage couldn't **possibly** be in league with him. Either way, it does not matter. I can assure you that Duncan would agree with me and tell you to take the treaty along with you, just in case the rest of us don't make it out of this. Actually, he might even make you take all of them, but there's no guarantee you'll be safe where you're going either."

"You're awfully sure about all this..."

"Can you really risk it though? If you do, and Duncan sees things my way, and Alistair finds out, both of them will become accomplices to this talk worthy of earning us charges for high treason. Duncan you probably don't mind, but what of Alistair?"

"Unbelievable! You're trying to guilt me into doing this? After you involved me against my will?"

"Hey, you're the one who agreed to listen to me," he shrewdly pointed out, earning him a contemptuous glare. "I never claimed to be a nice person by the way."

"You definitely aren't," she snapped at him, shooting daggers out of her eyes again.

"Yeah, I know," he surprised her, looking to the side with unexpectedly sad eyes. "But like it or not, this is **my** contingency plan, or at least the part you need to know."

"What do you mean 'part'?

"Look, just do this, alright? If everything turns out okay, you just return this tomorrow and you can spill the beans to Duncan if you want. Actually, I'll probably have done it myself by then. Until then, I want as few people involved in this as possible. If worst comes to worst, it'll be better not to have all of these treaties in one place. And if anyone finds out about this, Loghain in particular, or Cailan, then I'll be branded a rogue agent and have Duncan say I slipped those in your pack without you knowing. He'll definitely do 'whatever it takes' to protect the Order's standing, don't you doubt that. So you and Duncan will keep your 'clean' records. This is the bast way I can cover all the bases without endangering the Order as a whole."

Surprisingly, that whole exposition sounded... earnest, but Gwen was still not entirely convinced. "You're actually willing to take all the blame and become a scapegoat just 'for the greater good'?"

"I assume that's a surface metaphor? Poor goat I guess... But why not? I'm already an expert at framing myself for capital crimes."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Long story," he brushed the question aside with an impromptu wave. "So are you doing this or not? I suppose you **could** refuse, but then if things do turn bad tomorrow you'll just wish you had listened to me instead of winding up, along with Alistair, as the only Grey Wardens -the rest of us having been ignobly slain by that point- and not have any means of gaining allies against the Darkspawn."

"You're incredible," Gwen finally let out in disbelief. "You act as if you have everyone's interest at heart but you still manage to push enough guilt into people to make them do as you say!"

"Wonderful! I **knew** I could count on you!" he beamed again. "This is the treaty with the Dalish," he pushed it into her grasp before she could protest, her gaping maw as the sole means to express the unmistakable 'you're a horrible person'. "Whether you tell Alistair and Duncan about this is your choice. But I wonder, can you really bring yourself to get Alistair involved in this?"

Gwen made **the **look. "What are you implying?"

"Oh, **nothing **at** all!**" he jovially assured her, letting a wide grin almost link his ears together as he turned around and walked off.

"-. .-"

It took a while for Alistair to finally absorb that tale, and even though Gwen didn't exactly scream of bardic talent, the revelation relayed what it was supposed to relay quite effectively. Eventually, the almost-templar managed to give out a deep sigh and break the silence. "Wow. And I thought the Revered Mother knew how to wield guilt."

"Tell me about it," she corroborated.

"Hmm, he **was** indeed an interesting specimen, though far too stubborn," Flemeth observed, slightly annoyed, earning her questioning looks as the Wardens were quite interested in knowing why she thought that, having only exchanged a couple of lines with him as far as they remembered. "Pity he didn't give you all of the treaties, however, as this will only make your job more difficult," she elaborated.

"Yes, convincing the Circle of Magi and the Dwarves to help us without any treaty will not be easy," Alistair agreed, scratching his chin with his steel-plated splintmail gauntlets.

"Still, we almost died ourselves, so I can't really blame him for wanting to divide them," Gwen reluctantly admitted.

"Either way, this gives me all the more reason to give you yet another bit of help," the old female swamp dweller declared. "I have as much a desire to see this Blight ended as anyone else would."

At that point, the oddly-dressed Morrigan came out of the hut and shot everyone, her supposed mother included, a pointed glare. "The stew is bubbling mother dear, shall we have two guests for the eve? Or none?"

"The Grey Wardens will be leaving shortly, girl. And you will be joining them."

"Oh, how unfor- Wait, what?"

"-. .-"

It was the third day after they had left the wilds and Gwen had almost reached her limit in terms of patience. Though Damon was, more or less, the same cheerful mabari he'd always been, Morrigan and Alistair were hardly helping the situation by relaying their grief and antisocial tendencies, respectively. Alistair had barely said a word to her ever since they left Flemeth's hut, even keeping to himself during the evenings while they camped. The witch looked more inclined towards turning into some animal or another and disappear to Maker knows where. The rest of the time she played with some odd, red ice flower that Gwen hadn't been able to get a good view of.

The young Cousland was seething with anger, anger at how her life had turned out. In just little over a month, she had lost everything, either to treachery or her own absent-mindedness. She briefly remembered that dwarf prince telling her she was ignorant and, despite her resentment, she couldn't help but feel he had a point.

But that was hardly what was bothering her now. The dead silence, the lack of conversation left her with nothing to do but think, and the thinking turned to recollection and recollection into brooding, until her rage at having everything she cherished taken away from her filled her every inch.

She hated Howe for so callously betraying her family and murdering them all, but she was even more angry at herself for not being strong enough to stop it. She wondered whether she should have been able to suspect that that bastard was actually plotting what he was plotting, and even considered that that annoying white-haired dwarf had a point in being what she could only interpret as "paranoid". No, it wasn't paranoia, it was something far more sophisticated, and she finally started to wonder that there may be more to him than she thought, especially with that thing about him saying he was an expert on taking the blame for capital crimes.

But that didn't matter, because her anger was burning like a hundred rage demons, preventing her from even thinking about making rational analyses about what was going on. She hated Howe for what he did, and she hated the fact that the what she had that could soothe that pain had just been taken from her as well.

Alistair. When she reached Ostagar with Duncan, she was so angry and hopeless, but his understanding attitude and honest humor somehow made everything go away. Not to mention he was bloody charming when he wanted to be and practically whisked all her worries away with a few playful jests. And now, he was just as broken as she was, and the worst part was not that she felt sorry for him, but that she felt even angrier at no longer having his charm and humor at hand to make her feel better. Loghain had destroyed that charm by betraying the King and Duncan.

She could scarcely believe that she would be able to hate anyone as much as she hated Howe, but she did, she hated Mac Tir with a passion. How **dare** Loghain take even Alistair away from her?

Selfish, selfish, selfish! To think she'd make it about herself, how self-absorbed could she be? Alistair had just lost his father figure and whatever other pseudo-family he had and she could only think about how maybe she should talk to him about it, hoping he would eventually turn back into his cheerful self and make her feel better. Her anger suddenly subsided and lost in intensity to a brief surge of self-disgust. How dare she use him as a means to feel better about herself?

No, she would not speak to him until she could finally do it for the right reasons, and the fact that she hadn't reached that stage yet made her even more angry at not being the person fit to actually help him get it off his chest.

And just how stupid could she be to leave her Family Sword and Shield behind?

"Ah, there it is!" Alistair's voice was unexpectedly heard, snapping her out of her brooding and finally making her realize that she was exhausted after having walked for hours in her heavy armor. They would definitely have to get an ox or two, and soon. "Lothering! Pretty as a painting!" She could swear he actually sounded sarcastic, and wondered whether that was a good sign or a bad one.

Gwen suddenly realized that she had spent the past couple of hours lost in thoughts and plotting her revenge on Howe, imagining different ways of torturing him to death. Apparently, she had been so absorbed in it that she hadn't realized they had actually reached the small village. Unfortunately, she would soon find that her patience would be tested quite thoroughly as Morrigan immediately started to trade insults and jabs with the templar.

Gwen couldn't help but scratch her forehead in annoyance as the two traded barbs, from insulting each other to insulting their mothers. Overall, Morrigan was making fun of Alistair for being such a whiner while he tried, and failed, to twist her words around. Apparently, even for all her inexperience when it came to civilization, the witch definitely knew how to get under peoples' skin and she reveled in it.

"Anyway!" Alistair finally gave out and abandoned his attempts at reasoning with the detestable woman. "I wanted to know where we should go from here," he told Gwen.

"You're asking me?" Gwen was actually surprised. "Weren't you going on about how we should be going to Arl Eamon?"

"Well yes but... I'm not exactly sure that's where we should go first," he answered, defensively.

"Aren't you the senior Warden here? Why are you leaving it up to me?"

"Look, I may think we should go to Arl Eamon in Redcliffe, but I'm not totally sure. I'm not going to argue about it," he said, sheepishly.

"Why am I not surprised?" Morrigan mocked, only to be ignored by the man, though it hardly phased her. "You are deferring to a new recruit then? Is that a general policy of the Grey Wardens, or merely a personal one?"

"What do you want to hear, that I prefer to follow?" he shot back with a raised eyebrow. "I do."

"Oh, nevermind me," she waved him off. "I definitely approve of this decision in leadership. For all its faults, even your Chantry understands that women should be in charge."

"Hey!"

"Now settle down, both of you!" Gwen commanded, at once silencing their intense discussion. "What other choice do we have anyway? Save from wandering the woods aimlessly, looking for the Dalish, it's not like there's anything else we can do, unless we plan to go to Orzammar and the Circle, even without treaties, and beg for help. And it's not like people will just believe we're Grey Wardens without solid proof."

"That's why I said I'm not going to argue about it," Alistair again deflected, weaseling his way out of responsibility.

Gwen mumbled to herself. "Fine, then let's see what we can learn in this village and if there's anywhere we can rest. This armor has started to chafe."

Lothering wasn't exactly as pretty as a painting. There were refugees all over the place, adults and children, men and elves, many suffering from ailments, visible or otherwise. Supplies were scarce and children were constantly complaining about hunger while their parents were trying to put on a strong face. Regardless of how people may have tried to act, however, the atmosphere reeked of fear and hopelessness.

As they walked on, a fully-armored templar pointedly asked them to move on if they could, as the village was going to be abandoned soon anyway. They were able to learn that the Bann had left the village with all of his men, to accompany Teyrn Loghain to Denerim, which essentially meant that the village folk had to fend for themselves. That left the Chantry's few templars as the only protection that village had. The three humans and Gwen's dog also ran into a rather aggravated merchant but were able to buy some poultices from him with whatever sovereigns they had on them. It was quite worrisome to realize that they may soon suffer from a severe lack of financial resources.

Gwen at last begun to realize just how serious the situation was getting and how hard it was going to be to actually do something about the Blight. Setting aside the fact that her main concern was getting revenge on Howe and Loghain, she had a distraught former templar and an sharp-tongued apostate as her only assistance, besides her faithful hound of course.

Regardless, it was clear she couldn't do anything without some information, so she decided that the tavern was going to be their first stop. Little did she know that the greeting she would get would be less than warm.

"Well, what do we have here!' an arrogant, bearded and heavily armed and armored human spat out as he spotted Gwen and Alistair walking up to the bar. "Didn't we ask around the village for a Grey Warden of this very description, and everyone claimed they hadn't seen her?"

"Looks like they was lying," another one said, his tone screaming of dim wit.

Gwen recognized the Gwaren crest, a yellow Wyvern, as the symbol emblazoned on their red steel breastplates and immediately surmised that they were Loghain's men. She did not get the chance to actually snap at them for being traitors, however, as a red-haired young lady, apparently a cloistered Sister of the Chantry, intervened, in a soft, charming, melodious voice.

"Gentlemen, surely, there is no need for trouble. These are no doubt more poor souls seeking refuge."

"Stay out of this, sister!" the apparent captain of the other six men lashed back at her, though his outburst didn't seem to impress her in the slightest. "Unless you want to share these traitors' fate!"

"How dare you call us traitors? What in the name of the Maker is this about?" Alistair burst, unconcerned with how the other denizens of the tavern had either slipped outside or moved as far away from them as they could.

"What are you fools rambling on about?" Gwen let herself demand, her hand twitching in anticipation of the showdown that appeared unavoidable.

The red-haired Chantry sister aimed a pair of blue eyes at the silverite-clad woman and gave her an incredulous look. "Teyrn Loghain said the Grey Wardens betrayed Ferelden and killed the King, so he put a price on the heads of all surviving members," she explained. "Haven't you heard?"

"My my, decisive **and** efficient that one," Morrigan quipped.

"He did **what**?" Gwen lashed out.

"Enough!" the supposed Captain shouted, reaching for his mace. "Take the Warden into custody! Kill this sister, and anyone else who gets in our way!"

The rage that Gwenith had kept suppressed suddenly squirmed and bubbled, twisting her expression and causing her body to move on its own. Before anyone knew it, her metal-clad fist breezed through the air and crushed the face of the soldier that was unlucky enough to be nearest to her, smashing his senses out of him even before his body fell with a rustle of metal and a heavy thud to the floor.

"Let's have at it then!" Alistair roared as he was jumped by two of the men, maces drawn ready to cross with his blade. Unfortunately, being inside of a tavern limited his freedom of movement, and he found it difficult to keep up with them and their shorter blunt weapons. He was able to shield bash one of them, but the other one charged straight into him and both ended up flying out the window in a rain of glass shards.

"Alistair!" Gwen cried out, alarmed, though she had other business to worry about.

"You should have surrendered when you had the chance!" the bearded leader sneered as his spiked mace tore off a piece of a wooden supporting pole, only narrowly missing Gwen as she ducked.

As she slipped around said pole, she saw the Chantry sister use a low blow on the man Alistair had bashed earlier, after which she used a dagger to lightly stab his arm and cause him to drop his weapon before breaking a ceramic vase on top of his head. Unfortunately, Gwen was forced to divert her attention back to the raging lunatic that was trying to take advantage of the fact that she couldn't use a greatsword inside that enclosed space.

She grabbed a chair and flung it at him full force, smashing it to pieces and causing him to stagger back a few steps and fall over a table, spreading splinters and broken beer mugs all over the floor. Morrigan then cast a horror spell at him, removing his threat status long enough for the Warden to get a grip on what was going on. She noticed another soldier jumping out the window, no doubt to help the other one take Alistair down.

"Damon, go outside and help Alistair!"

The brown hound barked in acknowledgement and followed through the same broken window. By then, however the soldier captain had recovered and was advancing on her, backed up by the two remaining men that were present. They had formed up behind their captain, less than a foot away from each other. At that point, she considered that maybe bringing the whole fight outside would be better, as she would be able to swing her sword freely.

But a shadow suddenly flickered in the background and a short, cloaked figure emerged from nowhere precisely behind the two unwary fools. He suddenly appeared between them, his feet using their hips as footholds, just before his swift hands sunk daggers into each of their respective throats. Their bodies plummeted lifeless to the floor before their ears even had a chance to pick up the subtle jungle of the chain that hung on his side, beneath the unassuming garment.

"What? Who goes there!" the so-called leader gaped, startled at how suddenly his backup had been neutralized. "You will pay for th-" he was cut off as a strong grip took him by the throat and pushed him up against a wall.

"You should pay attention to your front," Gwenith hissed between her teeth as her armored fingers slowly tightened around his neck.

The man tried to fight back, but he noticed that the heavy armor on his arms had been frozen solid, preventing him from moving them even an inch. The next second, the door blast open with the sound of metal against wood and Alistair hurriedly strode in, his face only slightly scratched, and with a very satisfied-looking Damon right behind him.

"Did I miss the whole fight?" he asked disappointingly. "I was going to run in to the rescue! I had it all planned out too, with a heroic speech to the vanquished foes and everything."

"'Tis fortunate that we are spared the horrors then,' the Witch of the Wilds icily stated, earning her yet another pointy but ultimately harmless glare.

"Okay okay, you win!" the choking man finally yelled, before Gwen strangled him hard enough to prevent speech. "We surrender!"

Gwen gave him a contemptuous look but did not let go of his throat.

"Good," the chantry sister that everyone seemed to have forgotten about spoke, even as she stepped off the unconscious, vase-struck man. "They've learned their lesson and we can all stop fighting now."

"I should kill you," the still enraged Cousland said to his face as she gritted her teeth.

"That's not necessary," the sister admonished, grabbing her by the arm, though she was hardly strong enough to force her to let go. "He has already surrendered."

"Loghain framed the Wardens and let the King to die and I'm just supposed to let him go? Were you hit in the head?"

"He is already harmless," she pressed.

"Lies!" the fool screamed. "The Wardens pulled the King into a trap! The Teyrn could do nothing! You are all traitors!"

"You are **such** an idiot!" Gwen let out in stupefaction at how incredibly idiotic and submerged in hero worship he was.

"I say we should kill him," the Witch intervened with an air of practicality that caused the still choking man to worry. "He will only let this Loghain know where you are."

"Much as I hate to say it, she has a point-" the other human Grey Warden reasoned.

"-Ah, how **fortunate** that we have your approval-" Flemeth' daughter jabbed.

"-**But** I don't think we should just kill him in cold blood either," Alistair turned it around, if only to prevent a universe-unmaking situation where he would actually be agreeing with her.

Gwen thought about it for a moment, as soon as her rage subsided. Since the man already had her description, it was clear that Loghain already knew she and Alistair may have survived, so letting the fool go would only create the possibility of her and Alistair being found. Still, reaching Denerim, where Loghain was if what they had learned was anything to go by, would have taken that man many days, which meant that they had plenty of time to make themselves scarce before the Teyrn found out they had even passed through Lothering.

In the end, it seemed like whether he lived or died was irrelevant, so she hurled him away from the wall, throwing him through the air. The fool fell with a thumping sound and got a nosebleed from the impact his face made with the hard floor.

"Take a message to Loghain," she reluctantly ordered him.

"The now frightened man slowly got up, uncertain of whether or not he would be jumped again. "Wh-What do you want me to tell him?"

"Tell him that the Grey Wardens know what really happened and that he'll never get away with this."

The soldier shot a concerned glance to all the ones involved. Between Gwen's blazing glare and Morrigan's impassive stare, not to mention Alistair disgruntled look and the way that small person, who everyone seemed to have forgotten about, played with a throwing knife on his fingertips, he decided it would be in his best interest to obey. "Alright! I'll tell him! I'll go, right now!"

He then immediately made himself scarce, followed by whoever of his team was still alive, though at different time intervals.

"That Teyrn Loghain, what is he thinking!" the templar pronounced in outrage.

"I'm glad you chose to spare him," the cloistered sister merrily praised her. "I am Leliana. I apologize for interfering, but I could not just stand by and not help."

"Yes yes, I'll get to you later," the lady Grey Warden simply said as she walked past her and made her way towards the small person that was now leaning against the shriveled supporting pole. At last everyone else seemed to notice the cloaked dwarf's existence, though his face was still mostly covered in his cowl.

"**Please** tell me you're who I think you are," she requested with an air of anticipation.

"Who do you **think** I am?" the familiar voice retorted, finally confirming Alistair's and Gwen's suspicions after sensing the same thing from him as they did from each other. At least their Warden sense was finally kicking in.

"I can scarcely believe it!" the templar delightedly exclaimed, to the confusion of everyone who was still present, Leliana included.

Faren finally threw back his cowl and revealed himself as their Grey Warden comrade. "Yes, I'm me and you just blew our cover!" he unexpectedly scolded them in an incredibly harsh tone. "Can't you two be a little more subtle? And maybe ask around before barging into every tavern you come across? Now you got the rest of us into real trouble!"

"What do you mean real trouble?" Gwen pried, somewhat concerned.

"Wait," Alistair cut the dwarf off before he could say anything. "Did you just say 'the rest of **us**'?"

_That review space is, as always, eager to be filled!_


	17. Intermission 3: Blood Sacrifice

**Chapter 16: Blood Sacrifice**

"-. I feel like I've spent an entire month in the Fade .-"

Kallian was waiting expectantly at the edge of the camp they had set up in the small thicket. The sun was high in the sky and whatever birds hadn't yet fled in the wake of the approaching Blight were chirping or flying about from branch to branch. She looked up as she sat on the fallen, moss-covered tree stump and took in the serene sight of the golden sunrays coming down through the leaves of the oaks. The breeze caused those leaves to rustle ever so slightly, mixing with the crystal sounds of the clear water flowing through the small stream just twenty paces away. But most of all she enjoyed inhaling deeply, making the best of that fresh air.

She noticed a small, white butterfly fluttering about and she kept looking at it until it let itself rest on a small flower. Then, a toad crassly gobbled it up with a swift hit of its extensible tongue.

_"Survival of the fittest I suppose,"_ she thought to herself, only to remember that incredibly conflicting scene that she had been part of the morning immediately after Cailan's death.

"-. .-"

When she finally opened her eyes, the city elf felt as though she had gone into rigor mortis. Her back was stiff and sore after having rested against the rough cave wall for most of the night. She noticed that Faren was still sleeping, with his head resting on her shoulder now. He must have moved during the night to make her more comfortable once he finally managed to stabilize his bodily heat. She felt quite amazed at how he had managed to do that without waking her up.

She gently moved his head and let him lie on the leaf-covered ground, after which she silently got to her feet and inspected the area. Cailan was still lying dead in the middle of the cave, and Alim was still asleep, still covered in the cloak that Theron had wrapped him in the previous evening. Kallian finally managed to see the sunlight creeping into the den through the entrance and realized it was morning. Theron, however, was nowhere to be seen.

She made her way out of the so-called wolves' lair and shielded her vision from the unexpectedly intense brightness. For a while, she was blinded, and could only gather information on her surroundings through her other senses. She gratefully noticed the warmth of the summer sun, a stark contrast compared to the conditions of the night before, what with the blighted rain. She could hear the wind passing through the trees, but was a bit worried at not hearing any sort of animal sounds.

That was when she could finally look around and noted that there were no more wolves nearby, which meant they probably moved on during the night or just a short while before she woke up. She took a few steps forward and looked around a few times, and when she still couldn't find a trace of the Dalish hunter, she became worried. Fortunately, however, she heard the noise of metal striking wood repeatedly not too far off to her right, so she headed towards the source.

Sure enough, after she made her way through the trees, she came upon Theron in a small clearing. The young elf was dragging a bunch of old, dry branches after him, towards a heap located some feet ahead. She stepped closer without saying anything, studying him as he added his load to the pile of wood and turned around, likely in order to get some more.

"Oh," he said as he noticed her. "Aneth ara, you're finally awake," his tone was somewhat bored and he was breathing a bit heavily, which made Kallian wonder for how long he had been setting up that wood pile.

"What are you up to?" she asked him. "Shouldn't you have woken me or Faren up to change guard shifts? You look exhausted."

"Yes well," he passed her by and stomped on some discarded branches, breaking them in half, after which he gathered them up before the city elf could offer to help out. "You looked worn out and Faren was freezing and hates forests, so neither of you could have actually done a good job of it."

"Well thanks a lot," Kallian let out, quite annoyed, though Theron just ignored her. "What are you doing anyway? Are you building something?"

"A pyre," he answered as he passed her by once more. "That's how these shems deal with their dead, is it not?"

Kallian did not immediately answer, instead trying to determine just why his voice sounded so incredibly irate. She was also surprised he'd actually go to such lengths to even make that pyre, considering his disdain towards humans in general.

The calm of the forest was suddenly disturbed by a sharp, womanly scream that disappeared just as suddenly as it started.

"What's wron- oh..." Theron trailed off as he spun around, understanding the cause of Kallian's screech. Apparently, the wolf from the previous night had somehow snuck up behind her and brushed past her, causing her to almost jump out of her skin. The hunter was quite amused at seeing her so easily startled. "Look, now you've hurt his feelings," he teased.

"Well you can tell it I'll-"

**"-**Him," Theron corrected her.

The lass frowned at him. "Who?"

"**Him**" the Dalish man clarified, pointing at the grey wolf that had, in the meantime, reached his position. "It's him, not it."

"Fine," she grumbled. "You can tell **him** that I'll hurt more than his feelings if he ever sneaks up on me like that again."

The wolf shot her a glance and snarled briefly, but did not seem to actually pay her much mind.

"What's it doing here anyway? Didn't its... **his** pack leave?" she went on.

"They did, but he's staying with me. A alliance of convenience, as I said," the hunter answered her as he put the last of the old branches on the unlit pyre. "Apparently, animals don't like their whole forests overcome by the Blight."

"Well, I suppose he could prove useful," the city elf reluctantly admitted.

"Either way, we should get this cremation over with," the tattooed elf suggested as he began walking back to where the cave was located. They would only have to carry the king's body and see him off, after which they would decide their next step. Soon enough, the two elves were back inside the now abandoned wolves' den. The other two new Grey Wardens were still asleep and Theron and Kallian finally realized just how disturbing it really was to have slept in the same place as a fresh corpse.

"Hey, wake up," the lass solicited as she cautiously shook the dwarf out of his slumber. "Come on, get up."

Faren was a bit disoriented and it took a while, plus a fair bit of effort put into massaging his eyes, to get a hold of his consciousness before even sitting up. For some reason, he looked as though he felt a bit lightheaded and had trouble getting to his feet, even needing to lean against the rough rock wall, with both hands, for quite some time and with his head hanging low in front of him before his dizziness passed. The bleeding he had suffered during the previous day was still making its effects known.

"I'm fine," was all he said when he finally noticed Kallian's concerned look.

Leaving him to get his bearings, the city elf turned around to see Theron prodding at Alim, who looked very reluctant to wake up. After a while, the mage seemed to open his eyes and looked around in confusion, leaving the other two elves perplexed at seeing that, even after all those hours, his irises were still a tint of blood-red. Finally, Theron told him that they would be burning Cailan's body, only to learn that Alim was hardly eager to attend the ceremony.

"Sorry I... I need more rest. You guys go and... do whatever. Come back for me later."

Theron and the only other sharp-eared person present were slightly put off by their comrade's very weak voice but decided to do as he asked and bothered him no further. After that, the two elves still conscious picked up Cailan's body and carried him out, all the way to the clearing where the heap of branches was still waiting.

With some trouble, since the shem was incredibly heavy and stiff, they managed to place him on top of the pyre, after which they took some time to catch their breaths. Then, Theron walked some paces away and picked up a pair of longer branches, resembling staves, that appeared as though they had been prepared for some special purpose.

"What's with those?" Faren asked as he walked close, even as he carefully put some distance between him and the wolf that sat some paces to his left.

"I am not familiar with shemlen cremation rituals," Theron replied as he placed the staves on each side of Cailan in turn. "So I can only adapt my people's own ways and leave everything else to the Creators. Long ago, before Fen'Harel, the Dread Wolf, tricked the Forgotten Ones and the Gods of the People and sealed them in realms separate from this one, Dirthamen, the Keeper of Secrets, defeated and subdued the ravens Fear and Deceit. Now, he is no longer amongst the People, so when we Elvhen bury our dead, we place these two staves at their side to chase those ravens away. This way they are unable to prevent the soul's reunion with Falon'Din, the Friend of the Dead and the one that guides spirits into the Beyond."

"I suppose this will have to do," Kallian voiced as Theron lit a torch and set the pyre aflame.

Theron definitely knew what type of wood was good for a large fire. As soon as his torch touched on the twigs at the base, they lit up with a crackle that became louder and more alert along with the surge of each blaze. Before long, the fire had become fierce and caused the three onlookers' eyes to heat up as they gazed upon the light show of red, gold and orange. Finally, the flames rose around and started to pass through Cailan's body, at long last dissolving the last bounds between his cells and freeing his spirit form the mortal coil that was only holding him back.

The Wardens watched in silence as the bright flames consumed everything within reach, leaving nothing except black ashes for the wind to scatter at its will.

About an hour and a half later, the fire had died down and it was finally time for the four Wardens to decide on their next course of action. The darkspawn had not yet infested the entire forest, but it was only a matter of time before they would reach that area, so leaving was obviously a good idea. Then, of course, there was the fact that they hadn't eaten in a while and this likely affected Faren the most, who had bled quite a bit the previous day and was still covered in bandages and crude stitches.

When the three returned to their so-called shelter, Faren went inside to get Alim, at which point Theron finally broke the long silence and spoke words that managed to create some animosity quite effectively.

"I'll guide you up until we reach the Imperial Highway. After that, I'm leaving."

Kallian's jaw almost went stack when she heard him say that, and she eyed him in utter confusion, trying to make out whether he had really meant it. "What? What do you mean you're leaving?"

"Just that. I'll be going my own way from there," he flatly replied, confirming the damsel's fears.

It took a few moments for her to get over her astonishment at having been so instantly struck by that declaration. "Wh... Why this all of a sudden? You can't just leave!"

Theron arched one of his eyebrows at her. "No? Really, I see nothing holding me here. I've made my decision."

"So what? You just quit being a Grey Warden? Run away like a coward!" she lashed out at him.

The other one frowned deeply at her before he scoffed, her accusation having stung him quite effectively. "The Dalish are not cowards!"

"Really!" she shot back, as sarcastically as she could, her voice carrying a shiver of rage. "Why are you leaving then? Even after what Cailan said last night, you're still going to turn your back on everything?"

"Well excuse me but I've got other things to worry about than the fate of Ferelden's precious shemlen!" he almost shouted back, causing his wolf to look up at him and snort slightly.

"Like what!"

"You saw those fools! Loghain just turned tail and fled! But that's not the problem! Maybe you didn't realize it but from what Raonar said before we left, it seems like that shem was planning on abandoning the king and the rest of us there all along!"

"So what now?" the city elf protested with an outraged glare. "You're just going to let him get away with that?"

The hunter shrugged and tilted his head in almost implacable resolution. "What, like I'd waste my time on wanting vengeance for someone else's betrayal? I'm not arguing about this. I have to find my clan and warn them that these fool shems are more interested in backstabbing each other than stopping the Blight. If the humans aren't going to do something about the Darkspawn, then I have to warn my fellow Elvhen and leave Ferelden."

Kallian was shocked, not just by what he said but by the fact that it actually sounded like a genuine reason. "You... You think the Dalish will leave Ferelden? Instead of staying to help fight back those things?"

"Help whom fight those things exactly?" he queried, quite rhetorically. "No one is really fighting the darkspawn anymore, in case you haven't noticed," he pointed out, flourishing with his outstretched arm.

"I can't believe I'm hearing this right," she let out, rubbing the side of her head in denial.

"Well, you can sort out your stupefaction later. I'll take you three as far as the Imperial Highway, as I said, but then I'm leaving to find my clan."

Before Kallian could say anything else, a voice was heard from the direction of the den, which the two immediately identified as Faren's.

"You may just be able to make that two," he told them, his eyes buried under a worried frown. "Alim's not waking up."

The two elves looked at each other in surprise, after which their eyes widened in concern and they both made a run for it, passing Faren by in an instant and thinking only of going to check on the mage as quickly as they could.

"-. .-"

As she thought back at that scene, the fair-haired elf found herself somewhat more understanding of Theron's position. From what she could gather, he joined the Grey Wardens simply because he had no choice in the matter, having been infected with the Darkspawn taint after an incident in the Brecilian forest. Considering that fact, and the very bad impression that the humans had made, what with shooting Alim in the back during the battle and with Loghain abandoning them all, she actually had to accept that he had a point.

Now she was worried about her own family. What was going to happen to the ones back home if the Darkspawn weren't stopped? And could she and the few others really do anything about those creatures? They had only been Grey Wardens for a couple of weeks now and they were only starting to get their handle on their Warden awareness. Other than that, they had no idea what being a Warden actually implied.

Het train of thought was interrupted as she felt a familiar sensation, like an itch in her brain, signaling that one of her companions was approaching. She turned her gaze in the appropriate direction and eventually started to make out moving shapes between the trees. A wolf came forward, its tongue hanging out of its mouth as it breathed eagerly, followed by its master closely behind it.

Kallian got up to greet him. "You're finally back! Did you find that boy's mother? The one mentioned on the Chantry's board?"

Theron waved as he got close. "Aye. Regrettably, she had been carried off by a bear and I only managed to recover her keepsake."

Yes, Theron hadn't left after all. When they rushed in to check on Alim in the cave, they could not wake him up despite their best efforts. His body temperature also seemed to drop progressively, and it was obvious that they had to do something, and quickly. Seeing the mage like that immediately made Theron scrap his leaving plans. He at once improvised a stretcher for him, made of flexible hazelnut branches tied with wild vines. He then put together a sort of harness for his conveniently massive wolf companion and made said wolf, much to his dismay, drag the stretcher for days, all the way to Lothering.

They somehow managed to reach the village a couple of days before Loghain and his troops did. During those two days, they succeeded in finding the current camping spot and even acquired some lyrium potions from that grumpy merchant that had to be bullied into offering viable prices to the villagers before he consented to doing any business at all. It had taken all of Kallian's persuasive power, meager though it was, to dissuade Theron from just running that human through, so aggravating he was.

Thanks to their expertise in staying out of sight, the elves and the dwarf slipped out of the village once Loghain and his army were spotted approaching Lothering. For some reason or another, Mac Tir only spent one night there, after which he took his soldiers, as well as those of Bann Ceorlic, and headed northeast, towards Denerim. After that, the Wardens were able to go about their business without being suspected of being Grey Wardens at all. Still, treating Alim was their priority.

The blue liquid vials didn't manage to rouse the mage, but regular doses of that draught appeared to at least keep his condition stable. They wouldn't have even gotten the idea to get those blue potions if that red-haired dwarf hadn't remembered that Alim seemed to get a bit better after drinking one during the night of Cailan's death.

And now, weeks later, with the month of Solace already begun, Alim was still unconscious in one of the humble tents in the camp. The worst part was that the Wardens were rapidly running out of potions with which to keep him alive, and that meant that it was only a matter of time before they were left with no possibility of finding some cure for him. On the other hand, they had learned that Loghain left some men behind to watch out for two Grey Wardens, a woman and a man, whose rough descriptions obviously referred to Gwen and Alistair. As it was, waiting for their possible arrival was all they could do, since the mage wasn't going to miraculously recover any time soon.

Theron had, of course, summoned all the herbal lore he knew in his attempt to create a remedy, but he did not really know what he was trying to cure and he was unsure he could do it even if he did know. So, with no other options, he, Kallian and Faren had been taking turns at finding ways to earn some funds and get some information before deciding on the next course of action.

That day, the city elf was on guard duty at the camp, while Theron was searching the forests for the mother of a lost child in the village. That left the dwarf with the task of prowling the village itself and keeping an eye on the road south in case any others of their comrades showed up.

"Is Faren back yet?" the Dalish hunter asked Kallian as he let himself lean against one of the larger trees in his vicinity.

"Not yet," she simply replied.

The two elves returned to the campsite, made up of four small tents they had managed procure from the village. They really had been quite fortunate that they arrived there early, as supplies all but disappeared once the army passed through. As they were now used to doing, Kallian and Theron entered the tent Alim was inside of, only to see that he was still comatose, so they just carefully guided some more of that potion down his throat.

The hunter looked at him worriedly, and then at the city elf, who was just as concerned as he was. They had only two more vials left, and they weren't going to last more than a few days. They said nothing, however, slowly exiting one after another, their faces grim with the realization that there was nothing they could do.

"Oy!" a familiar voice called out to them from the edge of the clearing, just as they had begun to hear the unexpected sound of footsteps mixed with the rustle of metal. "Look who I found!" the candid voice followed up as the elves turned towards it.

Theron tilted his head in surprise as his eyes widened, and Kallian's face was instantly filled with honest delight when she noticed those two, very familiar humans following Faren, stomping their metal-clad boots as they walked. They were trailed by a brown mabari and two other human women.

"You two! You're alive!" she exclaimed in delight as she strode forth to greet them, finally giving Gwenith and Alistair enough of a reason to wipe the uncomfortable expressions of their faces. "This is wonderful!" she declared as she surprised Gwen with a hug. She didn't even wait for her to reciprocate it as she immediately passed over and hugged Alistair just as tightly.

"Nice to see you too," the humans barely managed to reply in unison, much to the amusement of Leliana who was chuckling in the background.

Only Theron, who walked quite casually up to the scene, noticed Faren's silent smirk as he studied the bewildered expressions on the two humans' faces.

"Andaran atish'an!" the Dalish hunter said in welcome with a curt nod. "I must say we did not know whether to hope for any other survivors-" he immediately noticed Faren's glare "-to arrive so soon!" he turned it around.

It took a few moments for everyone to get their bearings before the hunter continued speaking. "So, are there only the two of you?"

"Well, 'twould seem we are invisible!" the dark-haired and, oddly enough, scantily dressed woman remarked in slight impatience as she crossed her arms.

"Come now... Morrigan is it?," Leliana scolded, though playfully, coloring the air in her Orlesian accent, "Surely your heart was warmed by this touching reunion!"

The Witch scoffed and retorted in her pointed manner. "Am I to understand we are on first name basis already? "'Tis just marvelous."

Kallian eyed Gwen and Alistair questioningly, obviously asking them where they had picked up such colorful company, though it was the tattooed elf that voiced their curiosity. "I suppose some catching up is in order."

"-. .-"

The next hour saw the two elves, two humans and the dwarf regaling each other with their unusual survivors' tales, though they kept them short and to the point. Morrigan was sitting by the stream, fiddling with an object that she would not show to others, and Leliana seemed content to just mind her own business until the issue of whether they were going to let her come along came up. It was when Alim's state of health came into discussion that Gwen and Alistair finally understood why Faren was so annoyed with them for causing such a ruckus.

Apparently, Kallian and Faren had already run into a group of desperate, or stupid, enough villagers who actually thought it was a good idea to attack Grey Wardens, hoping to get the bounty that Loghain had placed on their heads. They did not, of course, know that the two of them were Wardens, instead asking whether they had seen the two humans that had now become more than well-known after their 'small' brawl.

Regardless, the point was that those poor fools would actually be able to do some damage if they somehow followed them to the camp and got close enough to the defenseless mage. The camp itself was just a short distance out of Lothering, near the closest stream, so it wasn't exactly hidden. The only reason the elves and dwarf were even camping outdoors at all was because there were no vacant homes or inns to stay in. And now everyone knew who they were and Maker, or the Ancestors or whatever else, help them if the templars found out Alim was an apostate AND temporarily (or permanently) out of commission. Granted, Ser Bryant **had** said that apostates were not their main concern at the moment, as the task of evacuation was their main problem, but not being at any risk would have been much better.

After Gwen and Alistair finally checked on Alim themselves, the others finally told them of his amazing performance during the battle of Ostagar, at which point even Alistair seemed a bit marveled, after the others put sufficient effort into actually persuading them that the unbelievable story was actually true. Though, to be fair, giant blood tornadoes and gore griffons hadn't even been mentioned in legends, the Chantry likely being a major reason. Still, Alistair was sure to add that he still thought of Alim as untrustworthy. At that, Gwen reminded him that all of them were dangerous and had hardly shared anything about their pasts with everyone else. At the very least the templar was no longer openly hostile towards the mage, albeit he was still weary of him.

Regardless, the general sentiment, on both sides, was a mixture of relief and even joy at not being the only Grey Wardens in Ferelden. The only thing that made that reunion bittersweet, besides Alim's coma, was that Duncan and Raonar were still unaccounted for, though Alistair and Faren seemed more concerned about the former and the latter, respectively.

"So, Morrigan really is the 'daughter' of the Witch of the Wilds then?" Kallian finally deigned to ask.

"Well..." Alistair warily began, a pair of his armored fingers scratching his head. "She didn't exactly introduce herself as such, but I suppose so. Morrigan's certainly wicked enough..."

"So, she's a mage then?" Theron remarked as he stood cross-armed, with his back propped against the trunk of a beech. "Is she any good?"

"As much as I hate to admit it, yes," the templar reluctantly confirmed.

"And you're saying Flemeth saved you from near-deadly injuries?" Kallian went on to inquiring.

"Yes, it took a while but she healed us back to 100 percent," Gwen confirmed as she sat on the tree log, next to Alistair, with her right leg resting on top of her left.

The two elves glanced at each other, notifying that they had both thought about the same thing.

"Well, it's not like we have much of a choice at this point," the hunter said with a sigh, obviously reluctant to let what was a complete shem stranger, to him at least, attend to their ailing comrade. "Maybe she knows some magic that can help Alim get better, or at least find out what is actually wrong with him."

"**If** you think she's trustworthy..." the city elf added, shooting the two shems an inquisitive look.

"Well, she may be a bit crass but she hasn't really done anything suspicious so far," Gwen stated in confirmation.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" the other human intervened. "I don't trust her. Maybe Flemeth sent her along with us for some other reason than to just help stop the Blight."

At that, the human lady looked at him with a mischievous grin on her face, and how grateful she was to finally be able to smile again. "Alistair, if I didn't know better, I'd say you're worried about our beloved blood mage."

The response was sudden, a blush combined with a frown and a look of defiance. "Hey, if he survived the Joining than he's a Grey Warden and is supposed to be here," he retorted, forcing his tone to sound dismissive but only managing to come out as defensive. "I'm just not so sure it's very smart to have **two** apostates in the same place."

"You're such a templar, Alistair," Gwen chided, glad that Alistair was easing up, though she knew it was probably only because their reunion with the others, and the fact that Duncan hadn't yet died when they retreated, probably gave Alistair some hope that his apparent father figure may still be alive.

Once they were in agreement, they took the issue straight to the witch herself, who quickly stashed the odd, flower-like object back into one of the pockets of her unusual, revealing robes.

Strangely enough, it took almost no convincing at all to get her to examine the circle mage, though she was careful to say, in advance, that she was not exactly a healer herself so they should not get their hopes up. Her apathetic tone made it clear why Alistair didn't particularly get along with her though the two elves and the dwarf weren't particularly aggravated by her manner. Once the explanations were done, they led her to the tent in question, at which point she knelt beside Alim and spread all of her herbs, and whatever ointments and concoctions she had with her, on the animal skins that made up the 'floor' of the tent itself.

Her only condition was that she be left alone in the tent with him, and that definitely didn't sit particularly well with anyone, especially Faren and Theron who had known Alim for a longer time than the rest. Nevertheless, they reluctantly conceded once she made it clear that she either couldn't or wouldn't work on him otherwise. Eventually, they relented, but only once Alistair promised them he'd stay just outside of the tent and intervene if his templar senses picked up any intense magical activity inside.

About an hour passed, during which the Wardens held a fairly academic debate over whether or not the vision-seeing Leliana was going to be an asset to their group or a liability. The supposed chantry sister was quite vehement in believing that her vision was real (The Maker has apparently sent her a vision telling her to join the Grey Wardens and help stop the Blight) and, even though Faren and Theron thought she was a bit crazy, the group actually enjoyed her jovial attitude. Gwen was the most skeptical, but she was the only one who had seen the woman so gracefully handle that grunt without even soiling her clothes and could well tell she would be useful.

Either way, in the end, they decided to let her come along, at which point she merrily assured them that they would never regret it. In the meantime, Theron started a fire and placed several chunks of venison to roast over it. At least the forests weren't completely devoid of wild game yet, otherwise the Dalish elf would have really been put off.

"'Tis most strange," Morrigan declared as she finally came out of the tent, instantly drawing the attention of everyone else, Leliana and the mabari included. "His life appears to be slipping away slowly and yet he has no visible wounds on his body."

"You just figured that out did you? That's sharp, considering that they only **once** told you he was uninjured," Alistair taunted her, playing the clown and knowing it would annoy her.

The witch only scoffed in reply and decided it would be best to just ignore his jab so she addressed the others. "Tell me, what exactly do you think occurred that pushed him into this sorry state?"

After glancing at each other, the elves and the dwarf briefly told her of the performance at Otagar. Leliana was most impressed and looked ready to start writing a ballad on it, but Morrigan stopped them when they arrived at the point where Alim's magic reached its apex.

"You're saying he actually used enough magic to break the horde's ranks?" Morrigan asked, incredulously, raising an eyebrow in what looked like sheer surprise. "I had no idea Circle mages even had such knowledge and power. Nevertheless, I believe I may know what is ailing him."

"Something to do with him being a blood mage no doubt," the templar said from the back, tiredly.

"My, 'twould seem you are most observant today Alistair," the witch sarcastically confirmed. "I believe he tried to perform a Blood Sacrifice," she outlined.

The fact that both the words 'blood' and 'sacrifice' were used as part of the same phrase immediately captured the eyes and ears of everyone present.

"That sounds ominous..." the red-haired dwarf let out when he saw that no one else was going to step in.

"Indeed," Morrigan continued in an unexpectedly conversational tone. "Primal magic is old, even Flemeth has taught me mere fragments about it. Still, I have been taught enough to know its effects. The sort of magic you describe cannot be accomplished without a heavy price. So, you said that he drew in the blood of the slain enemies and used it as fuel for his spells, is that correct?"

"We don't really know what he did exactly, but it sure seemed like it," the blonde city elf affirmed.

"And I assume his eyes have been blood-red ever since, have they not?" the dark-haired woman inquired.

"Aye, so they have," Theron confirmed.

"I suspect it was because the magic he performed likely required a large amount of his own power to keep under control, power that he drew out of his own blood, out of life itself," she assessed, causing the others to widen their eyes in both realization and worry.

"You seem to know an awful lot about blood magic," the templar shot, narrowing his eyes in renewed mistrust.

Morrigan scoffed again and glared. "I thought we had long ago established I was an apostate Alistair. Perhaps you would have preferred if I just let Alim die in order to keep my knowledge secret?" That definitely earned her a look full of disdain on his part. "Or perhaps you would have had little problems with his passing, believing that he, himself, is a malefikar deserving of execution."

"I never said that!" he lashed out, instantly springing to his feet. "Stop putting words in my mouth or I'll show you what a templar does! How dare you imply I'd-"

"Halt!" Gwen shouted as she came between them. "That's enough, both of you!"

"Hey!" Faren yelled at both of them. "Alim. Dying. Like, right now! Remember?" he harshly reminded them.

"As I was saying," Morrigan again began, trying to restore her train of thought. "The spell does not seem to have worn off. Even now, the power in his blood is being consumed and his life is slowly slipping. Truly, I am amazed he is even alive."

"Does he still have those uncommon strands of light on his body?" the hunter asked her.

Morrigan glanced at him. "You believe them to be the reason he is still among the living? I concur, though I have yet to determine their nature or purpose."

A minute of silence passed between them, only Damon's hushed whine being heard as he worriedly looked at each person in turn. Eventually, Kallian came out with what everyone dreaded to ask.

"Is there anything you can do?" Her voice was weary, as though she was not sure she wanted to know that answer, and the glint in her eyes enforced her concern.

"I will try, but I would not put my hopes up," the witch almost dismissively answered her as she took a piece of parchment out of the bag of ingredients that hung on her side. "I shall attempt to see if any of Flemeth's recipes have any effect, but you are the ones that will have to get me the things written on this list. How and how soon you acquire them is your own affair."

"And what will you be doing in the meantime?" Aistair gruffly demanded to know.

"Whatever do you mean," she retorted, quite sarcastically "I shall attempt to uncover more about how he has survived thus far, of course. Why? Would that disappoint you? Perhaps you wanted me to attend to something else in your tent instead?"

"Alright, that will do," Gwen flatly cut them off before the almost-templar had a chance to really get into a verbal duel with Morrigan. Lady Cousland then snatched the parchment from her grasp and threw a look over it. "Hmm... Some of these recipes might be doable." She then passed the list over to Theron, so that he may also give an opinion.

"Indeed, I believe these forests have at least part of what you require. The rest we will just have to hope to somehow find back in the village."

"Okay," Gwen decided. "Alistair and I will stay here with Morrigan. I really need some time out of this armor anyway, it's been chafing for hours."

"Such a princess," Kallian teased under her breath, warranting a peeved stare on the lady's part. "Right! Well, Faren and I will go back into the village and see if we can buy any of those things," she immediately offered, just so she could avoid Gwen's disgruntled look. No one noticed the dwarf's concealed amusement.

"I'd also like to help In any way," Leliana offered quite eagerly.

Gwen looked at the tattooed Dalish elf expectantly, and the hunter couldn't help but roll his eyes in frustration.

"Fine," Theron reluctantly agreed, after which he looked their newest companion over, as if studying her. "Leliana is it? I suppose you can come along while I scour these woods for the necessary herbs. Just be sure to keep up, I'll not slow down to wait for you."

"Oh, you needn't fear, I am perfectly capable of doing more than just keep up," she happily assured him.

The group of eight first helped themselves to the roast that had been cooking atop the fire, after which they went about their respective tasks. They would have to do what they could in the half a day that was left and hope to accomplish everything else the next day.

"-. .-"

The next day, Morrigan was annoyed.

And it had started off as such a good day too. Clearly getting those two to accompany their group had been Alistair's idea. No one else could have possibly been so mentally impaired as to suggest it.

Here she was, once again in Alim's tent, sitting beside the comatose elf and trying to concentrate on mixing the ingredients for yet another concoction, subtly weaving her magic in the mixture. The Wardens hadn't managed to find all she needed, especially not within the few hours that they had to work with the previous day. Still, it was around noon now and they had somehow finally succeeded in getting her the necessary herbs and distilling agents required for several of the draughts she wanted to try.

She had already gone through several, with no effect. The main aim was to find a mixture that could restore the energetic balance in the mage's blood. After that, he would be able to recover on his own, though he would probably have to do some exercise to shake off the likely stiffness in his muscles. After all, he had been lying motionless for weeks.

Morrigan was carefully crushing some roots with her mortar and pestle when that abominable sound was heard **again.**

"ENCHANTMENT!"

That idiotic scream! She was startled enough that she spilled the entire mixture and even dropped the mortar over several health poultices, crushing the flasks and spilling their contents, the liquid mixing with the roots and destroying all the other ingredients she had left.

Someone was going to pay for this...

Driven to the edge of her patience, she sprung to her feet and broke out of the tent, her hands already swirling with frost just waiting to turn that creature into an icicle.

"Whoa!" Alistair intervened, cutting in front of her and raising up both hands, clearly relaying the cease and desist order. "Temper temper, Morrigan. You're acting a bit fiery for an ice queen, aren't you?"

It took all of the witch's willpower to stop herself from using Winter's Grasp on him instead, although her real reason was that she did not want to risk the templar moronic grin getting frozen in place for more than she had to look at it. "Tell that cretin of a dwarf merchant to get his 'son' to stop yelling unless you want your friend to die because I could not concentrate!"

"Alright alright," the man consented, backing away slowly with both his hands outstretched in a defensive manner and his face painted in a confounded expression.

"Hmpf!" the witch let out as she went back inside the tent. Clearly, there was a reason that dwarf merchant had named his 'son' after a shoe.

It took some time for her anger to finally settle down, mostly because, each minute, she realized the existence of yet another reason why those two cretins would get to accompany them wherever they went. The fact that they were merchants was one thing, but the discount on their goods, which at least seemed of quite high quality, was an even better one. Unfortunately, there were even more outrageous motives that one could find for getting Bodahn and Sandal (what a **stupid** name!) to tag along. For one, they had a fairly big cart, and oxen, and were willing to carry all of the party's supplies free of charge. On the other end of the spectrum was Leliana, who would probably be in favor of the merchant and his minion because she was obsessed with shoes and Sandal was named after one.

The witch of the wilds silently cursed the moment of Sandal's and Leliana's births, and Alistair's, just because he was, well, Alistair.

Eventually, her aggravation died down and she took some time to inspect her remaining supplies. There was nothing viable left for her to mix, so herbal lore was now out of the question. Normally, this would be cause for worry, but the fact was that she was quite certain that whatever potions she came up with would not have actually done any good. Alim was dying.

Having stripped the elf all the way down to his waist, Morrigan was now cautiously inspecting the subtle strands of white magical power that still coursed through him here and there. That apparent weave of magic was unlike anything she had ever seen. It was as though the strands were part of a foreign presence, but that made no sense because he was not an abomination and she could feel absolutely no malice or any other sort of negative feeling coming from those white light strands. Mostly, they looked like an auxiliary circulatory system, only with magical power instead of blood.

After some time of magical assessment, the daughter of Flemeth realized that the so-called 'white weave' was concentrated in his left arm. That was when she decided to try and manipulate those energies, hypothesizing that she may be able to use them in order to help shake off the rapidly life-draining side-effect of having taken the Blood Sacrifice ritual half-way.

She placed her palms on his arm and began chanting in an obscure language, glad that there was no one there, and she coaxed her magic into the elf's body. At first, she thought she had succeeded in gaining control over the behavior of the white weave, but the strands of magic began to swirl and vary in intensity, as though they were against being manipulated in such a manner. The witch, thus, forced all of her will into a renewed attempt at control, ordering that thing, that presence or whatever it was, to follow her command.

At once Alim's left arm started to shine pure white, taking Morrigan by surprise as the energies started to trickle out of him, forming into white tendrils that began to float and dance in the air. The witch tried to back away, but her hands had already been trapped by those tendrils, now wrapped around her wrists and making their way around her arms, longer and tighter. But she would not panic. She could definitely feel a will, not hers or Alim's, but a will nonetheless pervading that apparition, and the only feeling that it relayed was pure curiosity.

So she just waited there as she sat on her knees next to the elf, waited as the tendrils extended and encircled her, as if searching for something, until the tips of all of them gathered around a very specific pocket in her robes. One moment all was stillness, but the instant immediately after it was the one when the witch was blinded by a sudden flash of light, a strong outburst of raw magic originating from the Fade itself.

And now she had 'sudden loss of consciousness' as yet another reason to be annoyed.

The only thing that could have made her blackout worse was to have Alistair standing over her when she woke up, and that horrible outcome had actually been realized.

"What happened?" the templar asked, sounding almost shocked, and Morrigan finally realized she was lying on the ground just outside the tent. The first thing that came to the woman's mind was how she hated the fact that everyone else was off either helping with Lotehring's evacuation or keeping an eye on the road south in case more darkspawn, like the ones that had assaulted Bodahn and his whelp, showed up. Why did the first face she saw upon waking have to be that clown's?

"Get off me," she demanded as she forced herself to her feet. "And wipe that stupid expression off your face you buffon!"

"Fine," he spat as he turned around and gave her an uninterested flick of the hand. "Next time I'll just let you crush into a tree instead of breaking your fall."

Her fall? She finally noticed that she was several paces away from the tent itself, which made her wonder just what had happened. Morrigan reasoned that she could not have been unconscious for more than a few moments, but she still wondered why that apparition burst so immediately. Or perhaps it didn't. She immediately walked back into the tent, shutting the fur 'doors' behind her, and looked at Alim again, much more intrigued this time.

He had not moved and the odd tendrils appeared to be gone, but the white weave seemed to be a slight bit more pronounced now. She stood by the entrance for a while, wary of approaching lest the strange phenomenon occur again. But she then remembered what had apparently set off the so-called explosion and checked the pocket responsible, pulling out the red hibiscus rose, the same one that Alim had shaped for her out of ice and his own blood back in the Korcari Wilds.

She now realized that said blood and ice sculpture was, most likely, the only thing that rivaled the previous scene in uniqueness.

That small, thornless, blood and ice rose was very strange, the first indication being that it did not melt. the other trait was that it was seemingly unbreakable and resistant to any type of abuse, magical or otherwise. Morrigan had tried to affect it with her magic, even attempted to use it as one would use a phylactery, to track down the mage whose blood it was made of, all to no avail. Flemeth would have likely been able to get to the bottom of it, but she did not show it to her because it was different from anything she had ever seen her mother do before.

And now, that odd... thing from his left arm had shown an actual interest in it, and her unrelenting curiosity was all that got Morrigan to slowly approach the unconscious mage again, noticing that the white weave was becoming brighter the closer she got. So she knelt beside him again, with that rose in her left hand, and cautiously held it ever closer to Alim's own left palm, the white light from his arm becoming brighter and brighter with each inch.

That was when she finally got the idea that the blood contained inside that rose must have the correct composition and 'charge', which meant that, if she could use it as a model and reshape Alim's blood chemistry according to it, she may be able to heal him. Unfortunately, she did not exactly know such a spell, so all she could do was see what would happen once she humored that white presence and gave it access to the red ice hibiscus.

Finally, she placed the flower in his hand, but failed to withdraw her own hand in time. The mage's fingers at once clasped hers tight, the blood ice flower fixed between their palms, and the magic started to flow out of him again, filling Morrigan all the way to her brain. The sensation was ungovernable at first, like a stream of random thoughts had invaded her mind, but gradually became more steady and calm, until she thought her consciousness had merged with that of the elf. But the trepidations quickly resumed and her awareness seemingly split in two, half being drawn to a far off place while the other part kept her mind firmly rooted in her body.

She saw, smelled, felt, heard, she could not say what the feeling actually was. A swirling mass of energy in the Fade, taking whichever shape it wished and, unexpectedly, turning its attention towards her, or whoever she was seeing the memories of. She was thrown out of the haunt and her awareness went somewhere else, a dark, frightening place where a giant, dragon-shaped shadow looked down upon her, weighing her down with its sickly eyes alone.

The vision changed again when a grey, four-legged winged creature appeared out of nowhere and pushed her awareness, or the awareness of whoever's memory she was seeing, out of the reach of that frightening apparition, only for her to fly over many leagues, fixating its focus upon a seemingly unrelated scene, although with urgency just as great.

A human and a dwarf, the latter with white hair and eyes shining as white as the white weave itself, were fighting for their lives with their backs against each other. Thunder struck, ending the vision, and the images shifted while she thought she could feel a sharp pain momentarily awaken in all four of her limbs. The dwarf was walking through the wilds with the muscles in his legs slowly turning into shreds, even as he seemed to be carrying something on his back. His entire body coursed with energies as bright as the one coming out of his eyes and, with each step, that power took another shred of muscle as its toll.

The trepidation resumed, and time sped up, jumping over hours or days, she could not tell. The dwarf was now moving far more easily and painlessly, a shadow lurking in his midst as he walked ever forward through the uncharted wilderness. Then, time accelerated again, and the bright-eyed person was now somewhere else, somewhere underground, or so it seemed, though he was not alone. Clarity was gone for a moment, leaving the distinct feeling of a violent confrontation in Morrigan's mind, just before the last images passed through it.

The vision culminated with him struggling to get back to his feet, his face and arms bloodied and burned and his vision hazy, while an undistinguishable figure seemed to approach, unaffected by the many flames that filled the area. 'Come closer' the witch inexplicably knew him to have said to his apparent enemy, and his direct gaze was the last thing she saw before the two halves of her mind become a single whole once again.

And, once more, she was waking up to someone standing over her, only this time it was, thankfully, not that fool of a templar.

"Morrigan? The girl from the wilds?" Alim asked in confusion, with his right hand on her forehead, as if to check for a fever. "What are you doing here? What happened?"

The woman let herself indulge in a moment of rest, to allow her head to stop spinning, after which she tried to sit up, only to feel her left palm sting. She held it up and looked at it, seeing that it had been pierced in several places. Immediately, her instinct caused her eyes to look around for the blood-red ice rose, only to find it being held by the appendage between the elf's index and middle fingers, his own hand bleeding from similar places.

That so-called 'flower' had grown thorns and shred their palms as they were clasped together.

Alim brought his creation closer to his eyes and studied it intently, after which his vision again fixed itself on Morrigan, two emerald irises locking on her amber eyes. "I feel like I've spent an entire month in the Fade," he told her, still not over his daze.

The witch began to use some minor healing magic on her palm, giving Alim the idea to do the same, and finally spoke. "That assumption is far closer to the truth than you might think."

_The review space is, as always, eager to be filled!_


	18. Intermission 4: Foreshadowing

Author's note: Strangely enough, it took me longer than I thought to upload this. My apologies and I hope you find the wait worth it.

For those who forgot, Faren's date of birth is Solace 13.

* * *

**Chapter 17: Foreshadowing**

"-. It's about bloody time! .-"

It took Alim several days to get over his muscle stiffness, so he spent most of his time in the so-called camp that they had set up. Morrigan, for some reason or another, assisted him with healing magic and poultices she had learned how to make over her long days in the wilds. The witch did, to some extent, at least **seem** genuinely interested in his well-being, but he was still not ready to accept she wasn't showing that interest for some self-serving reason.

Setting aside the fact that she seemed to let her hands linger on his chest and arms a tad bit too much when she was applying the ointments (and his lack of narcissism allowed him to attribute that to her meticulousness for only so long), Alim could make out that Flemeth's daughter was more interested in learning the secret behind his blood magic and how he managed to create that seemingly indestructible hibiscus rose that she always carried around in her robes now. Arcane curiosity indeed.

On the other hand, if there was anything he learned from his time at the Circle, it was that there was always some deal to be made and not all of them need have too high a price. His own acquisition of blood magic was the best example, as he actually succeeded in acquiring it, and push it to a level well past what any of the other 'undiscovered' blood mages actually dreamed of, without having to sell his soul or make any other deal of the same kind. And the best part about blood magic was that it was the only known sort of magic that Templars could not nullify.

Certainly, Templars could cut off a mage from the fade with their willpower, could prevent him from drawing power from the supply of magic, even turn it against him, but what they were not trained to do, what was actually **impossible** for anyone to do, was prevent one from drawing upon the power of their own blood, or someone else's, although Alim was not particularly keen on doing the latter (darkspawn being, for obvious reasons, an exception). It was the ability to use the power in one's blood, the power of life itself, that made blood mages so 'dangerous' and the Chantry so incurably jealous.

Currently, Alim, Morrigan and Kallian were the only ones in the camp, besides the dwarf merchant and his 'son', who had just returned from the village after not finding a suitable avenue for business. The others were still helping the refugees and villagers from Lothering evacuate. Had Alim recovered earlier, they would have since left for Redcliffe to seek out Arl Eamon. In fact, getting to Redcliffe seemed like a priority because Alistair and Gwen apparently ran into a knight, in the village Chantry, who told them that Eamon was deathly ill and had been for some time. The other options would be to go and roam the Brecilian Forest in search of the Dalish, something Theron seemed to be in favor of, for obvious reasons, or go straight to the Circle of Magi, where Alim definitely didn't want to return, for as yet unspoken reasons.

The one person that seemed to be the least inclined to leave at all was Faren, whose days had mostly been spent keeping an eye on the road south, no doubt hoping a certain someone would show up. It didn't happen, of course, and the dwarf's mood had even been turning less and less lively than usual.

They could, of course, go to Denerim, but that would take too long and there really wasn't much they could do there except wait for Loghain's men to arrest them. As for the dwarves... well, being the only other person, besides Faren, to know at least vaguely what had happened in Orzammar, Alim knew well that it was a very bad idea to even go there without someone to guide them through the tumultuous waters of convoluted dwarven politics. Too bad the only person qualified to do that was unaccounted for.

Alim was more than a bit unnerved at the fact that, even though he had spent a whole month unconscious, or comatose, he didn't exactly wind up remembering anything useful from the Fade, for the situation at hand at least, except the small vision that was hardly explicit. Perhaps the reason he didn't remember more was because he was never fully in the Fade at all, a theory apparently corroborated by the fact that the Archdemon apparition was something he still remembered quite vividly. Alistair will definitely have to explain something about being a Grey Warden and how those dreams relate to sensing darkspawn. Most likely they were a type of telepathic link, which would explain why one could have nightmares like that without going into the Fade.

Currently, Morrigan was packing her various components and ingredients, after having applied a balm on Alim's back in order to treat the bruises and black marks that he had gotten after lying on it for weeks. Kallian was practicing her knife throwing. As for Alim himself, he was putting on some new robes, mostly tan in color, which he had bought from Bodahn, though the sore back made getting dressed a fairly unpleasant experience.

But there was something else that was bothering him even more. That last spell of his, that storm went out of control when it shouldn't have. He had focused the magic perfectly, his willpower shot to its highest peak by his blood ritual. It should not have backfired and placed his own side in danger. How could he have screwed it up so badly? Was he actually responsible for the other wardens' demise and/or disappearance? That arrow that had gone through him aside, was he really so utterly unreliable?

The creeping doubt finally started to squirm and tighten like a noose around his heart, making him wonder if perhaps **he **was responsible for killing the others. But what really worried him was another question. Had he screwed up so badly that he broke his deal with that spirit and even killed Raonar in the process? Was this why he couldn't properly access the Fade while he lay in a coma?

Unfortunately for him, brooding over that would have to wait, as Theron's voice suddenly made it clear.

"Lethallan!" he shouted as he emerged from the trees, running and breathing heavily, his wolf at his side and followed by Leliana some distance behind him. She was wearing a suit of reinforced leather armor and had a bow of her own now.

Alim winced at the pain in his back but shrugged it off and finished tying up the nods on the laces that kept his collar in place. As soon as the Dalish finally ran closer to him, he noticed his alarmed expression. "What's wrong? Did something happen?"

"Obviously!" he irately responded between gasps when he was finally able to stop for a breather, though he had to use a hand and prop against a tree. "The darkspawn. The Blight, it is finally spreading."

"The darkspawn are attacking Lothering," Leliana explained as she finally caught up, just as tired. "We've been running all the way from the village just to tell you," she added, instantly drawing Kallian's attention and making Alim narrow his eyes in worry.

"Th-those things again! You're tellin' us they're finally 'ere?" Bodahn asked, alarmed.

"Enchantment?"

"What is this talk of darkspawn?" Morrigan inquired as she finally drew close, doing her best to ignore the addled Sandal. "And what of the others?"

"No time!" Theron protested, to which the wolf gave an approbative bark. "We have to go there now, they're already fighting those things," he straightened up and took a deep breath, after which he turned around, gesturing at them to follow. "Come on, I'll explain on the way. Leliana, you know what to do. Get Bodahn and Sandal out of here and wait for us on the road to Redcliffe."

"Understood, though I'd much rather be there and help you fight off those fiends," she reluctantly accepted.

"Oh, we'll not be fighting them off, that shemlen village is doomed," the hunter grimly replied as he strode away, followed closely by Alim, though Morrigan was doing something else.

Leliana's eyes widened in concern when she saw that the witch was performing unusual hand movements and her anatomy was shifting. "Morrigan, what are you doing?"

"Avert your eyes if this bothers you," she icily returned, being enveloped in a flash of emerald light for a moment, though enough for Alim to catch a glimpse of her as he turned around to see what was keeping her. The next instant, Morrigan crouched and, with a green-grey mist and a series of flashes of magical energy, transformed into a black wolf, with amber eyes and white fur on its belly, and ran into the direction of Lothering, leaving it to the others to arrive at whatever pace they wished.

Theron and the other two elven wardens took off through the thicket as fast as their legs could take them.

"So what happened?" Kallian shouted in inquiry as they ran through the wood, jumping over a ditch dug by a torrent two nights before.

"Those things would have taken us by surprise but Faren was still keeping watch on the Imperial highway to the south and sensed them before they started to pour out!" the Dalish man shouted back, dodging some low branches as he zig-zagged between some arbors. "Alistair, Gwen and him engaged them in an attempt to delay them while the last villagers and refugees tried to make a last run for it."

"What?" Alim barely protested as he was steadily falling behind. "The three of them are fighting those things by themselves?"

"Not by themselves," Theron alleviated his fears, though just barely, as he jumped high over a tree stump that was in his way. "Some templars and a few volunteers are helping them!" he added after he landed and resumed his dash.

"Anything particularly dangerous?" the city elf was heard asking between increasingly heavy breaths.

The remainder of their flight to Lothering was most taxing on the ailing Alim, who had to force rejuvenating magic to course through his system in order to grant him the endurance he needed to keep up with the others. From what the tattooed Dalish elf managed to say between gasps, he was able to pick up that, besides the templars, there were at least three more people that seemed less green than the rest, though who they were was still a mystery. Soon enough, the three elves were quite close to the edge of the wood and had begun to hear the sounds of fire mixed with helpless screams of agony and sparse explosions, seemingly hinting at overzealous emissaries.

Hearing the sound of such destructive magic prompted the Wardens to hasten their run, until they finally made it out of the forest and sighted the first village huts. Humans, elves, adults and children were all fleeing for their lives, carrying whatever they could, making the Circle Mage wonder why they hadn't left the days before. A few templars, Ser Bryant included, were trying to keep the panicked refugees in line, but their attempts at increasing the efficiency of the last-minute evacuation were futile.

"What's the situation?" the Dalish hunter asked the Templar leader as he finally ran up to him.

"Bad! No, make that worse than bad!" the human replied in an unexpectedly demoralized voice. "Those things are worse than the tales say! I've lost count of how many civilians were killed. You'd better steel yourselves, you'll see more than just one hacked up child before today is done, unless you're lucky and die first..."

"What's with these people!" Alim demanded, annoyed at not having a staff after losing the last one at Ostagar. "Why are there still so many people here? Haven't you been evacuating this place for weeks?"

"People have been coming in from the settlements in the Hinterlands for just as long," he explained, still trying to get whoever was left to flee in an orderly fashion, if that was even possible. Those humans definitely didn't possess templar discipline.

"We can't dally here!" the city elf reminded them, drawing her curved blade. "Where are our friends?"

"And did you see a wolf come by here?" the elf mage added.

"Your friends are on the other side of the bridge, near the imperial highway. As for the wolf, some people claimed to see one... but then they said it turned into a giant spider. To think they're already hallucinating..."

"They weren't," Theron told him, readying his bow. "Nevermind. Let's go!" he told the others, again taking off ahead of them, followed by his animal companion.

Before they could get far, a woman's helpless scream echoed through their ears, covering up even the moans of all the other frantic refugees. Alim turned to the direction of the yell and saw an elven woman, carrying a babe, fallen to the ground and crawling backwards as a group of darkspawn were trying to take a hold of her and drag her off. Alim instantly remembered his time in Honor's realm and how that dwarf prince had told him about how darkspawn kidnap women for unknown reasons.

He did not even bother to wonder what those thing did with females. An instant was all it took for him to send a nightmare into their brains, just before Theron slew, from afar, the genlock that had grabbed onto the helplessly screaming woman. The darkspawn were numerous, however, and the several templars that were assisting Ser Bryant immediately engaged them, along with Kallian, while the spellcaster and the Dalish hunter provided cover fire.

They were too many, however, and the mage resolved to move in closer and try to catch them all in a freezing spell. So he ran towards them, only to start hearing a deep, calm voice chanting some words in a language that he did not understand, until he finally pinpointed its source: a cage just several paces away, where a bronze-skinned man with white hair sat, apparently oblivious to what was happening around him, or completely unconcerned with it and his own impending doom.

"Shok ebasit hissra. Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun. Maraas shokra. Anaan esaam Qun."

Alim cast a sleep spell, incapacitating many of the beasts that were slowly pushing Kallian and the templars back, after which he let himself look at the man. A qunari, he realized, correlating what he saw with some descriptions from some history tomes he had read some time before.

"You there!" he called out in a direct voice, to which the person just looked him square in the face. "Why are you so calmly sitting in that cage? Can't you see what is happening?"

"I can," was all he said.

"He said his name was Sten," Theron told him as he moved to his position, not slowing down in his repetitive bow shots. "Gwen and Alistair said he was put there by the Chantry for slaughtering an entire farm hold, only he had apparently surrendered to them on his own."

Alim frowned at the strangely impassive man who just stared at him with a flat face. That was when he made the connection and realized he was the person that his companions had been talking about the previous evening. Apparently, he had slaughtered an entire family, after they had helped him no less, and then waited for several days to be apprehended. Morrigan had told him that she was annoyed at how Gwen and Alistair hadn't released him, and Leliana also seemed in favor of at least recruiting him, though Gwenith hadn't been quite keen on the idea.

The massive man certainly seemed disturbingly calm, but his fearlessness immediately reminded him of a certain other white-haired individual he knew, and that was enough to make him decide. "I see. So you regret your actions. Do you want atonement?"

"Death will be my atonement."

"What if you help us fight the Blight instead?" the Circle mage simply asked.

"You think that to be equal to my crime? Are you a Grey Warden then, Saarebas?"

Alim had to divert his attention towards a fairly troublesome hurlock that was chasing the mother and her baby as she ran by him. Winter's Grasp froze it in place, after which a floating boulder slammed into it, crushing the life out of its chest. "**We** are."

"My people had heard tales of the Wardens, but I did not think they recruited even beasts with tricks," Sten voiced in suspicion.

Somewhat annoyed, Alim turned his gaze away again and forced a walking bomb spell into a genlock rogue, causing it to explode. "Your misconceptions are not my concern Qunari," he sharply declared.

The giant form the North said nothing for a moment, but the mage finally gave him the ultimatum once he noticed that the beasts had pushed Kallian and the remaining templar quite close to where they and the cage were.

"Make up your mind Qunari! What kind of atonement do you choose?"

After a moment, he gave his answer. "Very well."

With a satisfied grin, the elf focused magic around his fingertips and was getting ready to try and blow up the lock on the cage. There was no need, as the giant just got up and took a hold of the door with both hands.

With just a momentary push, the iron padlock broke and the giant jumped out of the cage, after which he immediately lifted the barred door above his head and brought it down upon the monsters that had finally drawn close. Three were mangled underneath. Just as suddenly, Sten grabbed one of the rest by the throat and, with a flourish, slammed it into three others that were giving Kallian trouble. A few seconds later, the Qunari had picked up a discarded darkspawn war axe and charged into the five remaining beasts.

"Katara, bas!" his battlecry was heard as he hacked through them, spreading disjoined body parts left and right until he was mostly covered in their blood. His simple rags definitely went a step lower in terms of serviceability.

It took a few moments for Theron and Kallian to get over their amazement at how thoroughly those creatures had been trounced, though Alim was feeling more intrigued than surprised.

"Parshaara," the huge man uttered as he walked up to them again, though he seemed a bit out of breath and wiped some blood off his face and mouth.

"And you say he was left without food for several weeks?" Kallian asked Theron in disbelief.

A far off explosion, sounding like a fireball, immediately threw off their daydreaming and the three elves remembered why they had come there.

"Sten, Kallian, you two stay here and make sure to keep killing whatever stragglers show up!" the Mage unexpectedly ordered.

Kallian glanced uncomfortably in their new companion's direction, but gave a nod, though the other one was not as undecided and voiced his protest openly.

"The Beresaad are the vanguard. We do not cower at the rear, we charge headlong into battle."

"Nevertheless, you'll stay here and keep this place free of those things, and that will be the end of it," Alim gruffly enforced, displaying a determined scowl as he looked up at the huge man who just shrugged in reluctant obedience.

Theron and the black-haired elf took off again, doing their best to avoid the men, women and children that were running in the opposite direction, until they finally reached the turn in the street and made their way around one of the larger shacks that still hadn't been burned to the ground. That was when they heard another explosion some way to the right. They turned in that direction, expecting an emissary or another, only to find that it was, in fact, a robed woman with dark hair and a staff carved out of oak.

They saw her turn her attention towards a group of three hurlocks that were fighting two men on the bridge. She then chanted some words and summoned flames out of both her staff and her free arm, sending them into the sky and bringing them down upon the darkspawn like a rain, even as the two men somehow knew how to move in order to avoid getting hit as well.

Two hurlocks went into a panic, their eyes melting from the heat, leaving them vulnerable to the two humans. One was armed with a sword and shield, while the other wielded a weapon that looked like a cross between a sword and a staff. Two of the hurlocks fell immediately, and the latter human performed a vertical sweep with his bladed staff. A wave of magical flame left the weapon the instant it struck the stone slabs that made up the bridge. Those flames practically charged straight into the last monster, the violent outburst sending its smoking corpse flying a fair distance.

A genlock rogue, however, had somehow snuck behind the woman and was intent on backstabbing her. She was startled when she heard its grunt of pain and instantly snapped around, fire dancing around her fingertips, only to see that the beast had fallen dead after being shot through the head with one of Theron's well placed arrows.

"Who are you? A mage from the Tower?" the Dalish asked her as they ran near.

"Oh, she's not Circle mage" Alim replied in the woman's stead as he met her gaze, her two, dark eyes transmitting an unexpected feeling of surprise.

"You... Are you Grey Wardens as well?"

Before they had a chance to respond, they heard one of the other humans shout from behind her as he ran toward them. "Bethany! Come on, we have t-" he stopped mid-sentence and his jaw went stack as he saw the face of the circle mage standing just next to the young woman. "You... You're that mage from Ostagar! The one that used that insane blood magic to push back the horde!"

Both Wardens were stunned when they heard him say that, Alim most of all, though he was the first to recover from his surprise. "Wait, so you were at Ostagar?"

Again they were interrupted as the other human, the one still holding the bridge, called out to them after beheading another stray genlock that had tried to cross. "Carver! Bethany! What are you standing around there for? Another Templar just died and those Wardens can only stop so many!"

"We'll have to leave talking for later then!" Theron declared as he charged off towards the bridge, followed by all the others, Carver and Bethany included.

"Finally!" the human flied at them as they caught up to him, having already started to run across the bridge before they had reached his position. "Friends of that utterly dashing Lady Grey Warden with the overflowing hair and lovely eyes I take it?" he hypothesized with a smug grin and a raised eyebrow as they ran at the same pace.

The man looked to be in his twenties and had utterly black eyes, equally dark hair and a carefully trimmed beard that fit perfectly with his facial features, giving him a countenance that was at once charming and slightly intimidating. He wore a garment that was a sort of mix between a heavy and light armor, with plated greaves, a metal shoulder guard on his right arm but nothing to cover most of his left.

"Darkspawn coming from the left," Theron notified them as his warden sense picked up the approach of several fiends.

"Just perfect," the man with the bladed staff uttered in annoyance as he engaged a hurlock, using unusual but quite orderly movements of his weapon.

The area beyond the bridge was definitely bleak. Most houses had already been burned halfway to the ground, and the area was littered with corpses of humans and elves of all ages, some mutilated beyond recognition. The look on Bethany's face hinted at likely visceral discomfort, no doubt caused by the stench of blood and smoke, and what was worse was that the group had arrived just in time to see a woman struck down in front of their very eyes.

A few seconds was all it took for the dark-haired man's staff to spin through the air and sink its blade into the ground, sending another fire wave straight at the fiend that had done the deed. it was thrown backwards, far enough to smash into three others that had emerged from behind the smoke and ash that obscured the area like a mist.

Alim finally spotted Gwenith, Faren and Alistair battling a group of darkspawn twice their size about fifty feet away from where they themselves were, assisted by only three templars, one of which fell as soon as the group came into view. The elves soon got their own share of excitement, however, when about a dozen creatures came upon them at once, thankfully none of them an ogre

Bethany and Alim let themselves stay behind and commenced throwing fireballs and ice spells left and right. By the time any archers fell to their magic, Carver and Theron had already dispatched most of the other spawn, though the as yet unnamed, bearded young man seemed to play around while killing off the two hurlocks he had to deal with up close. By the end of it, he had been left with a cut on his unarmored forearm.

"You okay brother?" Carver asked him.

The elf Circle Mage noticed his condition and did not immediately follow Theron as he ran off, along with Anor the wolf, to join their other companions.

The other one just glanced in his direction, letting the blood trickle down his fingers, after which he raised his hand to his face and let his thumb glide across it, leaving a thick stripe of blood behind. His eyes momentarily flashed red. "Sure, but we're about done here. Those things don't look like they'll stop pouring into the village any time soon."

"A bit uncouth," Alim's voice was heard as he grabbed the human by the wounded arm, "but effective."

The human frowned at him, as though he had trouble deciding whether he knew him or not. "You're that insane mage from Ostagar aren't you? The one that summoned that vortex. Shouldn't magic like that kill you?"

Alim first cast a healing spell on the injured limb, closing off the cut, just as Bethany caught up, after which he answered with a strange face. "I got better."

"I **knew** it was you!" Carver declared. "You summoned that storm!"

"Yes..." he confirmed, with a very conflicted look on his face.

Their discussion was cut off as Gwen and the others finally came to the scene after shaking off their attackers. Morrigan, in spider form, had taken advantage of the distraction provided by the wardens to weave a very strong web between the various huts and houses, and on the ground itself. Most of the corrupted creatures were now tangled up in it, finally offering the survivors a chance to escape. "There's nothing more we can do here!" she told them, placing her greatsword on her back.

"My webbing will not keep them stuck for long," the witch of the wilds informed them as she resumed her human form.

"I suppose now we **really** have no choice but to go to Redcliffe," Alistair noted as he warily looked behind at the struggling darkspawn.

"Then I guess this is where we part ways," the unnamed man assessed.

"Thanks for agreeing to stay behind and help out," Lady Cousland said sincerely.

The staff wielder took her by her right hand and, even armored as it was, gave it a short kiss. "How could I ever refuse such an adorable pair of eyes."

Alim actually noticed how both of the other humans, his supposed siblings if their attitude was anything to go by, rolled their eyes in unison, but Alistair's frown was even more obvious than their reaction. As the three turned to leave however, the blood mage Grey Warden finally asked what he wanted to know.

"You there, in the middle. When you fled Ostagar, did you see a white-haired dwarf anywhere?"

That question instantly made Faren, who had been skulking around quite stealthily, as well as Alistair, give the man their undivided attention.

"And Duncan! The Warden commander, did you see him?" Alistair requested, an incredibly hopeful look covering his face for the first time in quite a while.

The response was as assuring as it was unrevealing. "Actually yes," a low, uncertain tone confirmed.

Then came **the **question, which Alistair, Alim and the castless rogue somehow blurted in unison. "Were they still alive when you last saw them?"

The human stared at the ground for a moment before replying to the inquiry. "Yes... But we don't know what became of them. They said they had some 'Grey Warden business' and told us to flee ahead without them."

"I see... So we still can't know anything," Alim concluded in a grim tone, just before shooting the human one last glance. "What is your name, human?"

The dark-haired person was silent for a moment. "First, tell me yours. I'd like to know who it was that caused that rampage."

"I am Alim Surana," he casually let him know.

"I see." The two apostates locked their stares together for a moment, as if measuring each other's worth. After that, just before taking off with his brother and sister, the human finally gave his answer. "My name is Gabriel Hawke. Maybe in the future we'll meet under less unpleasant circumstances."

"-. .-"

It had been days since they had fled Lothering, and Kallian was still thinking about what had happened there. They had just barely managed to escape those things and they still weren't sure if the refugees they did save outnumbered the ones they failed to prevent from dying, or if Bryant really did succeed in getting them away safely after they headed east. Her stomach still twisted from the vivid memory of fresh civilian corpses, even slaughtered women and children. By the Maker, there were so many dead men, women and children sprawled on the ground across the village, even small babes. She hadn't been able to eat anything for two whole days after the event.

How in the world had her life turned out like this? Just a couple of months ago she was leading her usual life. It wasn't the easiest life, certainly, what with the discrimination against elves, though the shem rapists could be seen as a fairly rare occurrence, but the fact that really gnawed at her was that she couldn't tell what made her insides churn most: the sight of slain babes or of Shianni after just having been abused by those bastards.

She looked up from where she was sitting next to the fire, glancing around the campsite they had set up in a clearing just a short distance away from the road to Redcliffe. Alistair and Gwen were some way off, both sitting on the ground next to each other, propped against a fallen oak and staring at the night sky as the last traces of the sunset faded to black. Sten was standing somewhere to the left, dutifully scouring the surroundings as he patrolled, back and forth and back and forth, though she thought he grimaced or looked pained from time to time, something Damon the mabari appeared to agree with as he looked at the giant, whimpering softly.

Morrigan and Alim had left, to supposedly trade experiences, though the city elf didn't exactly know what they meant by that when they left for the woods together. Some magic training no doubt.

Leliana was also sitting by the fire, warming her hands. She had been talking for about an hour already, telling the story of some female knight called Aveline who was the reason women were allowed to become Chevaliers in Orlais. Kallian hadn't exactly been listening to her much, since she somehow didn't find that tale distracting enough to stop her unpleasant recollections.

The fair-haired elf noticed Theron sitting in front of his tent, preparing some new arrows. He had apparently been carrying a small pouch of steel arrowheads with him all along, yet another testament to his creed that all Dalish should be prepared for the worst. Anor, his now faithful wolf, was lying on the ground and staring at the moon quite wistfully. The Dalish had mostly kept silent, no doubt in order to avoid accidentally blurting out his desire to just leave and find his clan again, since he had decided to at least see how things with Arl Eamon would turn out.

Eventually, Kallian looked around, trying to pinpoint the only dwarf in the group, only to find him missing. She was quite surprised at not having noticed when he had scurried off, especially since she wanted to have some words with him. She asked the Orlesian if she had seen him, but the answer was negative, and when Theron also revealed he had not noticed his disappearance, she became rather worried. Faren had been unusually quiet the past few days, and that was already reason enough for concern without him instantly vanishing.

"Hey, Bodahn," the city elf called out to the dwarf merchant that was getting ready to turn in. He had set up his tent next to his cart and Sandal was pacing about quite aimlessly.

"Aye m'lady?" he courtly acknowledged her with a nod.

"Have you seen Faren anywhere?"

The merchant pondered the question for a moment before seemingly remembering something. "A yes! I do believe he went in that direction just before your mage friend and the witch lady went off somewhere themselves."

Relieved to have finally gotten a lead, Kallian smiled at the dwarf and took off in the direction he had indicated. The trees were young but the underbrush was abundant, and the occasional fallen stump definitely prevented her from getting bored as she walked on. She felt a bit anxious at having set off through the wood by herself, but she began to hear the purl that the deep yet quick waters of River Drakon gave out as they coursed through its bed just a hundred paces away. Finally, the images of the ravaged Lothering were fading from her immediate memory.

The elf let herself enjoy the night air, inhaling deeply and allowing her lungs to relax at the freshness it was filled with. Truly, nights during the month of Solace were blissful, something she had long ago learned as she prowled the streets of the Alienage, and other parts of Denerim, at night during previous years, despite the risks posed by the city guard. This forest was even more calm than she expected, as the darkspawn had not yet spread that far into Ferelden itself, and the land was still untainted.

After about a minute of knocking about, the sound of running water began to be heard better, and her legs seemed to take her in that direction by themselves. She thought, perhaps, Faren had gone to get some fresh water and, if so, the river was obviously where he would have ended up. So she went on, until the waters finally came into view through the trunks of the trees. They glittered, reflecting the light of the almost full moon as they flowed, not too fast but not slow enough to grow stale either. The thousands of small waves bounced the pale moon rays from one towards the other, causing the entire river to be covered in an entrancing glimmer.

She had almost reached it, when she started to hear the distinct sound of spattering, so she quickened her step, curious to see if the one she was looking for was there. She almost trampled out onto the river bank, only to be momentarily surprised by what she saw. At once she instinctively hid behind the tree closest to her, her eyes and cheeks heating up, signaling that she was probably blushing like mad. Her rising heartbeat definitely confirmed that assumption, and it took a while to get over the feeling, though not completely, before she pried her head out of her hiding place and once again studied the scene, though she found it necessary to lean against the tree trunk for support, her legs having become inexplicably mellow.

The river, while entrancing with its glittering surface, was definitely not what was making her flush. No, that was definitely not it, though the fact that its waters were probably warm enough to be comfortable was a contributing factor. The clothes that had been recently washed and now hung out to dry on a rather far off branch weren't the reason either, nor was the spare set that was lying on a rock on the very edge of the water. They were, however, intimately related with what, or rather **who**, was really to blame. It was the person standing with his back conveniently turned to her, a way off from the river's edge and submerged into the running water all the way up to his waist, that had led to her unwillingness to take another step.

His hearing being most likely filled with the swirls of the waves and the sound of the occasional splash, Faren did not seem to notice her presence as he stood there, bent forward and scrubbing his hair, covered in foam from the bar of soap he was so diligently exploiting. Kallian found herself staring at the scene as it unfolded, fate having somehow placed her in such an angle that allowed her to even see part of his right profile, though she found that her eyes were more drawn to the sight of the water trickling down his biceps as he washed the foam off his head and back.

She kept on looking as his palms and fingers glided down his own forearms, the lingering lather and bubbles dissolving, leaving behind a smooth surface on which the moonlight seemed to slide and play. Her mind was too preoccupied with taking in the view of his incredibly muscular yet somehow supple build as he straightened up and let his fairly long, dark red hair fall on his back. That her attention had been so totally captured was the main reason she did not immediately remember the many stories she had heard or read, of embarrassing twists that occurred because the she-prime somehow ended up spying on the he-prime of the tale (the idea of the he-prime spying on the she-prime was, on the other hand, positively outrageous of course).

The one in the river hung his head backwards, his eyes closed, and passed his fingers through his hair, smoothing it out and encouraging the water to drain from it as his lungs released the breath they had been holding. He then let himself linger there for a time, looking down at the glimmering surface of the water while he playfully cut through it with repeated swipes of his fingertips, as though it was something wondrous that he had never had the chance to enjoy at length before.

Had the city elf not been focused on the melancholic gaze he had put on, she would have realized that this was, most likely, Faren's first personal experience with a river and what it felt like to be submerged in such an abundance of clear, cool but comfortable water. The sight of River Drakon was something to behold for any human, elf or dwarf, or whatever else, but it was definitely more of a wonder to one that had spent his entire life underground and with no access to anything that could even come close emulating the experience.

Her touch with caution was somewhat restored when he shifted his weight and turned to the left, picking up the clean linen that was fluttering slightly in the evening breeze as it rested on the rock just next to him. He used it to dry his face, and that was when the elven young woman finally got a clear view of the rather large scar, rather a burn mark, that his left arm bore, the scar that was normally concealed under his clothes or armor. She had noticed it before, but she hadn't realized it was so large, and her sudden surge of sympathy was rivaled only by her apprehension at whoever had caused it and the pain it obviously must have been accompanied. It was that apprehension that finally snapped her full mind awake again. She started to wonder why she would feel so very personally outraged by it.

Just one more moment passed, and Kallian only at the last minute drew back clear of his line of sight before he turned around and began to walk up to the river bank. With a jolt, she withdrew behind the tree. Her heart had jumped all the way up to her throat, not just because of the fact she had almost been caught, but because of what she only narrowly avoided seeing as he commenced his return to dry land, the water level dropping to dangerously low levels. And what was more serious was that even the pounding in her chest and the heat swelling up in her cheeks couldn't stop her from feeling dirty for actually entertaining a desire to keep staring.

The sound of strong legs cutting through the vigorous water (they had to be strong for that splattering to be so loud and repetitive) got closer and closer, signaling that it was most likely a good idea for her to make herself scarce before he could detect her presence. It took a lot for her to fight off the urge to rear her head once more, and she scampered back to the camp, thankful for the fact that the splattering was still loud enough to conceal the sound of her hurried footsteps.

"-. .-"

About twenty minutes later, the city elf was back in the camp and nervously trampling back and forth, Damon curiously staring at her with his head bent to the side. The river experience was already complicated enough, but she was even more annoyed now because Sten had somehow decided it was appropriate to tell her he did not think she was a woman because, after all, she was a Grey Warden and that made the entire idea ludicrous. She had been forced to go at lengths to spell it out for him that she was a woman that fights, and that people can choose what to do

What was even worse was that the discussion somehow branched into why they had such a choice, and she eventually found herself explaining the concepts of family and parents and how life in the Qun is very different from what the rest of Thedas is like. And all that time, she had to do her best to not snap in exasperation as the giant kept voicing his disbelief or disapproval in his ever flat and short sentences that nearly drove her mad.

His ignorance of everything outside the Qun aside, however, Kallian was now incredibly worried that perhaps he had a point and she wasn't putting enough effort into her femininity. After all, that it was possible at all for someone to assume she might be a man, let along be absolutely convinced she **should** be one, was more than a little troubling.

Finally, a while after everyone except her and Theron, whose turn to watch had once again come, retired to their respective tents, Faren returned from his escapade and hung his old set of clothes out to dry on the first suitable branch he found. After that, he went off to the edge of the camp, pushing his hair back and arranging it in a braid, just like before, after which he sat down, propped against a large fallen stub and allowed his arms to rest on his knees while he himself was looking at the sky.

Kallian glanced in Theron's direction, and the Dalish just gave her a nod of acknowledgement before resuming his watch. So she gulped and walked towards the dwarf, doing her best to chase away her embarrassment but knowing, from the heat that still wouldn't leave her cheeks, that she was probably failing miserably at it. Faren just momentarily raised an eyebrow at her as she got close, so she just sat down next to him, though she found it hard to look at him because, when she did, she kept going back to the sight of him without clothes on.

Finally, she figured she should just do what she wanted to do and held out her hand. Faren looked at her in surprise for a moment, then at the small package that was in her grasp, apparently a small object wrapped in a white linen and tied up with a strip of leather.

Regardless of how she was flustering, she really did mean what she finally managed to utter. "Happy Birthday."

Kallian actually saw the shiver that went through his entire body when he heard her say that, and his eyes widened in what could only be interpreted as absolute astonishment as he stared at the gift. His eyes then turned towards her and she could swear they were getting misty as he slowly reached out and took the item from her hands.

"I... Thanks I... I don't know what to say..."

Something struck her then: was this the first time he was getting a gift? "No need to say anything. Just open it," she warmly suggested, somehow forgetting about the whole river incident.

The dwarf slowly undid the knots on the strip and unwrapped what was inside, revealing a well-crafted, red steel belt buckle with a very familiar symbol cast into its surface, emblazoned within a circle.

There was no reaction. Why was there no reaction? Kallian couldn't tell why Faren had apparently been shocked to stone upon seeing the accessory, so she tried to move the conversation along herself.

"We all chipped in and had the blacksmith in Lothering make it before all hell broke loose, then had Sandal enchant it with a rune supposedly meant to heighten your senses."

Faren stared at the symbol that decorated that object and touched the brand that covered his right eye and cheek, all the while keeping a straight face. After that, he closed his eyes, as though he had been stung by something. Then, he looked at Kallian sideways, his voice carrying a tint of apprehension. "Is this payback for how I wouldn't stop asking you questions back in the Korcari Wilds?"

That question slammed into her full-force and all she could do was protest in a very defensive manner. "What? Of course not! Why would you think that?"

He titled his head in apparent disbelief, doing his best to stay civil. "The symbol on this thing is identical to the brand on my face. Is this supposed to be funny?"

Things were going downhill rapidly and the city elf did not, for the love of all things, know why, and her next words came out on their own before she could consider them. "But I think it looks good on you."

Faren kept staring at her for a few seconds, studying the white markings on her own face, after which he seemed to relax somewhat and scratched his forehead as he let the back of his head use the tree stub as support. "You guys have no idea what this brand is, do you?"

Grateful for the momentary reprieve, Kallian Tabris decided it would indeed be a good idea to actually find out. "This is going to make this whole gift-giving thing look completely stupid isn't it?"

The apprehension in the redhead's voice returned, even stronger than before, only it was no longer directed at her. His explanation came like a knife as his eyes did their best to focus on a stray star, to prevent his temper from going out of control. "This brand is what all castless children get as soon as they're born. This is the mark of the ones unfortunate enough to have had criminals for ancestors. This mark is what separates us from the 'real' dwarves, the brand that says we are lower than trash. This is the brand that says the world would have been better off if we had never been born."

Upon hearing him say that, Kallian immediately realized what a stupid idea it had been to carve that same symbol on his birthday present. "I'm sorry I- I had no idea. Maker's warts, I feel so incredibly idiotic."

A deep and long silence followed, and the elven lass had absolutely no idea what to say. Verily, she hadn't even suspected such a horrid significance could accompany that tattoo, and she actually found it quite interesting to look at. She even had a tattoo of her own on the same side of her face, only it was white and the pattern was different, like a flow.

"I'm sorry," she said again as she got ready to leave, but he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

"Wait," he pleaded, causing her to relax. "It's fine, it's my own fault for not telling anyone. I don't want you to think I don't appreciate the thought."

The young woman finally looked at him for more than just a moment, and she could see that he regretted having almost snapped at her. But what made her stay was not the fact he was sorry, but the fact that she had actually created that situation with her ignorance, though she knew it wasn't entirely her fault. "Why didn't you tell anyone about that thing? Had we known, we would have given you something else."

His response was preceded by a sigh. "What, like I'd be just giddy about going around and telling people of how I'm worse than trash?"

"You know we'd never think that," she told him in a sad tone mixed with sympathy.

"Anyway, it never came up," he switched with a shrug of his shoulders, apparently trying to drop the subject. "I guess I always assumed everyone knew, like Rao did... does." He let out a scoff and his expression suddenly turned darker.

It had finally come to this point, Kallian realized. She knew any discussion with Faren would eventually lead to this and she couldn't really decide if it were better to get him to talk about it or not. It had been a month since they had been separated in Ostagar and, though they hated to admit it, the fact that neither Duncan nor Raonar had been sighted anywhere was a clear indication that they were probably dead. Tabris knew Alistair was still hoping Duncan might still be alive, especially after what Gabriel had said, but the fact was that he and the dwarf prince were probably both dead and gone.

It was heart-rending, but Kallian eventually decided that, if it were her, she would definitely prefer having someone to talk to. "You're worried about him aren't you? You've been hoping he'd just pop out of nowhere ever since he sent us away. That's why you've been keeping your eyes on the road back."

Faren let out a bitter chuckle, though she could tell he was doing his best to conceal how upset he really was. What he told her, however, was definitely more than she bargained for, especially considering the dead serious tone in his voice, irony notwithstanding. "What, was the fact I was upset given away by the fact that I stopped my blatantly obvious attempts at hitting on you?"

Taken off-guard, the elf drew back slightly and stared at him straight in the face, but the way his hazel eyes locked onto her gaze left no doubt that he was being serious. Instead of feeling uncomfortable or outraged at his bluntness, however, she felt oddly intrigued, and that somehow awoke her shrewdness. And while Kallian hadn't exactly openly considered the idea of that kind of a relationship with him, the way she reacted at the river was a fairly clear indication that she was not necessarily against the idea. And his height wasn't really an issue either, since she was only a few inches taller herself. "They weren't all **that** obvious."

Against all odds, that candid retort actually brought a smile to the dwarf's face, though the sadness did not go away in the slightest. So she pressed on, realizing that her own curiosity had been piqued. "You must have known him for a long time."

"Heh. Actually, I'd only known him for a day before we left Orzammar, and that was only two weeks before we got to Ostagar."

Now the elf was really astonished, because she could have sworn they must have known each other for a lot longer than that for Faren to actually suffer so much from his disappearance. "You're kidding..."

"Nah. Honest truth."

Eyebrows raised unequally, the city elf just couldn't prevent herself from asking the obvious. "But then... Why are you, I mean how did you-"

"-become so pathetically attached to him?" he deadpanned.

"Those weren't the words I was looking for but yes, I guess."

Faren plucked some grass out of the ground and began to fiddle with it between his fingertips. "I suppose I **could** say it's because he saved my hide by getting me out of a filthy dungeon, but that's not really it."

To Kallian, that definitely looked like it explained a lot, but she still didn't know what he was getting at. But his confession had raised a new set of questions. "Wait, you were in prison?"

Faren had definitely detected the nuance of wariness in her words, at least that was what his bored look seemed to convey. "You think I was a criminal don't you."

"N-"

"-It's true," he rammed her, leaving her stumped. "That's me, Faren Broska, the worthless thug, roughing up merchants, scaring small children and doing guard dog duty for a cave tick of a surfacer dwarf."

Though unable to prevent herself from growing uncomfortable at these revelations, the city elf was still doing her best to keep an open mind. "I'm having trouble picturing you scaring children."

"Well, I may have exaggerated a bit, but that still doesn't change who I am... was." He let the night wind blow the grass blades out of his palm. "Sorry for bursting your bubble if you thought I was some kind of high-ranking noble or dashing warrior."

Kallian couldn't help but ask herself if he wasn't purposely trying to push her away. Too bad for him, she took it as a challenge, one she would not lose by copping out. So she just skipped ahead and asked what she wanted to know. "So why **did** he rescue you? I don't imagine he just happened to be in the neighborhood."

"Heh! That's exactly what he told me when I asked him, actually. Anyway, the fact is, I don't really know how he found out about me or where I was. My sister said she had no idea and that he may have found out about me when he went to the proving grounds. He just trampled in one afternoon, took out the guards and sprung me and my buddy out."

Kallian knew what provings were, overall, because she had once read a book about Luthias the Dwarf Son, which gave the overall outline of the gladiatorial fights and their purpose. But something else was bothering her. "But he was a prince right? Why didn't he just order you released or something?"

"I never said it was that kind of dungeon," he shrewdly clarified, though her raised eyebrow revealed her dark blue iris in such a way that it was more than obvious she was waiting for more details. "I was being held by the criminal carta because I had killed the previous boss."

Kallian was definitely taken in with the tale. "Aha! So you got in trouble with the bad guys because you no longer wanted to be a bad guy."

Faren gave a pout. "That was a really weak summary Kal."

"But you said this wasn't the reason you two grew close," she reminded him, bubbling with refreshing curiosity.

"How much do you know about him anyway?" the dwarf pried.

"Only that he was a prince before he became a Grey Warden," she casually answered him, though she was still skeptical as she had not yet learned why he had been exiled.

"Oh, he wasn't just a prince you know. He was **the** prince. He was by far the most popular figure in that whole city. Everyone practically worshipped the ground he walked on and even his older brother, the supposed heir to the throne, was a gnat compared to him. And let's not get started on his younger brother. Actually, only the king came close to matching his reputation."

"Whoa... that sounds really..."

"Biased?"

"Yes actually."

"Of course, being the most popular figure in the city also meant that he was the person I resented most, for quite a while, though I had never actually seen him," he flatly informed her, soliciting yet another astonished stare. "Regardless of what people may say, we castless live in literal shit because of those upper class bastards. And for being at the top of the social pyramid, he was a very good target for my resentment."

"Oh..."

"And then..." his voice suddenly gained a measure of awe and respect. "He just stepped down from the top of that pyramid and submerged himself in that shit just to get me out of it. And when it was over, none of that shit stuck to him." He seemed to detect the slight discomfort in Kallian's eyes as he spoke those words "Sorry about the language."

"And you just started to like him, just like that? Even though you used to resent him?" she incredulously challenged.

"Well, I didn't know he was the second son of the King until after that whole deal was done," he explained. "And saving me wasn't all he did."

That definitely grabbed the city elf's attention again. "How so?"

"At first I thought he was going to demand I did some job for him, some underhanded deal that the nobles sometimes hired us to do, just to avoid having the plot traced back to them. But he didn't. He actually blatantly refused to even tell me who he was, just so I wouldn't get involved in his problems."

"But you got involved anyway," she noted.

"That was because I stubbornly refused to stand aside. And he knew I would too."

"That... isn't that a contradiction to what you just said?"

Faren paused, as though he was trying to put together a viable response. "It might seem like that, but I think I understand a bit how he thinks. Basically, he just got me out of that bad spot and made a point of not trying to assume any sort of control, even though he knew I felt indebted to him, despite how I hid it. And then, later that day, Duncan showed up on my doorstep and offered to recruit me into the Grey Wardens, a chance I thought I had missed out on. Guess who had sent him my way."

Kallian found that she was content with just staring ahead with her eyes as wide as she could make them.

"And that was selfless favor number two," he pronounced.

"You make him sound really..."

"Yes, I'm having trouble finding a suitable word too," he said. "So I guess he went to whatever lengths he needed to persuade me I was something he found worthwhile. After that, he used my own stubbornness and feeling of indebtedness as a leverage to bring that something worthwhile to the surface. And in the end, I ended up doing exactly what he would have wanted me to do, even though he actually told me to stay out of it. And he was being honest the entire time."

"Faren, not to burst your bubble here but..." Kallian finally uttered with a shake of the head, "I didn't understand anything of what you just told me."

That was when the dwarf let out a dry chuckle. "I thought you might not."

Silence once again fell between them, until Faren started fiddling with a small pebble. That was when Kallian once again gave way to her curiosity. "But if he's such a great guy, why did he get exiled?"

"For killing his big brother," he flatly slammed her.

Kallian was so shocked that she did not know what to say or think anymore.

"That's what he made the entire city believe anyway," he added, his eyes narrowed as his head hung backwards, resting on the stub behind them.

"Now you really lost me..."

Faren looked at her for a while, as though he was wrestling with a decision, but he finally seemed to cave. "I'll tell you the story if you promise not to tell anyone else."

Noticing that he was dead serious about this, the fair-haired maiden simply nodded, knowing it would be a long story.

An hour of storytelling later, she was speechless and utterly devoid of any suitable lines besides the most predictable one. "That's amazing... I have no words. Can anyone really be so..."

"Crazy?" he offered.

"That works too," she agreed. "I mean, he almost died, several times. It's not like his plan was flawless."

"Actually, that was the point," he retorted with a semblance of satisfaction.

"Lost me again."

"He could have made a different plan, a much more meticulous scheme with much lower chances of failure. He could have deliberately manipulated me, or could have just decided to play the game of politics himself, becoming one of those snakes. But I think the idea was that there really would have been no point to it all if there really was no honor left among the dwarves."

"I'll need a better explanation," she informed him.

"Basically, he gambled on whether or not there was still something worth saving in Orzammar. Failure would have meant that there was not enough honor left for him to actually be able to make a difference in the long run."

It took about a minute for Kallian to process that information, but she finally began to understand. "I would have never thought someone like that existed. That was a dangerous gambit."

"Yeah."

The night deepened, and the weariness of the long march of the day finally began to make its effects felt on both of them. But there was still something Faren wanted to say. "You know, I think the real reason I became a Grey Warden was because I felt like I wanted to keep him alive. I would have been content with just watching his back and now... when I think he might be dead I..." his words broke off as he tossed the pebble he was holding at a far off tree. "Why did he send me away? Why didn't he just let me go back for Duncan with him?"

"Look, it's really hard to say this but, maybe you should just let him go. From what you told me, I think he'd approve of you not being too attached to him." Her voice was earnest and warm, but she knew that it wasn't going to make things any easier.

"That's not it," he cut her off, shaking his head in nervousness. "Sure I miss him but..." his voice somehow became colored with a hint of fear, and he clutched at his head, shutting his eyes. "I feel like I lost my crutch Kal. I feel like I'm going to slip back into that... that **thing** I was before he found me."

That was the first time she had actually heard him so insecure, and it sent a chill down her spine. "You're being too hard on yourself. You didn't really have a choice at how you lived. And you were only thinking about your sister, you said it yourself."

Faren shook his head again, still clutching at it. "I didn't just **kill** Beraht, Kal. People don't just end up so completely covered in blood as I was when the guards caught me."

A flash of memory took the city elf straight back to the day when she slaughtered her way through the Arl of Denerim's estate, until she finally reached the room of that scum Vaughan. She vividly remembered the human blood splattered all over her and her cousin Soris, and how sickly satisfying it was to see that shem choke his life out in red splotches, slowly and painfully.

She had never felt regret or worry for finding such satisfaction in seeing him suffer, not until now. Seeing Faren like that made her question just what kind of person she really was.

"Covered in blood... Yes, I think I know exactly how you feel."

That declaration made Faren stare at her in surprise.

"You obviously expect me to explain myself, so I hope you can stay awake for at least one more hour."

"-. .-"

The next day was when the group was finally going to reach Redcliffe, and Faren was still thinking about the previous night. He had no idea that Kallian, that graceful, seemingly innocent flower, was carrying such a dark secret, though technically it wasn't really a secret, not to the whole capital, as well as Gwenith if he understood things correctly. But her last line was the one that really gave him pause. _"We're both limping, treading on a narrow path above a dark abyss, so we'll just have to let ourselves lean against the other to prevent each other from falling into it."_

A voice he did not necessarily expect to hear was what snapped him out of his revelry as they progressed along the road.

"Faren, I would like a word with you," Alim requested as he started to walk beside him.

"Hmm?" It was more of a groan.

"I talked to Kallian," the mage's low voice announced, though it seemed to bear a measure of concern.

"What? What about," he carefully asked, narrowing his eyes and beginning to consider the previous night may have been a mistake.

"She didn't tell me much, so don't fret like that" he began. "But I understand you would have wanted to stay behind at Ostagar with Raonar."

"Like that wasn't obvious anyway," the dwarf snorted, scratching his stubble in annoyance.

"I can tell you why he wouldn't have it if you'll let me," the elf mage told him, to which the other one looked up at him with a 90 degree turn of his head.

"What are you going on about," Faren asked in suspicion. "You act as though you know something I don't."

"As it happens, I do," he flatly confirmed. "So do you want to hear it or not?"

The short one considered the question for a moment, but soon realized that there was really no uncertainty as to whether he was curious or not. "Yes."

"Alright, then you should listen carefully to what happened in the deep roads four years ago."

Faren's curiosity turned into wonder as his companion told him of that guy's valiant exploits, after which he began to feel very intrigued, especially at how quickly Raonar had managed to gain the leader's trust. But when it finally came for Alim to tell him of Leandra Untaam and the prince's involvement with her, the castless rogue jumped headlong into utter shock. He partially realized what Alim was getting at **long** before he reached the part of the crumbling bridge and that absolutely horrid decision. His heart started racing and his blood throbbed in his temples, which led to his attention no longer being sharp enough to prevent him from tripping on a loose rock and falling on his face on the dusty road.

Before he knew it, he was choking on that dust, both Kallian and Alim trying to help him back to his feet, each having taken a hold of either arm. He couldn't even fight the assistance as he weakly stood up, though he was still oblivious to how everyone else had stopped, Bodahn and his cart included, and were staring at him.

He didn't notice Alim's nod, which prompted the others to resume their march, though Faren himself remained rooted to his spot, as though his feet were stuck to the ground. He didn't even hear the creaking of the cart's wheels as they resumed their rotation. His vision was no longer fixed on anything, his eyes just staring at nothing, until a pat on his shoulder finally caused those irises to focus and his grip on himself to recover. He slowly looked up at the mage with what could have only been a shamefully pathetic expression, seeing those green eyes actually showing him honest concern.

"Now you know," he sympathetically let out with a sad look on his face. "He sent you away because he didn't want to risk seeing you die in front of him. And he probably though it a selfish reason too."

"I... Why didn't he tell me anything?" He couldn't even register how high the tone of his voice ranked on the pain scale.

"It never came up?" Alim hypothesized with a wry smile.

"That stupid idiot..."

The three hours that it took them to get to Redcliffe were mostly spent in silence, or at least Faren didn't say or encourage anyone to speak to him. He found himself just poking at the new belt buckle that was now decorating the leather belt which went from his left hip to his right shoulder, across his torso. Leliana was telling another one of her stories, something about Flemeth, at Gwen's behest apparently, while the others voiced their opinions on which part was actually genuine or more interesting.

Eventually, Morrigan couldn't take it anymore and began to tell Alim what was supposedly the **real** version of the tale, or at least the version Flemeth herself had told her, where she wasn't actually the antagonist, or so it sounded. Alistair, for some reason or another, was fidgeting nervously, as though a moment he dreaded was approaching and there was nothing he could do to avoid it. The reason this was even noticeable was that he hadn't gotten into an altercation with the witch of the wilds for quite some time.

Sten was silently holding his place in the line, walking upright and casting a long shadow. He was apparently trying to look calm and collected, but his eyes were bloodshot for some reason. Another unusual things about Sten was that he was sweating, much more than what would be normal for him, even with the heat of the summer. He also occasionally winced in apparent pain. Basically, he had a fairly disgruntled look. Add that to his steel heavy chainmail and the huge, darkspawn war axe on his back, and he definitely didn't look like someone you wanted to annoy.

Eventually, the eleven travelers, and the two hounds who were oddly at ease with each other's presence, reached the village and crossed the first stone bridge that lay over the quick stream that fell down the slope in noisy waterfalls. Then they began to descent on the path that led to what looked like a very large windmill. Next to it, several knights were sitting on logs around a larger one that acted as a table for their game of cards.

That was when Alistair finally broke his long silence.

"Excuse me, could we stop for a moment?" he nervously requested of the others, who stopped in their tracks and turned around.

"My, and the fearsome templar stops an army with but the sound of his voice!" Morrigan jabbed, causing Alim to chuckle and Alistair to throw a spiteful glare at her.

"You have been very quiet Alistair," Kallian pointed out.

Gwen was, predictably, the one most open for a discussion. "Sure Alistair, what's on your mind?"

"You know, back when I told you Arl Eamon raised me because my mother was a serving girl at the castle and he took me in?"

The others, or some of them, nodded, and Alistair took a very, **very** deep breath, as though he was expecting some sort of horrible backlash for what he was about to say. Before his words could come out of his mouth, however, a strong voice called to them from afar, form the direction of the windmill. Everyone instinctively turned in that direction and finally pinpointed the source of the sounds of chain and metal on metal. A heavily armored knight, the apparent leader if the ornaments on his coat of plates was anything to go by, approached, each of his steps causing a thump as they struck the dirt.

"Ho there friends! I am Ser Perth, leader of the Knights of Redcliffe. I am glad to see others have found their way here, though if you intended to help us in our hour of need I'm afraid you're a bit too late."

"Hour of need?" the city elf inquired, uncertain as to what he meant.

"You mean there's a problem?" Gwen followed up, furrowing her eyebrows.

"Wait so..." The knight seemed a bit astounded. "You don't **know**? Has **nobody** out there heard?"

No one paid attention to how Alistair was fuming at being completely and utterly ignored in his desperate hour.

"Heard about what, shem?" the Dalish hunter impatiently asked.

"We've been suffering attacks from strange creatures every night," he hurriedly informed them.

"What kind of strange creatures?" Leliana pried.

"We're not certain," Ser Perth told them. "They seemed to be walking dead."

"Hmm, rage demons possessing the bodies of the fallen," Alim remarked, quite scientifically, as Morrigan gave a slight nod in approval. "Though they shouldn't be able to just cross the veil. Something very unusual must be happening here, and unpleasant. **Very** unpleasant."

"How long has this been going on?" Kallian's curiosity prompted her to press.

"Several nights, and each time they came stronger than before, though I think we may have lived through the worst already. Last night would have been a disaster instead of a miracle if not for that honorable Ser dwarf and his two unusual... companions."

Astonished stares, hopeful expressions and gasps flew from one person to another as the travelers absorbed what had just been uttered.

"What did you just say?" Faren demanded, almost trembling. "No! Nevermind!"

He didn't wait for anything more to be said and just darted away down the path, jumping off the side of the cliff, his cloak fluttering behind and above him, thus skipping a turn in the road as it went down along the abrupt slope. He landed with a roll, but quickly got back to his feet and resumed his dash, Kallian just barely managing to keep sight of him as she followed as quickly as she could.

A few more turns, and the castless rogue was finally at the base of the 'mountain', gasping for air and holding onto a fence because of fatigue. But he was not tired enough to not be able to look around, and his eyes began to jump from left to right, back and forth, as he struggled to pinpoint the one he was so hopefully looking for.

He saw some villagers cleaning up what looked like a fresh battleground. They were pulling the arrows out of crude wood barricades, or just cleaning up broken glass or planks of wood, remnants of a part of the fence that once surrounded the garden, now turned into an archery practice area, located in front of the Chantry.

His eyes also caught sight of a distraught man that kept spouting nonsense about the end of the world and how they were all doomed, as well as of a black hound that was snoring slightly as it slept next to the wooden pillar on the corner of the fence ahead. There was also a large bundle of what looked like weapons and other supplies just next to the house on the right.

And finally, he saw the dwarf and his two companions, and his heart sank like it had just been squashed by a hammer.

It wasn't him. It was some guy, some thug with black hair and long beard, and a really annoyed look on his face. He was rambling something at his two minions, two humans with really ugly tattoos on their faces, though they had the countenance of subservient dogs instead of that of men as they kept saying "sure Dwyn" or "whatever you say boss". They were even using the same tone he had been forced to use for years while under that cave tick's thumb. His legs grew weak, so he had to use both arms to hold onto the planks that composed the wooden fence, Kallian's hand on his shoulder not nearly making it any easier on him.

"Dammit!" he cursed as his anger-filled punch caused the wood to snap, just as Dwyn and his mooks went off somewhere.

Kallian tightened the grip on his shoulder, though her voice was worried. "Faren I... I'm sorry."

"He's really dead isn't he," Faren at last admitted to himself, between gritted teeth. "Fuck... Rao you fucking idiot!"

His blood had already retreated from his face, but that also meant his temples weren't throbbing, so he didn't have anything to prevent his hears from picking up the thumps that began to be heard, closer and closer, coming from behind the houses on the far side of the village center.

No, they weren't the sounds of the other Grey Wardens finally catching up to the two of them. They sounded like... boulders, being periodically slammed against the ground, though they also resembled footsteps. Finally, the source came into view from between the houses.

A large, moving statue was the only way it could be described. It was visibly larger than even Sten, with a humanoid shape and orange crystals protruding out of its apparent arms and back. They gave an eerie glow, and even had subtle flames dancing around them. The statue stomped on, carrying what looked like mangled corpses, one in either hand (the arms were huge, like they could easily grab onto someone and crush them dead with relative ease). It turned to its left and stared in the direction of the docks on the edge of Lake Calenhad. For a moment, it glanced at the two bodies it had in its grasp. After that, it just tossed them in that direction one after the other, as though it was using them for target practice.

It put its right hand above its brow, as though it were trying to see if its aim was good enough, until a soft thumping sound was heard some twenty paces away. Then, another one was heard from the same direction.

The voice of the construct sounded out of this world, causing even the distraught castless dwarf to stare at it in wonder. "Direct hit," it said in delight. "I dare say that pile of corpses may even look symmetrical once I'm finished with it."

The next second, the statue turned around and seemed to notice the humans, elves, dwarves (Bodahn and Sandal, along with everyone else, had been there to see the entire scene unfold), as well as the wolf and Damon the mabari. It raised a rocky eyebrow, an act that looked oddly proper, and began to walk towards them, thump after thump after thump, until it stopped about twenty paces away from them, next to where the black hound was lying on the ground, no longer asleep because of the tremors in the earth next to it.

The stone creature stared at them for a while, until its voice was heard again, annoyance more than detectable. "Lovely. Two more mages."

"A golem," Alim realized. 'It's... It's amazing."

"A magical construct invented by the dwarves. Fascinating," Morrigan concurred.

"Yes, its kind always does have a way of staring," the golem remarked with boredom. After that, it turned away and walked up to the nearest house, whose door had a canopy above it, though there seemed to be something heavy lying on top of it.

A rocky finger gave the rounded surface a nudge, and the sound that followed drilled deep into the hearts of all the new arrivals, even though it was an incredibly aggravated groan.

"Ugh. Leave me alone Shale. This hopelessly squishy creature of flesh needs his beauty sleep."

"I'm afraid that won't do. I believe there is someone looking for it," the flat but, oddly enough, singing voice of the golem retorted, poking him more violently.

"Stop that! Is it Teagan again? Tell him to wait, I've been fighting all night," the annoyed, familiar voice protested.

"It would appear it has left me no choice then," Shale uttered in resignation with a shake of the head. After that, it grabbed onto the wooden frame of the canopy that the person was sleeping on and pried it loose, breaking it and tearing through the linen.

A dwarf dressed in more or less white clothes fell flat on his face with a loud thud as his body impacted the floor boards in front of the door to the village house. "Owww..." was all he could say to that. He had to use both arms to pry his face loose of the wood, though one of the hands immediately went to his nose as he sat up, with his back turned to the newcomers. His white, spiked hair finally came into view as he got to his feet, leaving no question as to his identity.

"Shale," he began, quite put off. "You gave me a **nosebleed**! Again!"

"Well, it is its own fault for being so hopelessly squishy, it said it itself," Shale casually threw his words in his face.

One instant and a flash of white light was all the notification given to the onlookers that the dwarf had just punched the huge construct in the supposed abdomen. Shale took a step back and one of the crystals on her back fell to the ground. The golem twisted its head around and looked at it. "Lovely. I **told** it to properly insert those crystals in my sockets," she irately complained.

"Yes yes! I'm working on it," the other one shrugged off her words, completely oblivious to his audience and looking at the black hound that was expectantly staring at him and slobbering. He kept holding onto his nose for about a dozen seconds, a subtle light coursing around his fingertips until his minor nosebleed apparently disappeared. "Rinne, if you please?" he finally uttered.

The mabari gave an excited bark and ran to where the crystal had fallen, biting onto it and faithfully returning it to its master's hand. "Thanks girl," he warmly added as he scratched her between the ears. After that, he hopped straight on top of the wooden pole on the very corner of the fence, near which Shale was waiting for her accessory to be properly set in place this time.

"I do hope it properly wipes off that beast's drivel," the golem told him, slightly concerned for her wellbeing.

The white-haired individual just shoved that crystal straight into its proper place, twisting it like a screw and sending a magical shiver through the construct's entire body. "How's **that** for a proper place?" he chimed.

After an indignant grunt, the reply came. "All I can say is that it will have to be an especially light sleeper for a while," Shale cautioned as she turned to face him again.

With his back still turned to all the others, Raonar finally remembered why his beauty sleep had been interrupted. "So, what was it you were saying?"

Shale was so exasperated that all she could do was extend her hand and point in the direction of the many people, and animals, that were staring with differing degrees of gaping maws. That was when he finally turned around, not breaking his balance in the least as his spun on his heel, still standing on the pole. A raised eyebrow gave way to a delighted smile, and he finally turned to face them, taking a few casual steps in their direction and looking down upon them all as his eye level was quite well above theirs.

He took a few more steps on top of the plank's narrow edge, finally waving at them and smiling sincerely.

"Yo! It's about bloody time you came along! I was beginning to think I'd have to storm the castle without you."

_

* * *

_Author's footnote: The next chapter(s) will finally do the retcon of the protagonist's survival. I hope you've been enjoying this take so far ;)

And before you get angry at me, the DA2 character cameos are my own invention.

Disclaimer: Bioware, of course, owns everything.

_

* * *

__That review space is, of course, waiting!_


	19. Post Ostagar Arc 1: Grey Commander

**Chapter 18: ****Commander of the Grey**

"-. I don't intend to return to Ostagar .-"

The sky and earth were screaming at each other, as though they were two beasts trying to tear each other apart. The blighted clouds were exploding in thunderclaps, colored a mixture of red and black, leaving the impression that the sky itself was tarnished. Lightning kept falling sporadically on the doomed battlefield, unconcerned with what it was pulverizing, whether dirt, corpses, mud, darkspawn or humans. And the loud roars and rumbles of the forces of nature kept mixing with the screams of panic, pain and agony of the men, women and monsters who were still fighting chaotically.

A shot of adrenaline instantly drove his awareness to the absolute highest limit and, for a moment, time seemed to almost come to a standstill. With his narrowed eyes buried under frown and focused on his target, Raonar paid no mind to the complexity of the large rain drops that hovered in front of him, their motion almost imperceptible, during this last dash, just before the strike would come. He knew every muscle in his body was tightened, their only goal being to drive the precision of the upcoming swing to its absolute peak.

The grip on his weapon was firm, but the feeling was quite unusual, as though his life flowed out through his fingers, passing through the thick metal gauntlet and into his sword. The blade shone pure white in response to how the energies from both beyond the veil and his very core streamed through it and its master's body. That brilliance reflected off the rain drops in that moment of almost utter stillness. Truly, Gorim's sword was very literally beaming in anticipation.

Finally, he registered the sight of the one in front of him. Duncan was mid-way through trying to push himself back to his feet after having been knocked on his back by the monster's charge.

Time began to return to its normal pace, little by little. The rain drops broke upon his face, patter after patter, as he grit his teeth, and his right foot caused the mixture of blood, water and mud on the ground to spur apart with a splash as it slammed into the ground. That was when the power from the Fade came to him of its own volition, its eagerness a reflection of his resolve, guided by his spiritual patron that waited on the other side of the Veil. The magic surged within him, concentrating on the sole of his foot the very same instant he crouched.

Then it burst, the shockwave causing large, deep ripples on the moor and propelling him straight up at his target, but there was still enough left inside him to stream out through every fiber of his being, though his eyes were the brightest, staring the ogre down as he found himself in the air, right in front of its face.

It took less than a split second for the eager red steel blade to cut through the ogre's thick neck, with far, far less resistance than the exiled prince had expected. It even took a moment for the beast's body to register that it had just been beheaded, at which point the head finally lopped off its shoulders and fell to the ground, a full second before the dwarf landed just five paces behind the huge monster, now thrown off balance from no longer having a brain to direct it.

The huge mass of bone and flesh collapsed to the ground with a wet thud, just between where Duncan and the new Grey Warden were standing, ten paces away from each other. Raonar was astounded at what he had just instinctively done for a moment, but a pain suddenly arched through his entire body, especially his feet, causing him to reel in agony. He fell to one knee and had to use his shield as a sort of crutch to stop himself from ending up sprawled on the filthy mud.

He sagged. The throbbing in his temples caused his eyes to shut tight on their own and his hearing to falter for a short while, until he could again start to hear the continuous pour of the rain all around him, as well as the worrisome grunt of the hurlock that had somehow ended up right next to him, already holding its sword overhead, ready to cut him down.

Fortunately, the former prince of Orzammar did not get to the part where his entire life flashed in front of his eyes because Duncan intervened and took the darkspawn out with relative ease.

"What did you just do?" the human asked in slight wonder.

The answer was combined with a grumble. "Something very, **very** rash."

"Are you badly hurt?" the Commander asked him before he had to drive his sword through the stomach of a shriek.

The dwarf shook his head, finally getting his vision to focus again, and succeeded in standing up, though not without some difficulty. His mind was not at all as addled as his feet were, however, and he immediately scoured what remained of the battleground. Solveig was holding off a large group of beasts by himself, his huge war axe spreading body parts left and right. Also, some way to the left, a group of humans were banded together, trying to stave off the charge of the horde, though it was merely an exercise in futility. Other men were spread around in what could only be a pathetic tapestry of vain effort.

"Duncan!" he shouted as he pressed his back against his. "We have to get out of here! Now!"

"I concur!" he agreed, blocking a sword strike, though he didn't need to think of a counter because his newest recruit performed a remarkably smooth sidestep, more like a rotary glide on the ground, somehow slipping around to his front and finishing the motion with his blade coming out through the armored hurlock's back.

"Solveig!" Duncan then shouted in the direction of the man from the Anderfels.

The man did not answer, not because he couldn't hear him call out but because he was breathing far too heavily to speak as he gave his all to hold out against those fiends.

"We should go assist him," Duncan suggested, though it was more of an order.

The command would not be followed. Just as Raonar took the first step in that direction, a strange feeling passed through the former dwarf noble's entire body, like a shiver than went down his spine, though the heat behind his eyes was the most telling. His awareness was... touched by something, the feeling that a single, foreign will momentarily played a good hand against natural law in that game of cards some knew as fate but others saw as chance.

He immediately looked up at the roaring thunderclouds above him, and actually saw, with his waking eyes, as three points converged in a forked lightning almost exactly above him.

"Duncan, look out!" he shouted, ramming his entire weight into him and sending him, along with himself, flying some way in the direction exactly opposite of Solveig, just before the intense bolt came crashing down with a deafening explosion. The shockwave was strong enough to knock the wind out of mostly everyone within twenty paces, though Solveig somehow managed to hold onto his balance, though just barely.

The rain still poured, drilling into the back of the dwarf's head as the water on the ground guided remains of that thunderstrike in all direction, some of it being attracted to him and sending a jolt straight into his brain.

All lights went out.

Only to be turned back on, too suddenly and too bright. He felt an armored foot, probably Duncan's, sink into his side, the pain lessened by the patch of veridium mail that covered it, and rolling him on his back with a violent push in order to prevent him from drowning in the pool of dank water he had collapsed in. His lungs choked out water and actual dirt and he found himself gasping for air as his blurred vision miserably failed to pinpoint a suitable object of focus. His ears were filled with a splatter of the rain on the mire that was once a strong, grass-covered field, but still picked up the sound of flesh being split open by a sharp blade.

His awareness was shot back into him with a shudder when he again felt that alien sensation usurp the hold that natural laws had over the thunderstorm. His head tilted to the side, his vision ignorant to the head of the genlock that fell right next to him, the impact with the almost liquid mud strewing his face in filth. He ignored it, the downpour doing him the favor of washing it off quite readily, and awkwardly pushed himself away from the ground with his right arm that was still clutching at his blade.

Once again the sky lit up afire, and a thunderbolt seemed to descent straight on top of where two men were about to be overwhelmed. That was when his awareness again peaked, and his eyes saw the lighting arch and bend, changing its direction and, instead of striking those two humans down, it ended up pulverizing the darkspawn that had swarmed them.

"Solveig!" Duncan's booming voice was heard, the intensity striking the former prince's eardrums hard enough to almost startle him and prompt his head to perform a 180 degree turn, his whole body jumping around to make that shift possible.

The man was alone, pitted against a swarm and gathering cuts and bruises with each passing moment.

"Go!" he yelled back between as he gave himself up to his last reserves of willpower and stamina, performing a horizontal sweep of his oversized two-handed axe that sent multiple fiends falling backwards in a circle, only to be replaced by others, their lack of morale and fear of death not allowing them to stave off their mad charge.

The Warden Commander and his latest recruit glanced at each other, their grim expressions clearly transmitting their apprehension, though Duncan's dark look confirmed what they would do.

"Get out of here!" the man from the Anderfels shouted again, just as one of the last humans in his vicinity fell to their relentless enemies.

"And know that one day... we shall join you," Duncan grimly uttered, just before turning to the other. "Let's go, Lord Aeducan." He then turned around, apparently preparing to head out, only to feel his wrist be taken a hold of by a firm grasp.

"Not that way," Raonar requested, his eyes inducing a feeling of decisiveness. The ex-prince didn't even wait for a reply, so immediately he darted in a completely different direction, coincidentally similar to the one as those two humans that had been 'saved' by that thunderstrike.

The white-haired one charged in their direction, getting a better look at them as he neared the place of their struggle. One had the look of a relatively common soldier, clad in a steel heavy chain mail and wielding a regular sword and shield. The other one was more unique-looking, with his custom-made plate/chain hybrid armor and unusual weapon, half sword and half staff, the back end inset with a spherical gem that was about as large as his fist.

Cutting his way through a pair of hurlocks, the short warrior shrugged off his growing fatigue in favor of paying attention to what lines the two of them were saying, though the more bland one seemed, predictably, more nervous.

"Dammit Gabriel! This'd be a good time to do that mojo of yours, secret apostate or not!" he let out in anxiety as it became harder and harder to stave off the attacks of the hurlock grunts that were nearest him.

"Tsk!" the other one scoffed in aggravation, passing his bloodied thumb over his face, leaving a streak on it that the continuous shower was somehow unable to wash off. His eyes flashed red, and the rear half of his staff-sword lit up as though it was afire on the inside.

"Alright Carver! Duck!" he shouted.

The soldier instantly did so. That was when the other man spun his weapon above his head, throwing cinders and brimstone in a circle, like a wave of flame that rammed into all seven beasts that had encircled them. Some became erratic in their attacks as their flesh ignited, while others simply died or fell to the ground, squirming in pain, though two of them managed to press on.

Gabriel succeeded in bringing the bladed end of his staff up in time to stop a sideways swing, but the other monster failed to reach him only because a red steel sword, bloodied and covered in dark ichor, came out through its chest.

The dead thing crumpled to the mud beneath its feet, a useless, disgusting husk, just before a shield slammed into the remaining beast from its left, dislocating its entire arm and throwing it off its feet, at which point its life was finally driven out of it by that very same round targe. The metal edge sunk through its throat, separating the hideous head from the rest of the corpse.

The human and the white-haired dwarf found each other's eyes for a moment, before the one called Carver regained his bearings and managed to make his voice heard over the storm. "Are they dead?"

"You're one of the Grey Wardens," the bearded staff-wielder remarked at the one who had just assisted him.

Duncan finally caught up to his recruit. "We should really get going! You two, you should leave here as well!"

"First thing's first!" the short one retorted, then addressed the humans. "You two! Care for a temporary collaboration?"

The one called Gabriel considered the suggestion for a moment, with narrowed eyes. "You were the one that was with that blood mage immediately after he got shot."

"Yes, only he has already retreated. So, are you up for it or not?" he directly pressed.

"What do you have in mind? Bit for bite?" the apparent apostate warrior guessed.

"Power in numbers?" the silver-eyed one said with a grin as his eyes flashed white for a moment, drawing the other one's interest.

"You should decide quickly," Duncan cautioned, looking back with wary eyes. "I can sense that the real horde is drawing dangerously close."

"Fine. Lead the way," Gabriel conceded.

"Excellent!" Raonar declared with a satisfied look on his face, before turning to Duncan again. "We need to get back to the warden's camp. I have to get something."

"What do you mean?" Duncan asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I mean-" the words didn't finish coming out as the sensation returned again, like someone was holding the thunderstorm in a leash, telling it where to strike.

He spun around, only to see Solveig from afar, being overwhelmed by those monsters at last. They had practically sunk their teeth and claws into him, and two swords had already come out through his back, while another one was sticking out of the side of his right calf. They were many, those beasts, and were practically piling on top of each other, as though their aim was to cover him up, to suffocate him under their weight.

And yet he turned his head around, throwing his surviving companions one last glance, remarkably devoid of any distress. Then, in a last act of defiance, he summoned the last of his strength and lift his huge axe straight towards the sky, taunting the furious clouds.

"EAT THIS YOU BASTARDS!" he yelled in a defiant, almost exhilarated articulation as lighting converged one last time and came down, drawn towards the white steel weapon like a beacon and blasting those dozens of creatures far with a very, very loud rumble.

Light flashed, and yet his silhouette remained visible throughout the entire, momentary ordeal, an immutable presence that even the wrath of the heavens could not crumple, having to settle for eradicating the multitude of corrupted fiends that were upon him.

The scene was taken in by the dwarf noble without his eyes blinking even once. And yet he wasted no time in darting around and making a run for it, the others needing a moment to get over their surprise before following after him.

It was hard, running in that coat of plates. He was getting increasingly tired and the hinges around his knees and elbows, not to mention his wrists and ankles, were already creaking from having been rained down upon so completely. Veridium was really annoying because it could actually get tarnished. No doubt red steel would be better, since it couldn't get bitten by rust, though white steel was his favorite material. The color just seemed to fit. Those were thoughts for later though. He knew that the constant effort and the adrenaline were the only reasons he wasn't freezing from being so utterly soaked and he rued the moment when he would have to face the prospect of hypothermia again, if he actually got to live that long that is.

Fortunately, the horde had not yet poured deep enough into Ostagar to reach the army's camp. The raving weather could be counted on for that much at least.

"Duncan, how long until the darkspawn catch up to us?" Raonar asked as their run finally led them to the Grey Warden's encampment.

"A few minutes, but I must insist that you tell me what you are running about for!" the Commander demanded in his ever stern speech.

The ex-prince jumped over a puddle, even heavily armored as he was, and finally reached one of the smaller tents, the one he had slept in overnight. Without another word, he made his way inside, where the items he was looking for were waiting to be picked up.

Grateful for the momentary protection against the downpour, Aeducan knelt beside his bedroll and began hurriedly equipping the items that he had spent the remainder of the day gathering as he prepared for the worst. Duncan, meanwhile, had torn off and thrown away the tent 'door' and was staring at what his latest recruit was doing with no small measure of surprise.

A shield and a sword were tied together in a bundle and draped inside a large cloth, along with a hem of rope, complete with straps tied to it in such a way as to make it more than easy to be thrown and fastened on one's back. Raonar let himself indulge a moment of reflection as his gaze slid down the Highever crest that could be seen on the pommel of the Cousland Family Blade. "Gwen will **so** owe me for rescuing her family heirlooms... If I survive of course."

"I see dwarven politics have definitely left you with the habit of being overprepared..." Duncan said in wonder.

The acknowledgment came in the shape of a shrug, which probably made it out through a smile judging from the sound, just as the dwarf's hand took a hold of a pouch that immediately replaced the one already strapped to his leg. He also tied two daggers to his side. After that, he put on the Champion's Helm, which had been waiting for its master there all along, after which he again grabbed onto Gorim's sword and his battered shield. He jumped to his feet and threw the bundle of equipment on his back in a single move.

At least heavy plate armor prevented the lumps in that bundle and the sheath from pressing against his spine and shoulder blades. He now had everything: the weapons, the rope (one should always have some rope handy) and the survival kit whose worth was diminished only by the fact that it contained no health poultices. He had taken them all along with him for the fight, fearing it would be harder than expected, and how right he had been. He had none left, no one did.

"Okay, now we can go to the upper levels," he declared as he hastily strode out of the tent. "I have to make a last stop there too," he added, looking at Duncan, unwavering.

"That's as good an Idea as any!" Gabriel let out as he performed a vertical slash, the blade of his staff sending a wave of fire charging ahead, until it burst apart upon impacting a lone genlock that had somehow found is way there already. "As long as we do it **now**!"

"I hope you know what you're doing," Duncan warned the dwarf, staring into the mixture of smoke and tainted mist that prevented any eyes from seeing more than 20 meters ahead. "Because the darkspawn are coming in fast."

The four made a run for it, just as it was revealed that the straggler which the apostate had just slain was just the first of an entire swarm, several Ogres among them. A thunderclap ended up doing them a favor and, even though it boomed in their ears, came down right upon part of that first wave, sending the others into erratic behavior as the lingering electricity discharged into them.

"How can those things still be so many?" Carver yelled in a mixture of rage and fear as he ran as fast as his legs could take him.

"Because life is just glorious like that," the other human retorted, more annoyed than nervous.

"There they are! The stairs!" the short but, oddly enough, quite quick on his feet individual pronounced. "Let's go!"

They quickened their pace and finally reached the stairs that went through the mountain itself. That stairway was still in quite a good condition, even though Ostagar itself was ancient. They darted up, each step adding a new sweat drop to their brows and temples, but their advance was steady. Unfortunately, even though they thought they were making good progress, the corridor was suddenly filled with the enraged bellow of what could only be an ogre coming on their trail fast. How ironic that the stairway was somehow more than tall enough to accommodate even a beast of that size. Someone could have probably made a joke about humans overcompensating, if they weren't preoccupied with running for their lives that is.

Ogres never charged in alone, not without enough small fries to make things interesting.

"Damn! Those things are persistent!" the prince let out as he ran up the many stairs, preparing to make a turn around a corner, only to be grabbed by the collar of his armor and drawn back, just in time for a shriek's claw to narrowly miss his gullet. His head struck against the wall behind him with a bang of metal on stone, the Champion's Helm sparing him a concussion, and the older Warden's blade immediately found its way to the place in between the hunched creature's eyes, felling it in one fell swoop.

"Darkspawn are coming from the front as well," the Warden Commander notified, his eyes betraying a measure of concern as he pulled the tip of his sword out of the shriek. "They must have found another way inside the fortress itself..."

Fortunately, they weren't many, and it took relatively little effort to dispatch them as they sped up the stairs, as well as the occasional antechambers. Duncan ended up doing most of the work, as he predictably knew exactly where the monsters were lurking and, thus, could practically sink his blades into them before they could even notice him. A couple of minutes later, the metal doors that opened into the upper camp swung wide, the three humans and the dwarf barging out, lungs seizing up from the strain on their chests after skipping breaths over the last set of steps.

"Here it comes..." Duncan warned the others, turning to face the entrance. They all were lying in wait, just about ten meters away from it, knowing that they would have to stay and fight gigantic creation as it was impossible to outrun it once it no longer had walls to restrict it, so mad was its charge.

The rumble was getting closer and closer, becoming ever louder and clearer, especially now that the rain had finally stopped, though distant lighting and thunders still maimed the heavens sparsely. The dwarf prince threw off his burden and now he bore only his second's sword and the bettered shield, the rest having been cast to the side, hopefully far enough to not be caught in the fight.

"Steady," Duncan advised, having gripped both his sword and dagger tight, his eyes narrowed in grim resolution.

The Commander and Carver were set on the flanks, while the two others were next to each other in the middle of their formation.

"Gabriel is it?" the white-haired one queried, not drawing his gaze away from the large portcullis in front of them. "Can you do any sort of crowd control?"

"Hmm..." the remarkably properly bearded man narrowed his eyes in understanding. "As a matter of fact..."

His weapon twirled on his fingertips three times, stopping with the blade pointed at the ground behind him and the spherical pommel on its rear end just several inches to the right of his face. His left palm rose, until it hovered just a couple of centimeters above it, his eyes again lighting up as red blood magic filled him. The crystal sphere once more lit up as though a sun was burning inside it, brimstone dancing on its surface, like magical fire breath that seemed to come out of the dragon mouth in whose shape the hilt was sculpted and whose teeth held that orb firmly in place.

"Get ready!" the Warden Commander shouted again, just before the noise resounded one last time from behind the portcullis.

The metal-wrought doors flew out of their hinges in a burst of crumbling stone and metal, so sudden and unstoppable were the Ogre's horns as they struck against the century-old construction. Half a dozen hurlocks poured forth from behind it as it bent and gave a loud roar, but the real terror was even further back. An even larger monster, literally armored to its teeth, smashed the back of its fist into what remained of the gate, crushing the remnants of the frame and making the opening far wider than it was before.

Duncan frowned in defiance, while the other three could not help but be taken by surprise at seeing not one but two of those things jump out of that tunnel, one of them far more dangerous, being totally clad in corrupted metal.

Aeducan just in time rose his shield between his face and a flying rock as big as his head, deflecting it to the side while also blocking an arrow.

That was when Gabriel sunk the bladed half of his weapon into the ground, leaving it erect as both his arms came up and crossed above the orb. The fire inside it erupted into what looked like two dragon heads, both of which seemed to turn and gaze towards the darkspawn with eagerness.

Another flash of crimson sent the lifelike blazes flying with an extravagant flourish through the air, their bodies gaining length as they refused to separate from the fiery pommel. The heads of several human-sized fiends tasted true agony as their bodies sprawled to the ground, writing and reeling from having had their eyes burned or their throats skewered by blazing teeth.

Some made it through the barrage of flames, however, though the three other warriors made a point of making short work of them, seeing that the two ogres were almost upon them.

Its skin a disgusting shade of blue, the giant beast hurled itself forward into a charge, roaring in bloodlust as it did so, grazing Carver's shoulder and sending him into a tumble, grunts and all, as he jumped out of the way. The dwarf prince managed to roll to the side in time, even managing a nice cut into the side of the oversized foreleg, drawing the ire away from the other two, mostly in order to leave Gabriel some room to work with while he willed his two fire dragons to wreathe around the armored ogre as a distraction.

It seemed to work. While the metal-clad monster was struggling because of the flames that found ways to slip past the shoddy mail, the other horned darkspawn tried to slam both its fists down upon the dwarf noble, like a hammer, just narrowly missing him as he simply tossed itself forward, sliding on the slippery ground and between its immense legs, ending the evasive maneuver just behind the beast.

He was on his back, but instead of getting up, perched his knees until his feet aimed upwards. That was when Duncan jumped from behind and landed on those very feet. With a momentary shove, Raonar kicked with all his strength, propelling his commander upwards, the Warden's sword sinking just between the vertebras that linked the spine to the hideous skull.

The large defunct darkspawn succumbed with a thwack as its face banged straight into one of the ancient wall sections that Ostagar was littered with, and Duncan ended up standing straight on its back, his sword sunk deep into the back of its head.

"Boulder!" Carver yelled, too late, as the armored ogre, having finally shaken off Gabriel's spell, hurled a disjoined stone slab straight at them.

A direct hit was narrowly avoided, though just barely, as they all scattered to whatever direction they could face. The rock struck the ground askew, leaving a sort of dike behind it as it bit through the earth itself in its furious slide, until it crushed into the other ogre's corpse, just before Duncan himself had jumped to the other side of the patch of wall that the other beast had hit when it fell.

The prince again found himself biting the dirt. He felt lightheaded and realized, much to his concern, that avoiding that flying rock had resulted his sword slipping out of his grasp. With nervous shakes of the head, his eyes darted left and right, trying to pinpoint his armament, only to find that it was well beyond where his arm could reach.

A stomp behind him made him scrap all plans of trying to run for it. He rolled to his back, forced to let go of his shield as the foot of that fiend trapped it underneath. A violent kick then sent him sliding with a clatter, dazing him for a few seconds. Struggling, he tried to lift his head to look up, just in time for a rapidly approaching shadow to knock his senses well out of him with the sound of metal striking against the metal of the helm that fortunately covered his forehead.

The blow was strong enough that, against all logic and reason, he was propelled downwards, straight though the earth as though it were not really there. Before he knew it, he was falling into an endless abyss, darkness surrounding him on all sides, so thick that he could see absolutely nothing, not even himself as he looked at where his hands were supposed to be.

Fall. He really disliked the feeling. It wasn't because it had that tint of finality, of loss. After all, getting back up after a fall was the most natural outcome. The more annoying part about fall was that it prevented you from actually doing anything relevant until you got back to the level you had fallen from. And what was worse was that the feeling that you had truly fallen only appeared when you yourself did something to screw things up, or failed to do the thing that would have prevented the screw up.

This was why he started to feel distressed as he kept descending headlong into that abyss. There was positively nothing there, nothing at all to grab onto, nothing to use to crawl back up above ground.

And just how on Thedas was it even possible to fall through the ground as though it wasn't even there anyway? It made no sense!

His mental distress was worsened as he was hurled even deeper with a jerk, as though he had again been struck frontally by something large and hard, and he was propelled even faster downward. Immediately the darkness disappeared, only to leave behind a ceiling of stalactites and granite that put distance between it and his vision at an alarming rate.

His eyes rolled to the back of his head and his eyelids shut un their own as his back impacted against the very, very hard ground with such force that it created a three-foot-deep crater with a diameter of three meters. His ears couldn't register the booming noise that phenomenon produced, because his whole body felt as though it had come apart in a million pieces for the entire moment before the shockwave from the impact caused the ground to burst into a myriad of cracks and dust to fill the whole area.

His bones didn't break. His flesh didn't shred. His bran didn't shut down because the writhing pain disappeared just as suddenly as it had surged. What his body instinctively did was cover his hand and nose with his hand, to prevent choking on the cloud of dust, while he used the other one as support to crawl out of that crater. By the Stone, there was enough dust there to choke even a bronto to death!

Once he got out of the cloud of dust and ashes, he immediately wished he hadn't because someone, apparently screaming, ran into him and almost made him fall of his feet again. The shove alerted him to his surrounding, and what he saw was utterly shocking.

He was in Orzammar.

He was standing in the middle of the commons, just in front of the bridge that led to the Proving Grounds, his back turned towards it. Dwarves were panicking all around him, men, women, children, all kinds, as though they were trying to get away from something but didn't know how. He tried to call out, but no one seemed to hear him, and the rumble he heard from behind him instantly caused his body to turn on his heels by itself.

His eyes met the sight of the proving arena crumbling, falling off and separating from the stone skeleton of Orzammar with a resounding roar of rockslides and lava. It was only then that his armored feet began to pick up the tremors that were shaking the entire city, causing it to progressively come apart, section by section.

He shakily backed away from the edge of the city as it began to break apart and fall into the magma. Fear crept into his heart for the very first time in years. It wasn't because he feared death, no, that was not it. He had had so many brushes with death that the prospect was hardly impressive anymore. The fear also didn't come from seeing a stream of darkspawn pour into his city from the deeps through the only shaft that still linked Orzammar to the old empire.

What truly allowed terror to struck into his heart was the sight of his people, running around frantically, mothers desperately holding onto their children and either getting cut down by those fiends or failing to avoid being crushed beneath the falling boulders that came crashing down from above, painting the base level in an irregular mix of blood and debris. It was because the one thing he truly feared, the one thing that could truly cause his heart to sink, was now apparently becoming reality.

The world was literally falling apart around him and there was nothing, absolutely nothing he could do.

At once a loud smash came from behind the immense metal doors that led to the Hall of Heroes, and the next one sent them both flying out of their hinges, regardless of how impossible it may have seemed. The clamor they made was deafening, even more so that a thunderclap, and the shaking ground again disappeared from underneath the prince's feet.

A moment later, he had again been thrown to his back, and his last minute effort was not enough for him to push himself back up. A weight was pressing on top of him, the bulk of it concentrated on his chest, leaving him desperately gasping for air as he found it impossible to expand his ribcage enough for his lungs to draw sufficient air in.

The giant foot of the dragon that had smashed through the supposedly impenetrable gates of Orzammar was pressing against his chest and its eyes were staring him down, as though the gaze was drilling through his skull.

Helplessly his arms tried to push the paw of that thing off him, the exercise in futility looking quite pathetic as breathing became even harder under the increasing pressure on his sternum. Genuine, splitting pain started to be felt, and it sent him into a fit of panic, his head twisting from one side to another in agony.

He immediately wished he hadn't turned his eyes to the side, because they only met the sight of Gorim's and Trian's corpses, impaled through the back with several spears or swords each. The shock caused his head to turn into the other direction instinctively, his eyes, momentarily shut in denial, opening just to see his father, Bhelen and Harrowmont dead on the other side.

His vision then darted back and stared at the Archdemon straight in the eyes. Anger died before it took being, for it was utterly pointless. Fear dispersed, its usefulness spent because there was no way to escape that the prince could consider. Despair was unmade in the wake of the mental and emotional shock, and said shock went away the same instant that Raonar put the pieces together and realized what was happening.

He was dying and everything he was witnessing was just a hallucination, the last thing he was going to see before he finally went into the next journey. He now knew that the real thing that was crushing him underneath was the large foot of the armored Ogre that had knocked him senseless, and that this last nightmare was probably his way of bringing down judgment upon himself for allowing destruction to ensue by so pointlessly letting his own life be lost in this unsightly way.

Indeed, 'normal' people would probably have flashbacks or see their entire lives pass before their eyes, most likely trimmed of the worse memories in order to give them the illusion that their short existence had actually meant something. They would probably think of the 'good' things in life, decide on their own that what they did was good enough and go into the next journey with a hypocritical or otherwise ignorant smile on their faces.

Of course, there were those who had actually accomplished something and were entitled to their final moment of bliss. He wasn't one of them though. Certainly, he had set things into motion, prevented others from enacting foul schemes, but none of his plans had actually come to fruition and he definitely hadn't actually done anything that would have any lasting consequences. So what could he do now that his end had finally come and he didn't actually have anything pleasant to focus on?

He stared straight into those sickly green eyes of the Archdemon, a last act of defiance that he knew would reach the leader of the horde. As a Grey Warden, he was, after all, connected to the psyche of that corrupted Old God, and the intensity of its presence was unmistakable. Nightmare or no, hallucination or no, those eyes definitely **were** the real thing, and the air was filled with the horde master's madness. And now that his stout dwarven arms were spending their final ounces of strength, about to give way to that weight to really crush him, was he really going to complain if he actually got the chance to shove his sarcasm straight into the Archdemon's face... or snout, or whatever?

"Screw you," he calmly forced his lungs to utter, with a defiant grin. "The others are **so** going to kick your sorry ass!"

The apparition actually blinked, the feeling of insanity pervading the air allowing room, for an instant, for a subtle tint of surprise to be felt.

Actual amusement was what then filled the Aeducan Prince as he felt the draconic being's confusion. "Even maddened gods can be taken by surprise it seems."

The dragon reared its head, the feeling of insanity swept aside by pure rage as it drew breath, finally emptying its lungs by sending a wave of fire breath straight at its prey. And all the while, the exile just gazed at the flames with a bored look on his face, knowing his end would coincide with the instant those flames touched him.

"How melodramatic," he taunted with boredom as the fire breath was exhaled...

...only to be deflected by an immaterial shield that interposed itself between it and the white-haired one's face, soliciting a feeling of surprise from the dying Grey Warden, though his confusion soon received its clarification in the form of a familiar, echoing voice, like many people were speaking all at once, that seemed to come from all around him.

"Finally you've calmed down," it said. "I thought I would not reach you in time."

The dwarf noble let his eyes search for the source of the voice, only to see that a silvery light had emerged from the ground underneath him. The brilliance spread, progressively eliminating all shadows and forming into tendrils and strands that began to coil around him.

At last he understood what was happening, though he did not abandon his placid sarcasm at the whole situation. "Hello Honor, come to see me off?"

The prince could swear he felt he had just been smacked over the back of the head, even though only stone was underneath him.

"Focus. Remember, keeping the Veil at least remotely stable on your side has always been up to you. I won't be able to help you if you lose your head," the thousand-in-one voice reminded him.

With a last mental effort, the dwarf noble got his heartbeat to properly stabilize. "What happens now?"

With a flourish, the spirit filled the whole vision with its brightness, even causing the Archdemon's psychic projection to draw its eyes away in apprehension. "Now, you will learn exactly how you so easily beheaded that ogre earlier."

"-. .-"

Duncan was alarmed when he emerged from behind the wall only to see that the armored ogre had grabbed onto Gabriel and had lift him up to his eye level. The human was struggling to get free, with no success, but that wasn't the real cause of the Warden's distress. What alerted him was how the beast stomped on his recent recruit a second time, the coat of plates just barely withstanding most of the loud impact.

"Lord Aeducan!" he cried out in distress.

There was no response. Where some resistance could be seen before, the dwarf's body was completely motionless now, both arms spread on the muddy ground as the metal-clad beast let its foot rest on him and was slowly squeezing the life out of the man he had grappled.

Noting that the one called Carver had collapsed unconscious some way to his right, the Commander realized just how serious things were getting, especially with his Warden sense notifying him that a number of extra darkspawn were coming from the same passageway they had used. With grim resolution, he brought his blade to the side and took his stance, determined to charge and attempt to mortally injure that creature in one fell swoop.

Within a moment, about as long as it took for his knees to bend, preparing for the dash, his eyes took in the entire sight before him. He saw that the beast's attention was directed away from him, focused on the human its large arm was holding and whose hands were pressing against the outer side of the giant armored fist, flames dancing around them in an attempt to cause the grip to loosen through pure pain. The Warden also spotted several weaknesses in the shoddy patchwork of discarded breastplates and metal pieces that formed the 'attire'.

He also noticed, just before he charged forward, how the hands of the one under the ogre's foot twitched. Wait, did he just move?

Accompanied by a loud roar that came from the deepest reaches of the crushed one's lungs, those two arms grabbed onto the giant foot by both sides and began to push it upwards. And as the pressure on the dwarf's sternum lessened, his deep battlecry was matched in intensity only by the energies from beyond the veil that began to stream out of him, casting all shadows aside and prompting the beast to look down in confusion at the bright light that it was stepping on.

The prince's loud and annoyed scream stopped just as his eyes, ablaze with raw energy, pinpointed those of his commanding officer. "Get this thing off of me already!"

The agreement came from above him, however, not from Duncan.

"Damned straight! " Gabriel shouted, delighted at how the confused Ogre had actually drawn him close enough to be within reach of its face. With a shove, he slammed his palm into its right eye, summoning magical flames and sending them into its skull through the eye socket.

The shot of pain liquefied the ocular organ and sent that large thing into a fit of panic. Its erratic waves of the arms ended up throwing the apostate away, the latter finishing the fall with a tumble, though only slightly worse for wear than he was before. The beast also lost it balance enough for the exile to throw the foot aside and crawl away, finally reaching his weapon again.

The warrior mage got his bearings just in time to see the Warden Commander and the short individual leap off the ground at the same time (though the latter's feet seemed to cause a shockwave as he jumped) and finally neutralize the armored ogre by sinking their respective swords into its throat with a splendid, coordinated motion.

Both Wardens got off of the fresh corpse, but Raonar couldn't stay on his feet anymore and fell to his knees, sinking the tip of Gorim's blade into the ground, using it as a support. He was breathing heavily and his grim expression was not at all lightened by the blood flowing down his face from somewhere above his forehead, the source not visible under his helmet. And yet he still managed to utter a short sentence when the apostate finally ran back to their position.

"The passage... Bring it down. Close it off..."

Gabriel and Duncan exchanged glances for a moment, the latter signaling, with a nod, that he approved of that course of action.

Having retrieved his staff, he apostate warrior again pointed the pommel forward and launched a barrage of small fireballs, using the blood leaking out of his various cuts as fuel for his spellpower. The construction finally gave out and noisily crumbled, blocking off the entrance in a wall of rocks and dirt.

The human then ran over to assist his brother as he was finally getting a hold of his consciousness again, having been only momentarily knocked out cold some time earlier. He didn't notice that the two Wardens took advantage of this to exchange some words in private.

"Guh, my head feels like it's split in half," Carver let him know with a grumble.

"Well, you're still in one piece so stop complaining," the other one responded, though the relief in his tone was not properly concealed.

"Are you two going to be alright?" Duncan inquired as he walked close.

"Yes, we're not badly hurt," Gabriel confirmed, passing his brother's arm around his neck.

"Good, then I think this is where we should part ways. You should flee here immediately," the Senior Warden of Ferelden suggested.

The apostate raised an eyebrow in slight suspicion. "That's it? And what will you two be doing?"

"We still have some Grey Warden business to take care of here," he replied as he began to turn around. "Now I suggest you move quickly. I sense that more of those creatures are approaching and may soon cut off your path to escape."

Without saying anything else, the grizzled man strode back to where his other companion was waiting, though he was stopped by the human's last shout.

"Warden!"

He looked back.

"It was an honor to fight with you. Both of you," Gabriel said, his straight gaze making it clear he was being earnest in that declaration

Duncan couldn't restrain a smile. "I'll tell him you said that," was his answer before he resumed his stride and the other two finally fled.

Duncan caught back up to his recruit as he had finally gotten back to his feet, though his stance was shaky. "Can you move? I sense more darkspawn coming in quickly."

"How long until they get here?" the prince asked him, looking around for his shield, only to see it shattered some way to his right. Well, it was a shoddy shield anyway.

"Any minute now," he worriedly answered.

Finally shaking off most of the sharp pain in his legs and arms, the former Aeducan quickly reclaimed the bundle and his survival kit, after which he made into the direction of the main camp. His walk turned into a march, then a run, then a sprint as his legs picked up speed, Duncan having to put some serious effort into keeping up to him.

"You're saying King Cailan actually gave you that and said that it was imperative that the Wardens get their hands on it? That it might make it possible to get reinforcements from the Wardens of Orlais in the case of his death?" he commander finally voiced in incredulousness, his dash unabated. He still hadn't had enough time to wrap his mind around all of the unexpected things that Lord Aeducan had accomplished in the less than two days since he had arrived at Osagar.

"Yes!" the noble confirmed between gasps and the occasional balance issues that he now had to deal with. By the Paragons, his entire body ached, his feet most of all.

They kept running for a while in their sprint towards the King's camp, and it was only Duncan's awareness of the encroaching corruption that alerted him to the hurlock archer that came from the trees on their right.

"Watch out!" he cried out, just in time to cause his recruit to duck and narrowly avoid the flying arrow. The older warden then took out a dagger of his own and threw it straight at the fiend, felling it as it sank between its eyes.

"There it is!" the exile let out, pointing at the King's tent as it finally came into view.

Without another word, they sped up, finally reaching it.

"Go inside and do what you have to! Hurry!" the human commanded, looking around, his eyes focused on the shadows that he knew would soon make room for more of those creatures to pour forth.

Raonar figured he may as well do that, so he entered quickly, glancing about, trying to pinpoint where in that larger than usual tent the trunk he searched for was located. Soon enough, he spotted it at the foot of the bed (Cailan had an actual bed in his tent?) and he quickly approached it, knelt in front of it and took out the small package the king had given him prior to the battle.

A small leather parcel was what he took out from the pocket hidden beneath his chest plate, and he unraveled it, finally bringing out the key.

The large trunk swung open, but of **course** getting the items inside wasn't going to be that simple. The outer trunk was just a common chest. The real one, made of solid red steel to make it hard to just be bashed open, was on the inside and was sealed with a lock that required a code. The lid of the trunk was made of two 'doors', kept together by a circular lock made of three concentric rings that had to be turned and fit perfectly if the lock was to be undone.

Carefully, he inserted the intricate key into the indentation at the center of the mechanism, a click alerting him to the fact that the three rings, akin to dials, were now mobile and could be manipulated. All that was left was for him to properly insert the code and open that chest before he and Duncan were swarmed by darkspawn again.

No pressure there... Good thing Cailan had written it all down for him, as even he couldn't have learned it all in such a short time.

Turn the center dial clockwise three times. Then spin the outer one counter-clockwise for two and a half times. Center one again, counter-clockwise twice. Middle one, clockwise once, then counterclockwise two times and again half a motion in the opposite direction.

Click.

First click done. Two left.

Spin the outermost ring clockwise four times, then counterclockwise for half a turn. Middle dial clockwise once. Center one, same procedure, (why in the world did the sequence have to be so infuriatingly long?) then outer one again, four and a half times clockwise.

Click.

One left (humans really like number 3 it seems). First one clockwise-

An arrow promptly whisked past his ear and caused him to nearly jump out of his skin as it stopped with a clack in the supporting pole just inches away from his head. That was when he finally started hearing the sound of blades striking against each other just outside the tent itself, and Duncan shouting "Hurry up!" as he held them off on his own.

No pressure, no pressure...

Okay, so there** was** some pressure.

Center one counterclockwise twice, middle one three times. Outer one half-way clockwise. Now all that was left was to-

"Fireball!" the Warden Commander shouted as loud as he could, just before a loud blast, accompanied by a shockwave and a lot of heat, tore the entire tent apart and left the whole area in flames. The dwarf found himself thrown to the side, his right shoulder managing not to snap out of its joint only because the large shoulder guard absorbed most of the impact with the ground.

Dazed, he looked up from where he had been ploughed into the wet dirt, only to see more darkspawn than the two of them would have liked to have to face, especially tired and battered as they were. Somehow, Duncan had managed to avoid falling off his feet, and had taken out two more genlocks (five were already littering the scene). He had also somehow managed to get by without getting pierced by any arrows, but the hurlock emissary, standing near the edge of the terrace overlooking the abrupt side of the mountain, was calling upon some other magic.

Not bothering with panic or even anxiousness, the heavily-armored dwarven noble pushed himself to his feet again and ran back to the trunk. Duncan backed away from where he was, so as to cover for him, though things weren't looking good at all.

"What's taking you so long?" he demanded to know as his temper was at last slipping away in the wake of the four monsters that were menacingly drawing near.

No answer. No time for an answer. The prince was glad he had memorized the last part of the sequence, 'just in case', as the scrap of paper with the instructions on it had been turned to cinders by the magical flames.

What was left? Spin the middle one counterclockwise half-way, then the centermost one twice in the same direction. Then, twist the key.

The key twist with a triple clattering sound, and the two halves of the lid swung open on their own, allowing the exile more than enough room to reach inside. He hurriedly tucked the bundle of letters inside the pocked behind his chest piece. Then, he reached inside the trunk one more time.

Two genlock bodies collapsed to the floor as the Sword of King Maric the Savior sent their heads flying, the corrupted blood causing the runes etched on its surface to light up in an azure light and its magic to fill the area. The aura caused even those fiends to momentarily draw back as they felt the taint in their blood lose potency in the presence of that weapon.

He didn't give those things more time to recover than it took to throw the sword's scabbard on his back, over the bundle he was carrying. The young Grey Warden brandished his two blades, Maric's in his right hand and Gorim's in his left. He bent forward and flexed his knees, once again summoning energies from beyond the Veil and propelling himself forward with a magical burst from the soles of his feet. A second later, the red steel dwarven longsword had already gone through the emissary's stomach and out through its spine, enabling Maric's Blade to easily behead the hideous being and end its cries of agony.

A strong kick was all it took for the darkspawn's corpse to fall over the stony ledge.

That was when Raonar finally heard Duncan scream in pain for the first time, though the sound was partially covered by the noise made by a boulder as it mercilessly crushed into the marble column that stood next to where the royal tent had once been.

Dodging a flying rock by the slightest margin, the recent recruit ran over to where his superior officer had fallen, but the latter managed to struggle to his feet soon enough, though he was clutching at his side and bleeding quite profusely.

The situation was getting very serious. Simply put, they had been cornered. The only thing behind them was the terrace, darkspawn having encircled them from all other directions, hurlocks, genlocks, ogres, shrieks, all kinds of them.

Next to each other, the two Grey Wardens were slowly stepping back, the confounding power of Maric's Blade being the only reason why the fiends hadn't yet swarmed them or loosed their shots upon them.

Duncan's expression then turned incredibly dark. "Lord Aeducan, sheathe your weapons."

Just barely managing to shrug off his astonishment, the noble stared in regrettable understanding at how Duncan himself had returned his sword and dagger to their respective scabbards. "You can't possibly be considering..."

"Do it **now**," the human then commanded in a an incredibly decisive whisper, his harsh glare making it clear he would force him to do it if he didn't comply.

Reluctantly the prince returned Gorim's and Maric's blades to their sheathes. That was when Duncan suddenly turned on him and seized him with both arms, heaving him off the ground with a strong tug, only to make a run for it and jump off the precipice a few moments later, trailed by a rain of corrupted arrows that the hideous beings had finally deigned to unleash.

The astonishment made that fall seem endless, for the exiled noble at least, but the sensation was interrupted when Duncan somehow forced his body to spin in mid-air, only for his back to violently slam against the abrupt slope just a second later, the only goal being to shield his latest recruit from the strong impact. The hit, however, was strong enough that his entire being quacked in utmost pain and the hold on his recruit was broken. They both went into a roll, their backs, heads and limbs hitting the ground multiple times as they kept tumbling down. Then, at some point, the other warrior somehow hit his head against something particularly hard, causing the world to fade to black for the third time that day, even in spite of the protection provided by his finely-crafted dwarven helmet.

"-. .-"

Raonar felt it was a bit sad that he had come to be grateful for pain. He had come so close to death on so many occasions that feeling that absolute discomfort in his bones and sinews had become synonymous with the very best news that he was alive **and** not paralyzed. This was the main reason why he didn't start agonizing when his senses finally began to return to him.

His sight hadn't come back yet. His head was spinning for some reason and all he could make out was a blur. His sense of touch was far more useful, as it immediately told him that he was lying face-down on the ground, though there was a certain softness to it. The skin on his face also felt ticklish form time to time, finally making it clear that his motionless body was spread on a blanket of grass.

Then there was his sense of smell. Not much could be detected in the way of fragrances, but there seemed to be no trace of the stench associated with darkspawn, and Stone know that was always a very good sign. Granted, the fact that he had a nosebleed may have had a negative effect on his olfactory sense, but he was still pretty sure the stench of that corruption was not there.

Come to think of it, why was he so surprised at the fact that that stench wasn't present? It's not like he had just been subjected to it for any longer than... oh... wait.

With his memory rushing back into his awareness in a single instant, he pushed the ground away from him with both hands. There was a sudden gush of pain that eliminated even the meager blur his eyes could distinguish, but was still remotely bearable. After a while, the agony subsided and his sight began to come back, one patch of color at a time.

"Duncan!" he shouted as he forced himself to stand. "Duncan!" he shouted again, stumbling blindly for a few moments, his battered coat of plates rustling as he vainly tried to walk properly, until his vision finally became once again capable of distinguishing shapes.

A stump to the side. Some trees ahead. The very abrupt side of the mountain beyond them and, much farther up, the terrace Duncan had jumped off while carrying him (how on Thedas did he manage to just hoist him up like that? He weighed a ton even without that massive armor on!). The dwarf called out again, his eyes finally regaining their proper focus.

At long last recovering his ability to look around, he became disquieted at the lack of response, until the shape of a human finally came to his attention, some paces to the left. He ran to him, only to find him lying on the ground, face-down, in much the same position he had awakened in.

Kneeling beside him, he hesitated in touching him for a moment, but eventually gave in and rolled him on his back as gently as he could.

Bloody. That was one way to describe him. He had hit his head rather hard and had a streak of blood going down over his right eye and all the way down over his thick beard, though it had apparently begun to dry, which meant that the blow wasn't bleeding too seriously anymore. Blood also seemed to flow from the corner of his mouth.

Unwittingly, the stout recruit found himself rubbing his eyes, so stricken he was at seeing that man like that and disheartened at the fact that he seemed to be barely breathing.

"What's wrong...?" a whisper asked, almost startling the noble and causing him to look down at the human's strangely relaxed expression. "Surely you've... witnessed sights like this before..."

"We should go..." a grim, deep voice unnecessarily said..

The bearded man just shifted his head, looking up at the sky that was still covered in blighted clouds, though the rain had stopped. "You should get out of here... The darkspawn are still about..."

After staring at his superior for a time, the former prince got up and threw some glances around, spotting all of the pieces of equipment. Then, he just walked over to where they were all lying on the ground, gathering them up. He placed Maric's and Gorim's Swords, as well as Duncan's own blade and dagger inside the same bundle that held the Cousland Family heirlooms. After that, he returned to where Duncan was lying and began to do something the latter was not expecting.

"What are you doing...?" the human faintly asked in confusion as his recruit took a hold of his arms, placed them on top of each other and, after wrapping them in a patch of linen he had torn off from the bundle, began to tie them up by the forearms with part of the hem of rope he had secured earlier.

"I'm not leaving you here to be eaten by those things," he simply explained, his voice and facial expressions unexpectedly devoid of any duress.

"Don't be foolis-" the human tried to protest, only to choke out blood instead as his lungs seized up. The white-haired one helped shift his head to the side, so that he might expectorate the fluid more easily, though he knew the pain would not lessen in the slightest.

"Even your body is trying to stop you from saying stupid things," Raonar just as impassively pointed out as he finished tying the knots on the bind.

After that was over, the dwarf prince unenthusiastically pulled his commander up and strapped the aforementioned bundle to his back. "Sorry, but you'll have to carry this for me," he told him with a cheerless smile, to which the other looked back with a sort of unwilling resignation.

Turning away from his commander's dejected expression, the short but solid man passed the tied-up arms over his head, until they were wrapped around his neck. After that, he pulled himself to his feet and stooped, finally grabbing onto Duncan's legs as he hoisted him on his back. At that point, the man gave in and let his chin rest on the dwarf's left shoulder, though he said nothing until the other one managed to find a good position that would help him keep his balance as he walked.

"Okay so... seeing as how I can't really sense darkspawn yet, you'll have to tell me which way to go to get away from the horde."

No answer came for a moment, but the man eventually got around to pointing in the direction his companion had asked for.

"West it is then."

Deciding to shove all uncertainty and emotional distress aside, the exile summoned the power from beyond the Veil once again and, much to Duncan's awe, took off in a series of 3 to 5 meter-long leaps, each stomp of his armored boots impacting the ground with a bright magical outburst, propelling the two ever forward through the unchartered wilderness of the Korcari Wilds.

Looking at it, taking that route wasn't exactly the most desirable choice, but Ostagar was lost and there was really no other way for them to go without inevitably finding death at the hands of those things. Had they been able to reach the imperial highway, they might have managed to flee North. Unfortunately, that proved to not be a viable option when the fiends streamed forth from the bridge that led to the other side of Ostagar and, worrisomely, the Tower of Ishal.

This was one of the problems. That the darkspawn came from there meant that the Tower had likely fallen. The beacon had, of course, been lit, but nothing could guarantee that Alistair and Gwenith were still alive and hadn't ignited it as their final act.

The pain in his legs was really bad. On the other hand, Raonar was quite amazed at how far he had come in just a day after his joining and at this new power that he was learning to harness, though he knew it was actually the Spirit of Honor that was doing all those things he shouldn't normally be able to do. In hindsight, the dwarf noble realized that, until then, Honor hadn't actually been able to lend him any sort of support because he was almost entirely focused on keeping that taint sealed. And now that he had supposedly become immune to it, this symbiosis they had going was actually starting to pay off.

Too bad it hurt so badly. Was it really supposed to hurt like that? Or was he doing something wrong?

Raonar only managed to keep up the pulsing steps (that name actually sounded interesting) for about a minute before the pain in his legs became unbearable. With a last effort of his waning willpower, he forced his aching legs to switch to a regular walk, though the many stumps, roots and stones that littered those wilds hardly made that whole trek a walk in the park.

"That was amazing..." the human's voice weakly said to his ear.

"Yes, I suppose I'm really good at running away," the one now walking dryly replied, grimacing at how his feet felt as though they were walking on needles.

Duncan' smirk degenerated into yet another cough of blood, though that didn't diminish his smile. "I had heard tales of people like you... Who could do what you can do, but I had yet to meet one..."

_His voice is so faint. _"Tales..."

"Spirit Warriors they were called..." the man told him just as weakly. "People who could partially cross the barriers between this world... and the Fade... without being mages. People that had the... favor of the spirits and could do unusual things."

_So faint. _"That's such an unoriginal name," the former Aeducan pointed out, though he instantly regretted it as Duncan tried to laugh, only to suffer a gust of pain and cough up yet more blood.

Fortunately, his lungs calmed shortly after. "Original or not... they were known to be very powerful fighters."

Still trudging ahead through the wilds, the dwarf found that he wasn't really that special. "You do realize Alim could probably squash me like a cave gnat, yes?"

Somehow, the commander succeeded in laughing without choking on his own bodily fluids this time. "Unless you can get close," he answered.

As the two progressed through the woods, a silence fell between them, as though they either had no idea what to say or feared they would do more harm by speaking than by keeping silent. The stout fighter did his best to step lightly, as if he was attempting to place as little strain as possible on the one he was carrying. The splitting pain in his own legs did little to help him in that, however, and he found himself almost collapsing on multiple occasions, either by almost tripping on roots or slipping on twigs.

As time dragged on, the clouds dispersed, only to reveal a sky that was quickly darkening, stars having already begun to show here and there.

"Do you still sense the darkspawn?" he finally asked again.

After a pause, as though the man had been startled out of his sleep, the other one shook his head.

Finally, the dwarf reached the point where his feet were about to give in, so he resigned himself to again call upon the power of the Fade, if only to keep them going, regardless of the pain. The magic began to course through him again and let him press forward.

"Alright, we'll keep going like this for another mile or two, just in case," Raonar let him know, doing his best to stop his face from twisting under the growing ache.

"You are a very kind person, Lord Aeducan," Duncan let out, causing him to briefly stop in his tracks and give out an unexpected magical pulse. The other one only resumed his advance, however, so the man continued. "You didn't ask me if I can walk on my own... You didn't want to place me in that difficult position. You want to prevent me from feeling like even more of a burden..."

"You don't need to say it Duncan, and you're not a burden," the calm answer came.

"You already know... that I can no longer feel my legs, don't you..."

The exile said nothing for a moment, as if he didn't know how to phrase his line correctly, but eventually followed up with his own protest, though he endeavored to sound cool instead of on edge. "Stupid human. You should have let me hit the ground, my armor would have had a better chance at absorbing the impact. Having a soft spot for your recruits is all well and good but it should only take you so far."

"It does not matter really," his superior told him, resigned to his fate. "My days... were numbered either way..."

Turning his head towards him, the prince met his commander's look with his own eyes, forgetful of the fact that the magic was coming out of them like vapors. "What do you mean?"

"The taint inside us... We eventually succumb to it and start hearing the same... call that the darkspawn do, and we start... getting more serious nightmares..." He coughed some blood again. "That is when we know it is time for our Calling, time for us to go into the Deep Roads and... die a glorious death before we... turn into ghouls..."

"I see..." the carrier noted with furrowed eyebrows. "And how long does this usually take? To succumb to the taint?"

"About... thirty or so years..." the human informed him with a remorseful look on his face.

"You can't fool me, you know," the dwarf surprised him. "I can tell that's not the only reason you took the fall. It felt like you were trying to save me like it was the equivalent of making amends for something, something you did or failed to do in the past. Or is it that you feel like you're about to fail at something else?"

After a pause, the Warden Commander closed his eyes, memories likely coming out from where they had been buried. "You are... frighteningly perceptive..."

"Do you want to talk about it before you die?" the dispassionate question came.

A smile actually surfaced on the elder Warden's face just then. "You really do always know what to say... You even knew I'd prefer hearing you speak...bluntly, instead of... trying to avoid saying I was dying from slow internal bleeding... despite that we both know it... You really aren't going to leave me behind, regardless of how much I were to order you to, are you...?"

"Now you're catching on," the prince confirmed, awkwardly stepping over a fallen log. "And it's not like you can actually enforce those orders either, so I guess you're stuck with me."

"Stubborn, just like I was..."

"-. .-"

After about an hour and a half, the dwarf prince finally stopped for a rest at the base of an incredibly large tree that had apparently been hollowed out by the years. That place would serve as shelter, so he walked inside, ignoring the nightcrawlers that seemed to inhabit that place. He gently set the human down on the ground, removing the bundle of equipment and laying him on his back before he finally sat down on the ground beside him with a thump and the rustle of metal.

After they let themselves take a breather for about 10 minutes, the elder warden weakly gestured to the other to draw closer, to which he conceded by taking his helmet off, revealing that he had been bleeding from a concussion himself, though the blood on his hair had since dried up.

"Are you certain you... remember the instructions properly?" Duncan asked with a slight gasp, though he was gazing straight into his recruit's eyes.

"Yes," the other one confirmed, with a stoic expression that did well in lessening the man's emotional stress in his final hour.

"Good," he said, after which he carefully took a deep breath. "Now, I must tell you... how an Archdemon is slain..."

With his back turned at the entrance to that so-called cove, the noble leaned in close, so as to clearly register these last words.

For some reason, the Commander actually looked downcast, but he eventually begun, between increasingly heavy breaths. "I already said that the darkspawn taint is the... source of our power... It is because of it that we can sense the darkspawn... and we can use it to slay the Archdemon... The secret to defeating it is..."

As fate would have it, the words wouldn't manage to come out. The exile's entire attention was completely invested into listening to these last words. He didn't hear the sound of twigs and dirt being crushed underneath huffed footsteps. He didn't notice the shadow that the moonlight began to cast from behind him. He only noticed as his superior officer's eyes suddenly seized in fear as his gaze focused on something coming from outside.

With a last minute exertion, the human pushed himself up with his left arm and used his right one to shove the silver-eyed recruit away with all the might he could muster before the blight wolf lunged forward from behind. Narrowly missing the back of the dwarf's neck, the corrupted animal settled for sinking its overgrown fangs deep into the human's right shoulder, snarling madly as it did so, its slobber dripping all over.

Even Duncan could not restrain that cry of pain as the ghoulish wolf practically dragged him a few feet and caused his clavicle to snap, not pulling its teeth out of his flesh and bones until several moments later. Within a few seconds, the beast was standing on him and getting ready to bite at his throat. It lunged forward, but the Warden barely succeeded in bringing his left forearm between those teeth and his neck, somehow swallowing another cry of agony as the fangs managed to pierce the metal bracer and shred his muscles.

It would have taken just one more second for the beast to kill its prey, but it was suddenly grabbed by the skin on the back of its head. The metal grip forcefully pulled its head back, allowing Maric's Blade more than enough space to slip beneath its neck and sink through the windpipe, felling the tainted animal with a swift cut, after which the carcass was tossed aside, the creature no longer managing to produce even the slightest yelp.

"Dammit!" Raonar cursed in bitterness as he hurriedly knelt beside the dying Grey Warden and held his head up. Blood was flowing freely from his arm and shoulder and the internal damage had worsened drastically when the commander overexerted himself to push his underling out of the way.

"Dammit..." the dwarf again uttered in hopelessness, completely outraged at how utterly out of his element he really was if he didn't even notice that thing coming from behind. It seems that the Deep Roads were easier to deal with.

"The Archdemon..." the man's chest heaved in pain, blood coming out in a choke worse than any of the previous ones. Even his eyes had lost focus, as though he could no longer see properly because of the physical torment. "Only Grey Wardens... can kill the Archdemon..."

Raonar could see it clearly. Duncan was desperately trying to get his lungs to listen to him, failing as he only ended up making the damage worse, hopelessly trying to get his vision back. That was when he let his head lie on the ground and took his gauntlets off, throwing them aside with a clang.

After that, he took Duncan's face in both hands, the warmth of his palms meant to offer him some last semblance of reassurance now that his sight and hearing had been thrown off by the suffering. The man struggled in burning pain again, but somehow seemed to finally relax, if only slightly, when his recruit leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead, this final act meant to offer him some comfort as he faced is end.

"You task is done old friend," the dwarf noble told him with absolute tranquility. "Rest easy. I will take up your mantle."

At that, the human blindly stared in the direction where he thought those two bright eyes were, his left hand, the only limb he could still move, barely managing to lift itself and rest on the other one's shoulder. "Thank you..."

The hand didn't slump to the ground only because the remaining Grey Warden grabbed it as all life left it. He slowly let it rest on Duncan's chest, placing the other one on top of it, as was fitting of one who died with honor. But what was worse was that the exile actually felt relief at seeing that the Commander of the Grey had finally given his last breath, simply because he could even less bear seeing him suffer such mental, emotional and physical duress, in no small part because of him.

Finally, he gently wiped the blood off the man's face and pulled his eyelids shut, the last words meant to aid him in his journey to whatever place his spirit had departed towards.

"Join us, brothers and sisters.

Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant.

Join us as we carry the duty than cannot be forsworn.

And should you perish,

Know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten,

And that one day,

We shall join you.

And finally,

Should the shadows hold too strong a sway

And should duty not be sufficient to prevent you from going astray

Then the Stone and the Sky will guide your way.

Atrast nal tunsha,

May you always find your way in the dark."

* * *

_That review space is, of course, still waiting!_


	20. Post Ostagar Arc 2: The First Deal

**Chapter 19: ****The First Deal**

"-. .-"

Before he could comprehend where he was, the dwarf prince almost fell on his face when a very hard stick hit him over the top of the head with such a strong impact that it caused a flash of light and sent him staggering forward.

"Ach! Ouch!" he cried out as he started scrubbing his head, darting around when he finally regained his balance. "What the... oh..."

"Could you possibly be any more reckless?" his annoyed spiritual patron asked him, menacingly tapping the cane against his other palm as he leaned on one foot. He didn't look much different than usual. Still the same mass of resplendence that continuously shifted, breaking off into strands and tendrils, only to be reconstituted as a form with just as much sophistication, again and again.

Currently, he was shaped as a unusually tall, humanoid being whose features seemed to imply he was wearing a sort of cape, as well as a well-fitting vestment and a pair of boots that fit him rather well. Of course, there were no actual colors or shadows to speak of so it was impossible to tell for sure what he had shaped himself like. The radiance coming from where the eyes would usually be was, as always, a bit more intense than the rest of his silhouette, though a bit asymmetrical, as though he was giving his so-called guest **the look**.

Still scrubbing the top of his head, the exile carefully straightened up and awkwardly stared back with a half-hearted grin. "Umm... sorry?"

Instead of getting smacked over the head again, Raonar was surprised to see Honor cradling his non-existent headache and preventing himself from seeing the stark reality by bringing his hand to the forehead and sighing in exasperation. "It's a wonder you've survived this far."

"Look, a wonder or not, the fact is I **did** survive this far," the dwarf replied, half defensively and half jokingly.

"You **overdid** **it**!" the booming, echoing voice challenged, again smacking the prince over the head with a thwack of his white, shining cane. Apparently, that cane was extensible. Damned spirits and their Fade powers.

"Gah! " the smacked one let out, clutching at his head with both hands this time. _Note to self: Learn how to evade extensible weapons._ "I'm not sure if being immune to concussions while in spirit form is a blessing or a curse!" he dejectedly whined with just a slight flavor of irony.

The response was the tip of the spirit's cane pressing against his neck, giving the dwarf prince a hard time as he tried to keep his balance and stop himself from falling off the marble platform that hovered above the circular waterfall through that giant hole at the center of it. "This will probably just fuel your recklessness," Honor told him to his face, his reverberating voice not bothering to conceal his disapproval. "But now that all your limbs are out of commission, I suppose I have no other choice but to fix them for you, though it will probably take **hours**."

Throwing a worried glance at the abyss behind him, the short one decided it would be better if he just got things over with. "Is this going to hurt?"

The Fade dweller's eyes flashed momentarily, after which came the irked, eerie verbal riposte. "Pain didn't seem to stop you from forcing magic into your arms and legs and abusing your own body by building that man a pyre **before** you finally collapsed from exhaustion. Come to think of it, do you even **remember** when you collapsed?"

Frowning, the other one challenged his aggravation with some of his own. "Well, if you're so pissed about it, why did you let me use that power when you could have just as well not sent me any?"

Honor actually seemed a bit surprised for a moment, almost drawing back a step, though he still kept his cane pressed against the man's gullet. "You really don't realize it yet do you..."

A raised eyebrow was all the answer given before the tip of the cane gave the mortal a nudge, finally throwing him over the edge, the silence dragging on until he was gone in the blackness.

"I **didn't** actively intervene..."

"-. .-"

The first thing he did upon stirring was twitch his fingers, and what a mistake **that** was. The feeling it caused was a horrid pain in not just both of his arms, but especially his legs, and that splitting ache sent something of an electric shock through his whole body, causing his heart to start throbbing violently and send the blood rushing all the way up into his temples. For an almost endless moment, he heard nothing, saw nothing, smelled nothing and felt nothing but that physical torment.

Until, of course, the pain gradually subsided and he felt something warm, and wet, and sticky repeatedly brush against his entire face, covering it in an awkward goo. When that didn't elicit a response, he started to feel his face getting assaulted repeatedly by humid nudges, at which point he finally forced himself to open his eyes, until then shut because of the agony. The blur and yellow spots eventually consolidated into contours and actual colors, until all he could see was a nose. A huge, giant, slobbery, shiny, black nose.

Pain or no pain, the terrified dwarf bolted away with a scream, erratically pushing himself away, soliciting yet another recoil when his muscles again lit up in pure pain, having been left more or less slivered under his skin from the overexertion of the previous day.

"Gah! Stone... dammit..." was all he could choke between gasps as he squirmed on his back, until the jolt went away and his frame again slumped with a rustle of chain and plates, ending up spread across the ground in absolute motionlessness, until he remembered why he had tried to scramble away.

Warily, he turned his head in the direction he had tried to flee from, his weak vision finally taking in the sight of a completely black dog that was carefully walking up to him as he lay there helpless. The animal stepped lightly but slowly, with its head bowed low and almost whimpering, as though it was sad to have startled the ailing dwarf out of his sleep.

Though still aching all over, the exiled noble finally relaxed when he got the reassurance that it wasn't some blight wolf or other creature. Instead, it looked like the black mabari war hound he had helped heal back in Ostagar, prior to the day of the great battle.

His eyes finally getting a solid grip on themselves, the former prince smiled at the animal, at which point the latter seemed to gather more courage and came even closer, until its head was in reach of the white-haired one's arm. Pain an all, he slowly lift his hand, letting his fingers rest on its forehead. "Hey..."

Spurred by the relief and feeling of acceptance in that acknowledgment, the hound traipsed closer, until its snout was again quite near the ailing man's face. The mabari started to nudge at the white beard, but only ended up sneezing, at which point the bearded one laughed faintly and, ache or no ache, brought his left hand up and stroked the dog between the ears.

With a weak whine, the animal sat down on its forearms and let its head lie on the dwarf noble's chest, looking sideways in the direction of his eyes, relieved to see the approval and even slight gratitude they sent out. That was when Raonar finally noticed the deep bite marks on the dog's hind leg and that the blood had apparently already coagulated over them.

A glance outside of the giant hollowed out tree he was lying under was all it took to find out what had caused those injuries. Near the corpse of the blight wolf he had slain the previous night lay another one, apparently dead for a while as the blood coming out of its torn throat had already started to dry up. "Wow... How long have you been here?"

The dog didn't respond, so the dwarf noble just let himself rest for a bit longer, until the pain in his limbs finally waned enough for him to calm his mind completely, as he had learned to do during those long hours spent in contemplation over the past four years.

He eventually managed to gather his entire attention around the feeling in his right arm, just as Honor had instructed, at which point the breach in the Veil he was harboring seemed to condense and stabilize, until it became a fairly stable conduit that linked the two worlds together. At that point, the pain began to lessen even more when an extension of the spirit came through that conduit and merged with his ailing limb, soothing the ache and gradually regenerating the damaged muscle fiber. As before, rays of light started to come out through his skin, as was shown by the gaps in the armor he was still clad in, a side-effect that the dwarf noble was actually starting to like especially much.

It took about ten minutes of unbroken concentration for his arm to heal completely, during which the hound was content with just letting its chin rest on its new master's chest and sleep, having probably stayed awake for quite a while before the latter finally woke up.

Another ten minutes later, both his arms were good as new, at which point he started to wonder just how wise it had been to overexert himself and build Duncan a pyre in the middle of the night, forcing his limbs to move through the power of the Fade alone. Clearly his body was telling him it was a very stupid thing to do. Then again, had he not done it, wild animals would have even more easily picked up the scent of blood and attacked him while he slept, though Duncan **had** already bled out on the ground, so that may have been a moot point.

Healing his legs in the same way took a **lot** longer. About forty minutes for each, mostly because it was getting increasingly hard to keep focused. Still, eventually, he finished with them and was very, very glad to finally be able to move the way he was supposed to. Carefully sitting up, he took the hound's head in his hands, at which point the animal stirred and looked up at him with eager eyes.

"Hey girl... You took care of me while I slept didn't you?"

The mabari instantly licked him over the face, soliciting a gasp of surprise. "Ugh... You already cleaned me of blood, so chill... Sheesh." It was more of a candid demand, however, so the dog jumped him, throwing him on his back again and spreading its slobber over his face repeatedly while the other one couldn't stop himself from roaring with laughter.

At some point, they started to wrestle, rolling on the ground, over and over, but the dog won somehow, again throwing him on his back with a metallic rustle and cleaning up the last of the blood that he had on his white hair, the same that had bled out from the minor blow to the head he had suffered the previous day. After that, the hound was content with stepping off him and sitting next to him, its curious gaze locking on his face as he let his lungs indulge in a few more dozen seconds of laughter.

Finally, the dwarf sat up again, propping himself with a hand against the ground while the other one hung off his bent knee as he stared at the eager animal. "You're huge... Almost my size even on all fours."

The black hound gave an excited bark but did nothing else, so its new master reached out for his survival kit (whose fasten had come undone during the wrestling match) and pulled out some bandages. "Come here," he warmly ordered, to which the understanding four-legged canine obeyed quite eagerly.

Getting on his knees, the man began to wrap those bandages around the injured hind leg while the quadruped playfully nudged him on the head with its nose. When that was done, he pat the hound on her head a few times, after which he finally got to his feet and stretched as wide as he could.

But before he was to take off, there was still something left to do. He gazed down at his mabari war hound and saw that it too was waiting quite anxiously. "You'll need a name."

The dog just barked once in confirmation, after which it sat down as its master crouched in front of it. "Let's see... You watched over me while I slept and kept me out of trouble, much like my mother used to. So, is it fine if I call you Rinne?"

The canine barked a few times and started to jump around excitedly, making it more than clear that that name was to its liking. It was even shaking its tail, though it looked quite odd, considering how incredibly short it was (the tail that is).

"I **would** wonder about how you managed to escape Ostagar **and** track me down but, putting aside the fact that you can't really talk, I'm not entirely sure I want to know."

Rinne just whined curiously at him when he said that, but her eyes narrowed in apparent amusement when her master's stomach made what could very well have been the most awkward grumble ever heard in Thedas. And the only thing that exceeded it in suddenness was the dwarf prince spontaneously collapsing flat-face on the ground once again, sending twigs and month-old dried leaves flying all over.

Staring blankly, the exile could not help but feel confused as he let out a groan. That sort of weakness was not something that he was very well acquainted with. Through exercise, tactical rationing of his meals and a great deal of autosuggestion, he had actually reached a point where his body took a very long time to actually allow the sensation of hunger to surface. This was one of the reasons he had been able to survive the deep roads so effectively. And yet, now, he was utterly famished, as though he hadn't eaten in a week.

Weakly, he twisted his body, until it lay on the side, and took out a small piece of dried meat and some bread out of the pack he had so foresightedly prepared prior to the great battle. It took all his willpower to stop himself from eating all of the supplies he had, but he knew well how stupid it would be to starve to death in the middle of the wilderness because of one slip-up. That was all he could do, however, as he couldn't help but swallow what meager nourishment he did let himself eat almost without chewing it.

The food went through his esophagus with a sharp pain, pain which subsided only when said food entered his stomach, finally silencing its outraged protests. Then, his body agreed to move again and, with some mumbling, Raonar once again sat up, feeding a piece of meat to his new pet as well. That was when he remembered to take out Cailan's documents and scan the contents.

A few letters, some formal missives between him and Empress Celene of Orlais, one from Arl Eamon. Agreements to march in with Chevaliers and the Wardens and reinforce the position at Ostagar. And then, of course, there was that letter that just screamed "I plan to dump Anora and marry Celene." Clearly, Cailan had led a very sheltered life if he was so easily manipulated by that woman, the empress that is, regardless of the cunning she clearly had, as was evident from how she disguised her non-formal letter so as to not actually imply the thoughts of arranged marriage.

That rose the question: Did Loghain know about those missives? Now THAT answer would definitely prove interesting.

After placing the letters back inside his chest pocket, he gathered up all of his things and made for the exit from that so-called natural shelter.

The sun was high up in the sky when he finally came under its light, sporadic and irregular though it was, barely filtering through the leaves of the huge trees that competed in height on all sides. The shade had not yet allowed the earth to dry properly, but the pyre on which Duncan's body had been incinerated had burned down quite completely, though the remaining ashes and cinders were still smoldering slightly, some smoke still coming out of it.

Ignoring the corpses of the two blight wolves that still lay on the ground, the dwarf noble walked up to the site where the fire had consumed his old Commander's body and stood there for a while, just looking at it, though his eyes saw only the image of that man being engulfed by the flames. He remembered how, even in death, Duncan's expression did not twist in the slightest, even with flames eating through him, conveying the same mixture of dignity, dedication and regret, though the latter had tried to hide under a facade of duty and humor while he was still alive.

"I could not stay awake long enough to say some last words, but I will do so now." He let all of his equipment fall to the ground and took two more steps towards the remains of the pyre, before kneeling and closing his eyes, as was befitting of such a moment. "By all accounts I should probably be blaming myself for dragging you along into that mess with Cailan's chest. Perhaps I should have told you from the start what I feared would happen, even though it would have made you privy to what could be seen as treason."

"I should probably also regret not being able to open that chest before we got swarmed. Or maybe for not preventing you from breaking your back while saving me. Or perhaps I should just wallow in guilt at not being able to use my power properly, or not having enough of it to slay those ogres sooner and give us more time to get that chest **and** successfully flee afterwards."

"I would do this. I want to do this so badly. I so... so desperately want to do this, to blame myself, simply because it would be easier than to feel it was all inevitable. People seem to think that guilt is one of the strongest feelings one can suffer from, but I find that the feeling of helplessness, the feeling that there's really nothing I can do is much, much worse than that. I probably sound foolish, but there it is."

"I will not do it, however. I won't insult you by blaming myself for what happened to you. I won't insult you by using you as an excuse to indulge in feelings of self-pity. Your choices were your own. Mine were my own. This is the result. You are dead, I am alive, though for how much longer even I do not know."

"Stone knows I may not even survive the day. I have no real clue on how to survive in a surface wilderness, no more than anyone else at least. I don't know what kind of beasts I should expect, since I am quite certain there are other things besides just wolves and bears in these woods. Even surviving the night was just pure serendipity, though others might say it's an expected result of my intuitive choice to treat this mabari war hound back in Ostagar."

"How stupid that would be, wouldn't you say? To die like a rat in these forests, or to just starve to death after you gave your life for me. Granted, I shouldn't really be alive right now. I've come close to death on so many occasions and in so many ways that the prospect doesn't really phase me anymore. But I'd be lying if I said I was fearless. Well, come to think of it, I probably wouldn't really be lying, but I really, really don't want to die. I've created a couple of really complicated situations and I'd at least try to sort them out before I bite the dirt."

"You told me what you could about that incursion in the Deep Roads with Genevieve, and about that business with Maric and Fiona in the deep roads. Now you are dead, but I suppose I owe you a sort of disclosure of my own."

"My father spent his life favoring me, putting me above his other sons. He probably saw himself in me in some way, since he too was a second son of the king. He inherited the throne after my uncle, his older brother, died in an honor proving against a convicted murderer. I know of the hushed rumors that say he was the one that gave that criminal the poison to put on his blade, the poison that killed his brother."

"Bhelen no doubt knows too. He probably even used it as a justification for his petty ambition. He probably expects father to even approve of his ruthlessness now that he used the same sort of underhanded tactics. It may even happen. After all, father is, even in spite of his so-called 'honest love', a complete hypocrite. Even after foolishly favoring me all my life, thus creating the tensions between my brothers and I, he didn't even lift a finger to help when this whole kinslaying mess happened."

"I told him of what was going to happen, and he made it worse. I told him not to try and prevent me from at least trying to do something about it, and he still forced me to take a different task in order to keep me away from Trian, thinking I may actually be out for blood. He had Melec Medra infiltrate my troops, in case I actually did want to do something. I can't help but wonder, under what orders was Melec actually acting? If I actually did show claws, what had my father ordered him to do?"

"I vehemently defended my innocence when he showed up with Bhelen and the others and found me and those corpses, and yet he immediately believed him over me. I was stripped of all my possessions, left in rags and dragged through the city in chains, and he did nothing to shield me. In the end, all he cares about is that the throne stay in House Aeducan, even if it means sweeping not one, but two sons under the rug."

"Yes, my father is a hypocrite. Because even before all of this happened, he knew full well what Bhelen was up to and didn't even warn Trian about it. Me I can understand... a little. After all, I was aware of the road Bhelen had taken long before even father was. But Trian, well, why exactly did father let him stumble blindly, just waiting for that knife to sink in his back? I tried to see father as a victim, as someone whose soul had been partially bled dry by Orzammar's venom, until he just didn't have enough affection left in him for all of his family."

"But no, he doesn't have the luxury of that excuse. He did all those things and, frankly, I don't really think it's a stretch he actually may have caused his brother's death. After all, he was more than content with watching the three of us kill each other."

"I do not hate my father, of course. I don't really hold anything against him. Having daddy issues would be completely pathetic after all. I even care about him enough to send him a brutal letter in the hopes that it will numb him to the regret and prevent him from dying of it. I don't hate Bhelen either, though Stone knows some may say I should. But the fact remains that what he did is just a little bit more sophisticated than what Trian wanted to do at one point. Regardless, I stopped them both from becoming kinslayers and, for now, that is enough."

"I stopped it all. All of those assassination attempts against Trian, I stopped them all. All of the attempts to discredit me or even kill me, I stopped those as well. Bhelen's convoluted scheme to get both of us out of the picture, I stopped that too and turned it in my favor. And all along, I managed to do it partly because I had the help of one who my people themselves see as below even trash, even though he is far, far more than they ever were. And even though I have no idea what this whole thing will lead to, the fact remains that I succeeded."

"And for that success I was sent to my death. I was Orzammar's shield, and they discarded me like trash. They called me the Pride of Aeducan, a stupid title because Aeducan had no pride, and they turned on me the first chance they got. I brought my people joy by getting their children out of that Kal Hirol mission alive, and later I was turned into a public enemy. Certainly, I am the one that caused it all by getting myself exiled, but the fact remains that it was Orzammar itself and those scum that call themselves nobles that made such a thing necessary. And regardless of things, they turned on me far, far too easily."

"And yet, come to think of it, all these horrible things happened only **after** that deep roads incident. I wonder how things would have been if... No, 'what ifs' are a trap I won't get caught up in right now. And yet, there is one thing that's gnawing at me. For all the stupid things he said, and though he meant it in a different way, Trian was right. I really should have died in that deep roads excursion. The fact that I am alive right now is unnatural, and all these horrible situations that exist right now came to be only after that expedition. Well, except Bhelen's poisoning spree I suppose."

"Of course I'm glad I'm alive. But sometimes I feel like everything I do... just ends up making things worse. Everything I did, all I tried to do... it didn't really stop my little brother from resorting to fratricide. And double fratricide at that. Actually, not only him, but even Trian wanted to kill me. Ironic isn't it? Even though everyone practically worshipped me, the ones that mattered ended up wanting me dead. Everything I do... Everything I try to do... somehow ends up blowing up in my face."

"That is why I am not vain enough to think I can save Orzammar on my own, or that I am even fit to do it. But I still want to try to do something worthwhile."

"But I'm not making any sense, so I'll just skip ahead. I guess this is what I am getting at, Duncan, here, in front of what is left of your pyre, I suppose that what I want to do is apologize."

"Yes, I want to apologize. I told you I would pick up your mantle and take upon myself the task of defeating the Archdemon. And this is where I must say that I am sorry, because even though this goal is the equivalent of dedicating myself to the whole of Thedas, I am not a great enough man to give it my all for just that reason. I will fight on, do what I can, but my motivation remains my people... and what's left of my family. In the end, what I do is for them, not the world, because I really don't have anything else left, nor do I actually have enough strength left in me to care about all the nations in Thedas equally. If I were still the me of three of four years ago, I'm pretty sure I'd be brimming with altruism but... I'm just really... tired, Duncan."

"So this is what I ask your forgiveness for: Just being a Grey Warden will likely never be enough for me to give it my all. I don't think I'm capable of dedicating myself to slaying the Archdemon above all else just based on principle alone. Even though I do care about Thedas, my own people remain foremost in my mind. So In the end, if I do my best, it will be because of my attachments, not some magnanimous, unconditional love for the whole world."

"Yes, I am selfish. The only difference between me and other selfish people is that my object of attachment is a whole lot larger than theirs, the size of a nation as it were."

"Or maybe I am just rambling and making a complete fool of myself by talking to a pile of ashes. Yes, this is probably it. So... sorry for taking up your time. Go and... do whatever. Pass on, meet your family, go drink some heavenly ale, I don't know. I'll be proceeding to the task of trying to stay alive, or making sure I die with a significant amount of dramatic effect, to at least give the impression that your sacrifice meant something."

By the time had had finished speaking, the last cinders had died out and there was no longer any smoke coming out of the ashes. So he just got up, gathered all of the things he had brought along, placed the bundle on his back and, after a deep breath and a gulp of worry, set off through the unchartered wilderness with just his loyal hound trailing him.

"-. .-"

The mabari kept staring an whining softly at its master as he weakly dragged his feet forward through the wilderness. That the dwarf prince was exhausted was not the main problem. The problem also wasn't the fact that his veridium plate was creaking like mad and tarnished beyond recognition because of the swamp he had had to crawl through two days before. He had even exhausted whatever supplies he had brought along to maintain it serviceable. He also had a few bite marks, bruises and aching bones because of the pack of wolves he had run into the previous day.

Now he was practically wobbling on, fiddling with the end of the silver-colored scarf he had bought on the way to Ostagar and which was now tied around Rinne's neck. It was all he could do to distract himself from the fact he had been starving for about two days. He had gathered, some time ago, that this voracious appetite must have been a side-effect of the taint. Too bad he no longer had any sort of food. And just **why** hadn't he run into any wild game yet? Was he making too much noise?

One week and a half had passed since the day after Duncan's death. The first day passed with him making his way west, rationing what little food he had. The second day was much the same, though he had to shift to going west-northwest because he had come upon a particularly deep marsh and he wasn't exactly interested in going west until he reached the Frostback mountains either.

The third day was especially bad because it was the day of, as Cailan would say, a glorious rainfall as bad as the one during the battle of Ostagar. Day four was rainless, but still completely exhausting. Things didn't get any better on day five, or six, or seven, or eight for that matter. Setting aside the several, thankfully, small packs of hungry wolves, plus some giant spiders, he ran into (and which required a significant amount of muscle-unfriendly magic to deal with), there had hardly been any animals to speak of. Had they all fled?

The nights, at least, weren't too cold, but he definitely started to think it was odd that, even after distancing himself from Ostagar and going so deep into the wilds, he hadn't actually found any wild animals he could have been able to hunt. Then, of course, there was the ninth day when he realized it had been two to three days since he ran out of any sort of food.

Fortunately, he stumbled upon some sort of wild fruit, small and red in color and shaped like small diamonds. Rinne ate some, so he though he may as well try them out, finding them quite sweet but hardly enough to stave off his hunger. Still, anything was better than nothing, so he settled for what he could get.

Too bad it was not enough. That night, the tenth one, was among the hardest he had ever gone through, to the best of his knowledge. It rained again during the day and he didn't find any suitable shelter until after the worst was over, at which point the fact he finally came upon a depression with a natural ceiling of fallen trees over it was just a small consolation prize.

He found that all he could do was curl up against a stump, his neck barely able to support his head because of how utterly drained of strength he was. He had walked on for too long again. He had been overexerting himself every day, reluctant to stop and rest when he was supposed to and only doing it once it got too dark to press on. Other times, Rinne just bit on his gauntlet and refused to let him go on another step, whimpering and her eyes pleading that he take some time off.

He didn't like it, stopping to rest. It left his mind nothing to do but think about... things. The first two days, he was mostly preoccupied with staying alive. Then, after he got the hang of not dying, his mind started to think about all those things he had no way of getting updates on. He wondered if anyone else had survived the fight. He wondered if Faren and the others had gotten out of there alive. He wondered if he hadn't doomed them by asking them to take Cailan along. He wondered if Gwen and Alistair were alive and if splitting the treaties was going to make any difference.

But now, his mind was thinking about even more troubling matters, most of them caused by the very high possibility of him dying in any of the following days, either from starvation or from being too weak to stand up to more wild beasts. It wasn't that he feared the prospect, no. What he really was worried about was that he would never get to fix the mess back home if he did die, and that would make him the worst scum in the world.

Doing all those things, robbing his father of two sons, robbing Trian of his choice of how to live or die, taking away all of his freedom, forcing Harrowmont to get involved, making Gorim give up his life, doing all of these things and then dying without giving it all some meaning would be among the lowest kinds of betrayal.

Unwittingly, he found himself pressing both palms against his eyes as he sat there, propped with his back against the trunk of that moss-covered, dead tree. He had taken off his armor, even his boots, his body no longer being able to bear with the chafe, and was just wearing his normal clothing that had started to get ragged. He wondered just how bad a stench he had acquired after not bathing for so many days, and after crawling through that disgusting marsh. His nose had long lost the ability to tell him of the repugnance of his own smell.

His erratic musings were broken off when a soft nudge almost startled him, but his eyes only met the very concerned look that his hound had put on... again. Worriedly, she started to moan at him, tilting her head to the side, then the other, then the other again, as though she could tell what he was thinking about. And even with all of her incredibly dangerous-looking fangs, she somehow managed not to look menacing even in the slightest.

"Hmph... You look so worried about me, even though you must be starving too."

An approbative bark actually managed to bring a smile to the exile's face, so he outstretched his arms invitingly, letting his feet lay extended on the ground. Rinne immediately picked up on the invitation, of course, so she practically jumped in his lap, laying her head on his shoulder, her fur softly brushing against the side of his face as he hugged her tight. He was right in his first assessment, she really was huge.

That dog really had a rare gift, the gift of being capable of giving him an actual feeling of reassurance, of trustworthiness, to the point where he actually couldn't nor wouldn't stop himself from pulling her even closer. "I'm really glad you're here. We'll get through this somehow, and then I'll really get you a nice treat."

An excited bark again, though soft enough not to harm his eardrum, and everything faded to black at last, the last thought in his mind being the hope that he wouldn't just end up having another dream about the Archdemon.

"-. .-"

The next day, he woke up somewhat early because his stomach was throwing a fit again. Thankfully, he didn't have any nightmares, but that hadn't exactly done anything to remedy the fact that his odds of survival were zero if he didn't find some food fast. Getting up with a fair amount of dizziness, he put his armor and helmet back on, equipped Gorim's Sword and Gwen's Shield of Highever (she'll have to live with it if it got a few dents), threw the rest of the bundle on his back (it seemed to have gotten heavier, or he was really weak now) and strapped what was left of his survival kit to his leg. After that, he dragged himself out of that natural refuge he had been so lucky to find unoccupied and went on his way.

Redcliffe was supposed to be to the north-northwest, or so he judged by looking at the small map he had taken along. Regardless, he was pretty sure civilization was in that direction, or at least something remotely akin to it.

The weather conditions didn't exactly scream encouragement though, and he only knew which way to take because he remembered the direction he was headed the previous day. Simply put, he couldn't see anything father than a few meters in front of him because of a very thick blanket of mist that almost looked as though one could cut it with a knife. The air itself was very humid and even the sky was impossible to see through that fog. Indeed, not even the upper branches of the trees could be seen, and this made even discerning the time of day an impossible task.

Trying to shake off the increasing anxiousness, he just pressed on, doing his best not to stumble on every twig he came across, though he found it was becoming increasingly difficult to accomplish even that. Eventually, he found that the trees had become more sparse, and realized he had arrived in a clearing. That was when he finally heard some noise that was not the wind or his own metal boots, or Rinne's huffed footsteps.

He spotted a shadow, like that of a wolf in the mist, some way to his left, and he instinctively flexed his muscles, getting ready to draw his weapon should the beast attack. Strangely enough, it didn't, backing off with a low growl, until its silhouette could barely be seen. Then, within a split second, the shadow practically darted to the right, losing its shape in the process and disappearing behind a tree that immediately started to give out odd scratching sounds, like those that a critter would make while crawling up and down its trunk.

With a prompt wave, the dwarf noble signaled to his mabari to stop making any noises, so that he could better listen to what was happening. He thought he picked up the sound of a low, eerie humming from the tree ahead of him, just before the flapping of wings drew his attention towards the fog-shrouded shape of a bird flying from said tree to another one, some way to the right, only to again stop abruptly and be replaced by a snake's hiss.

The large constrictor slid down around the trunk of the huge oak, its tail even visible for a moment, but seemed to just disappear as well, leaving the entire area in a deep silence. That is, until a familiar voice finally broke said silence in its ever ironic tone. It seemed to be coming from the direction where the snake had disappeared to.

"Oh? And what have we here? Some poor man who lost his way while trampling through my back yard?"

Eyes narrowing, the dwarf prince looked ahead under his eyebrows as he recognized her. Good thing he had asked Kallian about the legends of the Witch of the Wilds. "Flemeth."

"Ah, so you even know my name now, do you?" the old woman's voice noticed from the same direction.

"Through no courtesy of your own, I might add. One would think someone would introduce him or herself when inviting others to visit."

A sudden, strange noise, like something cutting through the air, was heard practically going around the clearing, still not coming out of the shroud of mist. "Haha! You'll need that smart mouth for much more than dealing with me, young man." The words came from the opposite direction.

"No doubt," the white-bearded traveler said, crossing his arms and turning his head towards the new source of the witch's voice, his eyes overshadowed by his helmet. "Why are you here?" he continued, relaying only a clear feeling of suspicion.

"Hm. A question whose answer can be longer to voice than it would take for one to live out his entire life," she shrewdly replied, just before what sounded like magic signaled that she had once again somehow moved to some other place.

With a sigh, the former prince rephrased his question. "Alright then, let me put it this way. What exactly is the part of the purpose that led to your appearance in this particular place and in the exact moment when I just happened to pass by here and how does it have anything to do with me?"

The old woman's voice suddenly turned slightly indignant and she even shrugged. "You needn't be so irate. And truly, why would you so immediately assume you are any part of my reason to be here now? You speak as though you've never heard of a coincidence."

No longer bothering to use his eyes to pinpoint where the witch might be, Raonar shrugged his shoulders as he gave his reply. "Oh please, like it's just a coincidence that you showed up in this particular spot of the massive Korcari Wilds just as I happen to be very close to collapsing because of starvation. My special sense for the dramatic is practically going haywire right now."

Apparently no longer jumping from one place to another, the voice just started to come closer. "I would call that attitude self absorption but you seem to be remarkably unimpressed with the prospect of dying. I must say I find that most interesting."

The dwarf prince gazed in the direction of the utterance until the old woman's frame started to be seen through the thick fog. Eventually, she walked forth and revealed herself fully, looking remarkably identical to a completely harmless, if senile, old woman, just like she did back at the hut. Of course, this ability to look utterly harmless always screamed of a special talent for dissimulation, something he was acquainted with quite well.

"Well, I'm glad you find me interesting but you still didn't answer my question," he flatly reminded her, not bothering to match her smugness in the slightest.

"You'd think someone in your state would be more glad to stumble upon another in this wilderness," Flemeth deadpanned, eyebrows raised unequally.

"Well, you'll excuse me if I don't exactly hold back my wariness of an apparently old woman that doesn't seem to have any trouble living in these wilds, even when they get swarmed by darkspawn. And really, you got here at an awfully convenient time."

"Hn! Perhaps we should just drop all pretenses then. Since you are so obviously mistrustful, let us be frank, yes?"

"You know that there's nothing to stop either of us from lying," he pointed out, still in the same, flat voice.

"Then I suppose it falls to each of us to make whatever we wish of the other's words, no? As I said before, believe what you will," she deadpanned again.

"Fine."

"Then I will start," the old woman began, grinning. "I came to offer you the assistance you so desperately seem to require."

"Oh, you don't say... And in return...?" The dwarf had a look of absolute boredom on his face, though his growing annoyance at his grumbling stomach may have contributed.

Flemeth actually looked on the verge of pouting. "Well, you definitely are a ray of sunshine today aren't you? What makes you immediately think I want anything in return, or that you even have what I may seek?"

"Am I wrong then?" he pressed, just as bluntly.

"Ah, now **there** is the question!" the witch of the wilds let out, apparently intrigued. "Being right or being wrong, these two prospects are so utterly dependent on one's point of view that regardless of what one answers it can be interpreted as both a lie and the truth at the same time."

A deep sigh put an end to that exchange. "What do you want, Flemeth? Or did you come here for a debate on word semantics?"

"I already told you what I came here to offer you, did I not?" she gruffly responded.

"That's not what I asked," the dwarf challenged, eliciting a sideway glance on Flemeth's part. "I asked you what you **wanted**, not what you came here to do."

"Hmm, so you can quite clearly see the distinction between the two, or perhaps you imagine one where there shouldn't be," she said, almost intrigued, though it may have just been a false impression. "Indeed, a favor should always be accompanied by a counter-favor, lest the balance of things suffer too severely, do you not agree?" she finally admitted.

"Balance... Now there's an interesting concept," the retort immediately came. "And just what balance are you so concerned about?"

"The same one that this Blight threatens of course," she flatly replied. "Must you always look between the lines for what isn't there? Why are you being so brusque? I do not remember doing anything to solicit such an aggressive attitude on your part."

The exile stared at her for while, with a look on his face that seemed to suggest he was trying to figure something out. "Maybe I'll get back to his later. For now, tell me what you expect in return for this... assistance you are so tactfully offering."

"It is simple, truly," she began, quite fixedly. "You will have to make a promise to me."

"And what promise would that be?" the dwarf warily pried.

"Ah, but it does not work that way, you see," Flemeth immediately turned it. "I am not ready to tell you until you accept my terms. Suffice to say, it won't interfere with any of your goals and, truthfully, you may even end up thanking me for it later on."

"So... you want me to promise you I'll do this... favor for you, but you won't tell me what that favor is until I accept to do it?" The tone of that question was utterly dumbfounded.

"Surely it would not be the first time you accept to such terms?" the old woman guessed. "I can see from the way you speak that you must have dealt with many such situations."

"Actually, it **would** be the first time I accepted such terms," the other one revealed with a pout. "If this 'promise' you seek wasn't morally ambiguous, you wouldn't bother trying to keep it from me."

"Hm, as if morality was anything more than the expression of each person's personal bias!" the Witch scoffed. "I'm afraid this talk is all moot, however" the old woman finally said, seemingly changing her tone to one more direct. "I have given you my terms. Now you must decide which risk is greater. To refuse my offer and continue to take your chances through these wilds alone, likely dying without accomplishing anything worthwhile and making all that has happened lose its meaning, or to accept my offer, knowing that what I will ask of you won't actually conflict with your goals."

"I don't really **know** it won't conflict with my goals if I don't know what it is, do I? And just what do you know of my goals anyway? Aren't you being a bit too presumptuous?"

"Do not speak to me as if I am a senile old crone, young lad," the woman cautioned. "One of these days, your attitude will get you in trouble."

"Oh, I'm already in trouble, wasn't that the point of this entire discussion?" Raonar deadpanned.

"See, now you seem to understand," the woman noted.

Looking to the side for a few moments, the dwarf prince appeared to be considering something. Then, he turned his gaze back towards her. "So, you're saying you know these Wilds well?"

"You finally deigned to ask that, did you? It makes sense, does it not? That one would know how to navigate one's own home."

"If you're the Witch of the Wilds you must be really old and powerful," the armored man hypothesized, shifting his weight.

"Age and power are relative. Compared to you? Yes, on both counts," she cleanly confirmed.

"So why do you need me then? Why do you need to squeeze this promise from me?"

"Ah, now that would be telling!" she humorously let out. "Clever clever, trying to trick me into revealing some details before the deal is sealed."

"Well, you do have me at a disadvantage, apparently being so well informed of my goals. You can't really blame me for trying to find out more about yours, not when I'm sure you have some unorthodox means of ensuring I keep my end of the bargain."

"I'll save you some time and tell you now that you won't get anything out of me before you agree to my offer," Flemeth directly assured him.

"Well, I'll save you some time too then, and tell you... no thanks."

Flemeth either looked or tried to look baffled. "Just like that? No more verbal duels? No more accusations? No insinuations? No wordplay?"

"I'm afraid I'll kindly have to refuse your offer," he enforced with a suggestive wave of both hands and a candid expression on his face.

"I see... So your own survival is not enough of a motivation to take this risk you seem to see my offer as?"

"I will **never** allow a situation of my own making to be used as a means to blackmail me," the man promptly declared with a small flourish of both arms. "If I can't deal with the consequences of my actions, it's my own fault and I have no problems with assuming responsibility for it, even if it does kill me. How can I expect to accomplish anything if I falter at every bump in the road?"

There was a short pause before Flemeth finally continued. "Blackmail? You make me sound like an evil, manipulative hag," the woman almost complained. "I see. I suppose even that stubbornness is admirable in its own way. But let me add this: What if I told you I could also give you some information on your comrades?"

His heart skipped a beat. The nerve, that woman really was good at what she was doing. She easily spotted his greatest reason for worry, even greater than his hunger and impending doom, and was using that yearning for any sort of clarity as a leverage. But the problem was that Raonar actually did really want to know what had happened, if only to know what to do next. It wasn't just worry that was gnawing at him, no. The problem was that if everyone else was dead, that left him as the only surviving Grey Warden in Ferelden and, thus, the only one capable of slaying the Archdemon before things escalated.

Flemeth no doubt knew too, otherwise she wouldn't have bothered. But there was another side to her words. She said "your comrades," which meant that she was either referring to Gwen and Alistair or Faren's group, or both. Just what did she actually know? What exactly had she been keeping an eye on? And since when?

That was when things clicked and he finally realized what may have truly happened after Alim summoned the thunderstorm. An idea came to him on how she could know about his goals, though it was a stretch. Heh, that will teach him to speak his thoughts out loud again, even if it is to a burnt pyre.

He couldn't tell how much time passed before his attention was finally snapped back into him by Rinne's concerned whimper.

That was when he finally met Flemeth's gaze again. "You play a strong hand, witch..."

"Oh? Do you accept my terms then?"

The other one had to take a very deep breath before answering. "No."

"... I admit I did not expect you to so easily say that the second time. My my, this is a new tune," the old woman stated, finally crossing her arms herself.

"I would not insult them by letting you use them as a means to assert control," was the noble's calm reply. "They are strong, some even more so than me. If I managed to survive this far with just the aid of this hound, I'm quite certain they will have had even less trouble."

Rinne barked in approval at those words, bringing a smile to her master's weary face.

"So you really are going to risk such an anticlimactic death just for the sake of principle?" the old woman asked in disbelief.

"Actually, now that you mention it, this opens up a whole new possibility!" Raonar had suddenly become amused and was stroking his beard as he leaned on one foot. "If you came to me now, maybe it's because there was a high chance of me stumbling upon a deer or something not too far ahead and that would have completely removed the 'me dying of starvation' factor from this whole deal, wouldn't it?"

"Now you're just making wild assumptions," the annoyed old human woman griped.

"Well, it would definitely be dramatic enough for me to find some wild game after selling out my freedom and wind up wallowing in self-doubt after I agreed to your deal, wouldn't it?"

"You are a very strange dwarf. You're saying you're refusing my generous offer because of your flare for the dramatic?"

The short one grinned shrewdly at her before answering. "This **can't** be the most awkward thing you've ever heard... Haven't you been around for centuries?"

"My age clearly doesn't seem to act its part as premise for you to assume I may hold any sort of higher wisdom, seeing how you clearly will not consent to see reason, so I won't bother to answer that."

"Come on, Flemeth, you just tried to blackmail me. Twice," the exiled noble pointed out.

"That it was blackmail is purely your own single-minded opinion," the witch said, quite put off.

"Ah, so you were just trying to be nice while also protecting your own interests? Or that so-called 'balance' you spoke of earlier?"

"At this point, it makes no difference what you believe," the Witch finally said. "It is clear you have no interest in my help so I will simply take my leave. Good luck."

At that point, Flemeth turned to leave, quite detachedly, but before she could disappear into the thick mist again, the dwarf noble called out to her.

"You never answered my question you know."

She turned her head around. "Oh? Which of the many questions are you referring to?"

"I asked you what you wanted," he clarified, with a straight face that somehow conveyed a sort of feeling of authority.

Flemeth shrugged again. "That question has a much more elaborate answer that I'd care to spend time explaining."

"That sounds like such an excuse," the stout man challenged from under a frown of his bushy, white eyebrows. "I'm pretty sure you could use a single word to answer if you really wanted to. I might even be able to guess."

"Truly? And what does your mind say an old woman like me, from the middle of the forests, would want most?"

Raonar took a straight stance and gazed directly into her eyes with utmost conviction, before uttering a sentence that actually succeeded in taking her by surprise, or so it seemed. "Change, I suspect."

"..."

Seeing the effect of his guess, he continued, even more eager than before, his eyes narrowed in mischievousness. "It must be really boring, to just sit by and watch for centuries as the world just does the same thing over and over again. And yes, the fact that you claim to know these huge Wilds like your back yard is the main reason I assume you to be so old. Well, that and the fact that you seem to exist in ancient legends, like the one about Cormac of whom even my people have heard."

"Legends are often just that: legends. And don't you think you're making this entire situation sound fair bit larger than it is?" the witch asked with a smirk. "I'm flattered that you'd think my interests are so grand, but perhaps starvation really is playing tricks on your mind."

"Maybe, but I'm pretty sure I wasn't hungry during the battle of Ostagar." His tone was just as sure as before.

"And what does that mean?" Flemeth decided to just ask with an air of boredom.

"You're the one who meddled with Alim's last spell, weren't you?" he slammed, making it impossible for her to restrain her astonishment for a moment. "I could feel it you know. Each time something interfered and practically told the lightning where to strike. After all, I'm technically not that far from being considered something of an abomination myself. I didn't know what to make of that sensation, but we dwarves always have been able to feel the magic given off by lyrium, and mages too, sometimes. I may have lost my magic resistance, but my senses have spiked since then."

"You definitely have a talent for making outrageous assumptions," the Witch said, deflecting the question.

The other one just went on, however. "But there's one thing that's really interesting. One lighting almost struck Duncan down, while another one saved the hides of that apostate and his brother."

"Your point? You're actually saying I can control lightning? Again, I am flattered, but you must agree what you are saying is more than a little unlikely," the Witch of the Wilds again chimed.

"You know, I would have been much more open to your deal if you had shown up and offered to heal Duncan. So, that balance you spoke of earlier. Did keeping it from 'suffering too severely' depend on Duncan not surviving?"

"Be careful who you spout accusations at, young man," the old woman warned him. "Just because I don't bother challenging your unreasonable presumptions doesn't mean they are true."

"But you know, that's what's bothering me," he just continued. "You seem to meddle, but only indirectly. What exactly is your deal?"

"I think it will be interesting to just let your curious little mind torment itself with all these wild and utterly proof-less ideas," Flemeth joked.

"It's like you're keeping tabs on things, but would still like to influence the outcome in a certain way. And yet, you never seem to make any major direct intervention."

"You do realize you are rambling senselessly right now, do you not?"

At that, the dwarf frowned even more deeply and suddenly cloaked himself in energies from the Fade, his body starting to give out rays of white light even though his armor. Mustering his remaining willpower, he prevented himself from grimacing because of the subtle pain that began to awoke in his muscles.

Meanwhile, Flemeth seemed to have changed her stance into one with less openings and was studying him most cautiously. Then, the one cloaked in light resumed his outrageous ramblings, his eyes once again almost ablaze. "Basically, you're a bit too... Restrained for a someone that likes control. Is it just because you're some sort of trickster just for mischief's sake, like that Fen'Harel elven god? Or is it something else? And you seem to have turned these Wilds into some sort of refuge that, for some reason, you aren't known to leave very often. Why is it that, even with all your power, you confine yourself to the Korcari Wilds?"

Flemeth said nothing, instead deciding to just curiously, but darkly, study the sight before her.

"Who exactly is keeping tabs on **you**, Flemeth?"

That was when a long and deep silence fell between both of them, a silence that even the mabari war hound seemed reluctant to break. That silence dragged on until even the mist seemed to lift, at which point Flemeth again assumed her usual, lighthearted but pointed attitude, though her gaze seemed unwilling to relax.

"I will be looking forward to seeing just what you end up doing when you finally get out of this mess," was all she uttered, a candid grin covering her entire face as she finally turned away and faded into the fog before disappearing along with it.

And once she was finally gone, the only thing that Raonar could worriedly say to that was what he saw as the absolute obvious. "**If** I don't die in the meantime of course..."

* * *

_The review space is, as always, right there and waiting!_


	21. Post Ostagar Arc 3: The Second Deal

**Chapter 20: The Second Deal**

"-. Between what one desires and what one truly wants .-"

"And thus, my legendary flare for the dramatic strikes again!" Raonar declared in utmost delight as he let himself fall on his back away from the fire, patting his full stomach in absolute satisfaction. "Granted, it was about a day late, but still..."

For once, Rinne wasn't paying attention. She was too busy chewing on the femur of that deer. The Prince couldn't help but think that dog of his was odd. She had a whole chunk of fried meat just waiting to be devoured right next to her, yet she was somehow more interested in gnawing at that bone. Maybe she needed the calcium?

Thinking back, the dwarf noble realized just what a close call that whole deal had been. After Flemeth left, things didn't exactly start to look up. He found just a few wild berries to fool his stomach with, but nothing else. The night also wasn't the best in the world because he had another telepathic clash with the Archdemon. For some reason or another, It seemed a bit pissed, that draconic thing.

Then, the next day, about an hour after setting off towards the north-northwest again, Rinne stopped and started fidgeting and whining softly, as though she was trying to say something. After a while, he finally deigned to ask her if she smelled something, at which point she barked in confirmation. That was when actual hope bloomed in the exile's weakened body for the first time in days. So he took off his noisy armor and took advantage of the natural dwarven sturdiness of his skin to go hunting barefoot.

The mabari sniffed out the animal easily enough and, when they finally managed to sneak up on it, the dwarf noble succeeded in bringing it down with a throw of one of the two daggers he always carried. After that, he took the animal back over to where he had left his equipment, started a fire (those flint stones finally saw some use) and eagerly made a nice steak out of his prey.

The only problem with that whole deal was that he actually had to wait before the meat was cooked and that he had to force himself not to eat too quickly. After all, his stomach had shrunk and weakened after starvation and he would have probably ended up emptying its contents immediately after finishing his meal if he just stuffed his face.

But eating felt good... really good. Blasted Grey Warden voracious appetite!

After the task of eating was done, he packed what was left inside his pack, hoping it would last without spoiling overmuch before he managed to hunt something else, or get back to civilization. After that, he put on his increasingly worn-out armor again, equipped Gorim's Sword and Gwen's Shield once more, bundled everything else and threw it on his back, after which he went on his way.

A few dead wolves and another nightmarish night later, the day finally came when he would at last near the end of the Korcari Wilds. He had managed to go around a very large marshland, a few lakes and even crossed a few streams and rapids over the past week, though he had to look for places where the water was shallow or for fallen trees to act as bridges. Thankfully, he would not have to go through any of that for much longer.

Progressing through the wood, the exile had to climb over the fallen frame of a fairly large pine, only for his eyes to lock onto what looked like a cross-breed between a donkey and a horse. Now **that** definitely did not have any sort of business there. Coming closer, he realized that it was, in fact, a mule, one that actually had a harness, instantly signaling that it belonged to someone.

The animal seemed docile enough so Raonar told Rinne to stay behind, to avoid scaring the poor animal. Sure enough, it did not run off, even letting the new arrival take a hold of the so-called 'harness'. Definitely, that beast of burden belonged to someone, someone that was probably not too far off.

Calling out to his hound, the dwarf gestured to it to approach. "Rinne, can you track where this mule came from?"

Sniffing around somewhat, the mabari eventually seemed to lock onto a trail, at which point it turned back to face its master, barking a few times to let him know.

"Well, lead the way then," he asked with a smile, to which the loyal animal barked excitedly again and made West, followed closely by the noble and the mule, until at long, long, long last, an actual road was spotted up ahead.

The relief that passed through every possible inch of the dwarf prince's being just then was almost as deep as the one he experienced when he read Gorim's farewell letter back in the Deep Roads, enough, in fact, that he just let himself sit down with a rustle and indulge in the mental relaxation. After he had enough of that ease of mind, he asked his hound to track down the owner of those two animals if she could.

Somehow, it only took a half hour of walking south down that path in order to come upon a human that dejectedly whined to himself as he sat down in what looked like a small campsite. There was a cart to the side, a tent, some rolled up bolts of cloth or bedrolls lying next to it, having apparently fallen out of the cart at some point. Noticing the dwarf and his mabari approaching, the man promptly bolted to his feet, positively delighted to see his animal returned.

"My mule! Oh thank the Maker, you must truly be his agent!" The exclamation sounded earnest, but kind of silly at the same time. Then, he unfortunately noticed the tarnished and overall busted look of the dwarf's armor. "Though I must say you look like you've been dragged through all kinds of hell, friend."

The newcomer was a fair bit more reserved, however. "Yo... I guess..."

"How did you find it?" he excitedly asked as he practically almost started to jump for joy around his mule.

"How did you manage to lose it? It seems docile enough," was the response.

"Oh, blasted thing just got scared al of a sudden and ran off. I swear I'll have to find a helper once I reach Redcliffe since I couldn't find one in Honnleath."

Redcliffe... now **that** could definitely work as a destination, especially if he could get to travel along with this human. "You're going to Redcliffe then?"

The traveler's voice immediately turned annoyed. "Aye, I have to, what with all the trouble in the village to the south."

"Trouble?" the exile echoed with a raised eyebrow. "What do you mean trouble? Don't tell me the Darkspawn have already spread so far West of Ostagar."

"Now see, you guessed it just right," came the confirmation. "I actually barely managed to flee Honnleath before those things started to destroy everything."

This was definitely not a pleasant thing to hear. If a village so far removed from Ostagar had already come under Darkspawn attack, it raised a lot of questions. Just how many of those things were already on the surface? And if they attacked Honnleath, were they even part of the Horde that attacked the king's army those two weeks ago?

"Wait, what about the other villagers? Did they get to evacuate?" the short warrior concernedly pried, even as Rinne whined in concern.

"Dunno..." he said, awkwardly scratching his head. "Some may have lived, barred themselves in their homes, I wouldn't know."

"Hmp... so you just fled with your pretty cart, is that it?"

"Hey look, I'm just a merchant! It's not like I could've done anything! I even tried to activate that golem, thinking it could do something about those beasts, but the control rod doesn't even seem to work!"

Now **that** was definitely something interesting to hear so far away from Orzammar. "A golem? What do you mean a golem? My people lost them a long time ago and you're saying there's one in this village?"

"Aye, though it may as well just be a statue 'cause it didn't even budge when I tried to use the control rod on it! I swear I must've been scammed by the previous owner."

The dwarf crossed his arms in annoyance. "You make yourself sound like such a victim, even though you're not one of the villagers that may still be alive and trapped there."

"Well, I don't see you doing anything so don't lecture me!" he irately snapped, only for Rinne to menacingly growl and advance on him, immediately causing his demeanor to turn cowardly. "Stay away you!"

"You really shouldn't piss off a pure blood mabari, especially an utterly black one," Raonar teased. "After all, they have minds of their own and may not always listen to their so-called masters' commands if you insult the latter."

"Alright alright!" the human said in panic, at which point the hound finally calmed down and looked at him sideways before returning to her master's side.

"I suppose I'll have to go to this village myself then, if only to see if there's anyone alive and if the Darkspawn infestation has already reached all this way or if they're just a group of stragglers. And I'll be taking your control rod as well, if you don't mind."

"Just like that?" the human asked in utter disbelief.

"Well, I **did** just return your mule, so you owe me one, yes? And you did just say it was useless anyway, the rod I mean."

With a pout, the outraged merchant reluctantly conceded upon Rinne's menacing glare. "Fine! Blasted thing's brought me nothing but bad luck anyway!"

"Sorry, I would be all amiable and cute and adorable, but I've been barely surviving in the Korcari Wilds for two weeks now and I'm a bit mentally and physically exhausted," the short man explained with a straight face as he accepted the rod. "I really was dragged through all kinds of hell."

"The wilds?" The human's demeanor immediately turned positively astounded. "But... the only thing I ever heard about people that go into the Wilds is how they never come back because they get bewitched by the Witches."

"Well, I guess I escaped, though you can see what **that** cost me," he gestured to his utterly deteriorated veridium mail. "I don't suppose you have something I can use to get this thing back into shape? Or at least some wax?"

"Afraid not, friend," the merchant predictably replied. "But hats off to you for being able to live through it. Maybe you'll even be able to do something about Honnleath, now that I think about it."

"Well, I'd be a poor Grey Warden if I didn't at least go see what this is all about."

"You... you're a Warden?" The stranger was positively stumped.

"You say it like it should be impossible..." the dwarf noticed, somewhat peeved.

"Forgive me ser, I just... didn't know dwarves could be Grey Wardens," the man explained, somewhat defensively.

"Right, like all we can do is be greedy merchants..." he pouted. "So how far is this Honnleath?"

"About a day's walk south," he answered.

Since the day was already half-way through, that meant he would have to stop for the night somewhere and only reach the settlement around noon next day. "Oh yeah, and the command word?"

"Dulef gar, but as I said, it didn't work when I tried it," the human replied with a shrug.

"Anyway, I'll be going now," the former noble let out as he moved on and waved at the human with his back tuned as he walked away. "You have fun fleeing I guess."

"-. .-"

Seven darkspawn. Two some way to the right, a distance of about 15 meters. One nearer, about 10 meters. Then, to the side, two more. Another closer, but the feeling was odd, as though the fiend was moving around from one place to another. And, finally, in the middle, the seventh, probably an emissary if the tingle behind the dwarf's eyes was anything to go by. Hmm... now that definitely wasn't the Warden sense. Being a half-way abomination definitely had its perks.

So this is what the Grey Warden sense worked like, something along the lines of a special radar for those things. Definitely useful, especially since it automatically caused one's attention to peak instantly, something critical considering that those monsters could actually burst out from underneath the ground. A very useful ability to have when camping as well, considering that it automatically caused one to wake up upon detecting a threat.

Rinne was a bit nervous, which was understandable considering that those things were clustered together. Fortunately, they didn't seem to move around enough to suggest they had detected his presence, so he still had the critical element of surprise. The exile had managed to approach fairly slowly and avoided detection even with the rustle of his veridium coat of plates. He was now hidden behind an abandoned house at the edge of Honnleath.

Nevertheless, this was going to require special methods, so he left his bundle of equipment aside, to be retrieved later, and slowly drew Maric's Blade out of its scabbard. The runes carved on the surface of the sword immediately lit up in their azure light and even started to give out a strange sound, as though it was seething in revulsion at the taint. The Shield of Highever was well fastened to his other arm, but this was not yet the time for melee. Letting Maric's Blade lean against the wall of that house for a moment, he took out one of his daggers and carefully neared the corner of the building.

Using his Warden Sense to pinpoint the relative location of the nearest creature, he momentarily broke cover and hurled the weapon at it. The knife struck it through the back, but it was not a lethal wound, so the hurlock started to scream in pain and immediately charged, alerting the others as well.

Just as quickly, the exile again took cover, grabbed the sword by the hilt and, with a burst magic from his feet, propelled himself upwards, jumping on the roof of said house. Driven by adrenaline, he managed to run to the other edge of the roof in just a few steps while the hurlock failed to think of looking up, thinking that the threat was still behind the house. Granted, the hound was still there, so that assumption was not entirely wrong.

With a second magical pulse, he jumped again, descending upon a different enemy, the hurlock archer on the street, driving the sword through its chest, the fiend having failed to see him because the sun was behind him. He finished that maneuver with a roll that continued into a spin, combined with a low blow that slashed the legs of a genlock rogue before it could even react, following with a quick decapitation. The element of surprise could only go so far, however, so he had to shift his body in such a way as to have the horizontal sword slash of the third monster clash with his shoulder guard instead of hacking his head off.

The darkspawn sword bounced back with some sparks, and the next strike was parried by the prince's blade itself, leaving enough room for a clean shield bash to the face. The monster was thrown to its back, only to have its chest crushed by the Grey Warden's heavy boot as he mercilessly stomped on it. Another magical pulse left his foot that second, destroying the darkspawn's insides and propelling the warrior forward at the same time.

The goal was to reach the emissary before it had a chance to cast spells at him, but he didn't exactly manage it. As he used that power to jump ahead, he had to meet the magical flames from the creature's staff head-on. The feeling of fire on his face was a distinctly unpleasant one, but he managed to keep his wits enough to cut off its right arm from the shoulder. A lucky shot chopped off its other arm from the elbow, sending the beast into a fit of agony.

A knife almost sunk into his back just then, but the armor stopped it, mostly. It still managed to go all the way through the muscles between his ribs, but not enough to deal any serious damage. Side-stepping, the dwarf darted around, missing with his clean shield hit by a very narrow margin because he almost lost his balance. Barely, he succeeded in tilting his body to the left, meeting the genlock's second stab with his chest plate, deflecting it with a clank and countering with a double circular sword motion that knocked both of the darkspawn's knives out of its hands.

Finally running the creature through, the dwarf noble looked back in the direction of the house, only to see his faithful mabari tactfully running up to him no worse for wear than he had left her, except for the fact she was completely covered in tainted blood that is. Raonar finished off the emissary just as she reached his position, panting happily.

"Nice. You took out two of them," he praised as he patted her on the head a few times, much to her satisfaction.

Rinne just walked around behind him and whined concernedly at his injured back, however, at which point the dwarf noble really started to wonder if anyone had ever actually felt so concerned about him in recent years. Trian hadn't. Bhelen had definitely been faking it. His father's feelings were obviously inconsequential, considering the whole sweeping under the rug thing. Actually, come to think of it, the only person that went to any sort of lengths for him, besides Gorim, was... Now wasn't **that** the irony of a lifetime.

After retrieving his dagger and killing a few more stragglers, and getting just a minor cut on his right leg in the process, the lone Warden somehow stumbled upon what looked like the village store. There, he found several health poultices (at last!) and immediately drank one, mending his cuts, bruises and, especially, burns, leaving his body in no real pain for once. He also found a mabari crunch that his hound was more than a little delighted to gobble up. There were also a few sovereigns lying around and a couple of sapphires, which he decided to just take along. This **was** a good cause after all, and the owners had obviously long since fled or died.

Come to think of it, there weren't many dead bodies lying around in the village, which actually meant the civilians had either managed to escape or were still barricaded somewhere.

Leaving the building, after stashing his equipment in a place more out of sight of course, he made his way up the hill to where the so-called village center was apparently located. The hurlock vanguard and the archers further up were a bit of an annoyance, but nothing they couldn't handle, though it took a few potions to live through it all. Once that was done, they could finally approach the large, human-like statue that stood on the very top of that hill. The noble instantly realized it was, indeed, a golem, made of stone no less, though it was immobilized in a posture that suggested it may have been having a fit of rage, if Golems even had such feelings, when it was deactivated. At least it was larger than any person he'd ever seen, Solveig included, Ancestors catch him.

The other unusual thing about that golem was that it had strange crystals protruding out of its back, shoulders and forearms, all of which were giving out a distinct magical aura if his sixth sense was anything to go by. Had Alistair been there, he could have likely corroborated the hypothesis.

"Dulef gar."

No reaction.

"Dulef gar," he repeated, still to no avail. "Ah well, I guess I should have expected this. And since dramatic convention demands that number three be used, then here it is again, Dulef gar. Okay, now that that's over with..."

Walking closer, he noticed something that distinctly impacted on the feeling of fascination that one may get upon meeting such a sight. Apparently, birds had been none too friendly with the construct and had left their droppings all over it before they flew in the wake of the darkspawn attack. So the exile took out a piece of cloth, used a magical foot pulse to jump onto the golem's right arm and began scrubbing the filth off.

After about fifteen minutes, the inanimate golem was, more or less, clean, so he got off and backed off a few steps, still looking at it to see if there was anything he missed. Then he made for the large building to the far side of the so-called central garden, only for his senses to again detect the existence of Darkspawn ahead, quite a few in number and likely inside the larger than usual construction.

So the range at which he could detect the Darkspawn had not yet become especially wide, apparently limited to only a few hundred meters. Considering that the darkspawn would have, on any other day, just burned the place to the ground, he picked up the pace, realizing that those things may have actually cornered some people that were still alive.

Sure enough, as entered and made his way through the corridors, he had to dispatch several monsters until he finally reached a door beyond which he could feel a very intense concentration of the taint. His own senses again detected the presence of an emissary, though the noise from inside seemed to reveal the use of magic well enough. It sounded as though fireballs were repeatedly being hurled at something.

Eager to take advantage of this distraction, he just barged inside, magically propelled himself up the stairs with a single leap, shrugging off the momentary flash of pain, after which Maric's Blade found the neck of a hurlock. The Shield of Highever then blocked a couple of arrows, but the genlock emissary turned its attention away from what looked like a magical wall and cast a glyph of paralysis on the Grey Warden just after the latter took out a genlock rogue.

Even in spite of his disrupting effect on magic in general, the effect somehow managed to sink it, immediately immobilizing him, but there was still a side-effect. Apparently, the constant flow of irregular magic that streamed through the dwarf still caused the spell to go haywire, to the point where the glyph of paralysis exploded and affected everyone and everything nearby.

Except Rinne, who got around to climbing up the stairs only after the magical outburst occurred. Immediately, she ran straight for the spellcaster, sinking her fangs deep into its throat and leaving its corpse lying motionless and bloodied on the wooden floor. After that, she managed to do the same to an archer, just as the spell wore off. A few minutes later, the ordeal was over, though the exile found it necessary to drink down the last couple of health poultices he had managed to find.

Apparently, there was a sort of translucent magical barrier behind which several villagers were cowering.

"Oh, thank the Maker!" one of the men exclaimed as the dwarf approached, the latter's face mostly obscured under his helm. They were positively delighted and utterly stumped at the same time. "How on Earth did you manage to kill them on your own man?"

The mabari gave an annoyed snort.

"See, now you've hurt her feelings," their savior jokingly reprimanded them. "As for how I did it, I suppose being a Grey Warden had something to do with it."

"A Grey Warden! That's excellent news!" one of the women excitedly uttered. "If the Grey Wardens are here, maybe we can finally escape this place!"

"Umm... not to burst your bubble but... The two of us are here by ourselves," the dwarf informed them.

Breaking off their mumblings, the humans immediately returned to being worried. "By yourself? But... But then what will we do? If those things are still infesting the village-"

"They're pretty much dead already," the exile interceded, again earning their awe. "But more will probably come, so you should get away from here."

"That's definitely a good idea!" the people agreed, at which point the first man that spoke used some sort of magical trinket to alter the apparent density of the magical wall. After that, all the others ran out as quickly as they could.

"My name is Matthias. How did you hear about us?" the blond man asked, strangely uneager to leave just yet.

Raonar felt at the barrier, to discern whether it was passable, after which he passed through, leaving some ripples behind. He experience a very unusual sensation, as though the tear in the Veil he was harboring responded somehow. Once he was inside, along with his dog, the latter started to lick the blood off of his armor. "I came upon a merchant on the road that told me about this village and gave me the control rod to the gole-"

"This is about **Shale**?" the man cut in with a sudden surge of anger. "That thing has been nothing but trouble!"

"Whoa, no need to snap at me! And just what did it do for you to hate it so much?"

"It killed my father, that's what!" Matthias answered with contempt. "My mother found it standing over his corpse but Shale was already deactivated. Later, she sold off that control rod and gave the wrong command word along with it, just so it would never be unleashed again."

"Right... And I suppose you know what that word is?" the prince guessed, his raised eyebrow not exactly visible under his helmet.

"Che! If you really want that thing, then be my guest and take it, but I'm not telling you the command word until you help me in return," the human declared, somehow oblivious to how bad an idea it was to try to force the hand of someone that just killed almost a dozen darkspawn more or less single-handedly.

The short warrior looked slightly amused. "Umm... Not to put a damper on your spirit or anything, but you do realize that trying to force the hand of a person that kills monsters by a dozen for a living may not be especially bright, yes?" He emphasized those words by letting Maric's Blade rest on his shoulder, the azure runes still shining.

Matthias immediately panicked, possibly finally noticing the gore that his 'guest' was still, more or less, covered in. "You... You wouldn't!"

"Oh, for the love of the Stone!" the other one let out in utter irritation with a roll of both eyes. "Here I am trying to impart some higher knowledge, being so altruistically concerned for your safety, or lack thereof since your manner would have you killed within an hour where I come from, and you immediately assume I plan to kill you. Honestly, sometimes it baffles me how easily people believe or downright assume I intend to kill them. Makes you wonder how often **they** think about killing other people, or me for that matter."

The only effect those words had on the man was striking him with pure confusion, so the exile just skipped to the important part. "So what can this potentially aggressive, heavily armed darkspawn slayer do for you, oh ever so determined, helpless villager that would have died if not for my and my hound's timely arrival and would likely also have died had I been more of an apathetic or easily irritable sociopath?"

"Alright alright, I get it already," Matthias complained with a shake of both hands.

"Good," the prince uttered, sheathing his weapon.

"Thing is, my daughter, Amalia, ran off to my father's cellars and she hasn't come back."

"So?"

"Well... my father left traps and... barriers, like this one here. Someone already died because of them," he tried to explain, though he failed miserably of course. Naturally, the dwarf noble knew well what he was getting at but he found the human's embarrassment immensely amusing. Still, it was going to take too long to just pry the information out so he decided to make it easier.

"Let me guess, that kid **somehow** managed to do what you all failed to do or are too afraid to try, ergo... go down there, so you want me to go get her back, possibly having to deal with whatever weird magical research your father was conducting before this Shale supposedly killed him?"

"Supposedly?" the exasperated human echoed.

"Well, you said that your mother just found it standing over your father's corpse," the short one pointed out.

"But it-"

"Never mind!" Raonar intervened again, placing the control rod on one of the counters on the side of the room. "I'll skip the discussion about how assuming X killed Y can actually **not** be true, regardless of how many people say it is or how plausible the assumption is. I'll just go retrieve this Amalia of yours."

"-. .-"

Now this was definitely not something he expected. The shades and apparition he and Rinne fought on their way down that tunnel were not something he expected either, but his affinity to the Fade could explain why they were drawn to him even though they may have let Amalia pass. On the other hand, there may have been another reason.

In one word, that reason was known as Kitty. Obviously, Kitty was a demon of some sort that either possessed that orange cat or turned herself into one, the latter being the most likely scenario since it wasn't exactly feasible that a cat would just happen to stumble into that room. It wasn't clear if his dark hound's aggressive barking was because she was a cat or a demon, or both, but it definitely served to annoy the girl with two braids that was kneeling beside her and giggling... well, more or less. Obviously, the girl was ensorcelled or charmed so it would take a fair bit of wit to break the domination.

"Pipe down Rinne," he calmly commanded, not drawing his eyes away from that creature whose eyes shone violet. Then, he addressed it again. "So... you want me to solve that floor puzzle for you and let you possess her?"

"Possess is such a strong word," the soft, enthralling voice responded. "I wish only to see the world through her eyes, nothing more."

"Ah..." the man began to stroke his beard thoughtfully, after which he turned to the girl. "And what about you, Amalia? Do you want to be forever with Kitty?"

"Oh, sure!" the girl beamed. "Kitty's the greatest! I want to be with her forever and ever and ever!"

"See? Who are we to deny such enthusiasm?" the sumptuous, magical voice chimed.

"But would your father approve?" the noble pried, sounding completely open to the prospect. "He's worried about you, you know."

"Well, Papa doesn't really like cats, but he's never met Kitty!" she answered, batting her eyelashes as though that single sentence would explain everything.

"I see," the dwarf smiled at her. "Well, I suppose having some pretty claws and fur wouldn't exactly look bad on you," he added, inspecting her critically as though he was trying to picture her differently in his mind.

The girl looked stumped, blinking widely. "Fur? Claws? What do you mean, mister?"

The exile immediately looked utterly amazed. "Wait... you mean... You don't **know**?" He then frowned at Kitty. "How could you not tell her the best part? Really, you're a mean person to hold back on her, Kitty. I would have expected better from you."

"What exactly are you playing at?" Kitty's eerie though suave voice demanded.

"What best part?" Amalia quizzically asked to know.

The demon cat tried to intervene. "Nothi-"

"Isn't it obvious?" Raonar butt in. "If you and a kitty were somehow joined, you'll turn into a positively unique cat lady! You'll have fur on your face and arms, and legs, and a soft tail, just like Kitty! And your hair will change color and-"

"But papa always says he likes my hair," the now girl remembered, looking worried as she began playing with her two, blond braids.

"But but... You said you wanted to be together with Kitty! You don't really know what combining with a kitty means? It means becoming a cat lady!"

The alarmed feline wannabe demoness started to panic. "No! That's no-"

"And then your hands would turn into paws, just like Kitty! Wouldn't that be great? Not to have any fingers and, instead, have those really soft... thingies that Kitty has on her paws? Granted, you wouldn't be able to play with toys of any kind anymore, or even drink anything from a glass without doing that... tongue thing that cats do... But who needs fingers and toys, right?"

"But I don't want to lose my fingers! And drinking water like that is gross!" Amalia sounded positively horrified at the prospect and was rubbing her hands in agitation.

"Don't listen to him Amalia!" Kitty almost begged, though she couldn't completely hide her anger.

The Grey Warden looked at her as though he couldn't understand why Kitty was so outraged. "But... You want inside Amalia, right? I'm just explaining what it would mean for her to join with a kitty."

That finally scared the girl. "But... But I don't want to be a cat lady!"

"ENOUGH!" Kitty practically yelled, the echo of her voice filling the large underground chamber and startling the girl enough that she jumped away, dragging herself back from the cat as the latter was engulfed in a bright light. The shape twisted and, by the time the light died down, Kitty was gone, replaced by what looked like a woman, quite curvaceous and more than just a little sexually appealing, to heterosexual men and lesbians at least. In fact, she was almost completely bare. The only major differences between her and other women was her huge pair of horns and her whip-like, demonic tail (genuine tail, since her hair was actually some sort of violet fire).

"I will take a hold of you right now!" the Desire Demon announced as she advanced on the frightened girl, intent on invading her mind by force. Before she could do it, however, the Grey Warden jumped in front of her and put Maric's Blade between him and the enemy.

"You- You're not a kitty! You're just a mean lady!" Amalia finally realized as she struggled to get back to her feet. "I won't let you inside me! I won't!"

The Demon gathered some magical energy in her right hand, intent on blasting the dwarf away but, much to her surprise, he countered it with a shield bash, causing the magic to burst prematurely and sending both of them staggering backwards about half a meter.

"Rinne! Get Amalia out of here!" he promptly ordered, brandishing his sword in "Kitty's" direction. The mabari hound agreed, immediately biting onto the girl's dress and dragging her away, though she was quite eager to run away herself. Shortly after, they had already gotten past the magical barrier that prevented the Demon's exit and even left the hall entirely.

This was, of course, the part where the two opponents would engage in a staredown, so they began to slowly walk in a circle, not drawing their eyes away from each other.

"I must say that you wield the lie as though you were born for it," the Demoness lauded sarcastically, letting her right palm slide down her breast, over her supple abdomen and all the way down to her thighs.

"Lie? Whatever do you mean?" the warrior keenly retorted with a grin. "I never once said that you possessing her would turn her into a cat lady. I only said that her joining with **a** kitty would turn her into a cat lady. That she never asked if you really were a kitty is pure coincidence."

With a shrug, the seductress hurled an arcane bolt at him, which the latter managed to block with his shield. Unfortunately, by the time that was done, a rift was felt, seen and heard ripping between that world and the Fade, for just a moment, time enough for two rage demons, red, fiery things, to make it through.

Cringing, the exile considered retreating behind the barrier, but his female enemy eliminated that option by invoking a fire wall in front of the entrance, a very thick one at that. "Since you eliminated my ticket away from this place, I'll take my time with you," she luridly declared, unleashing her rage demon thralls upon him.

Jumping to the side with a roll, the dwarf prince managed to avoid a wave of flames, after which he slashed at one of those things a few times. Finally, his assault succeeded in weakening its form enough for his shield pummel to send it back whence it came. Unfortunately, the other rage demon sprayed fire at him again, around the same time when the desire demon showed up behind him and, with a horizontal swipe, struck his shield arm into the shoulder with another orb of compressed magical energies.

The blast shattered his shoulder guard and caused his whole arm to quake in pain, making the shield itself slip out of his grasp. He was sent flying, until he finally hit the ground again, violently, and rolled a couple of times before finally hitting his back against the wall. His lungs almost let out a cry of pain upon the hard impact, but the only sound heard was that of plate on stone.

By a narrow margin, he scrambled away before a fireball almost hit him in the face, though he again ended up on the ground, just barely managing to skewer the encroaching rage demon before it descended upon him and incinerated him in its embrace.

The stinging feeling on his face notified him that he had probably been burned quite severely. There was no time to agonize, however, because he found himself completely surrounded by flames when he finally managed to get on one knee and look around. Worry at last began to creep into his heart when his eyes could not pinpoint his opponent, however, though this problem was soon remedied.

"You're a strong one, aren't you," she almost sung in his ear, causing him to bolt around in an attempt to cut her in half. She practically floated away, but the tip of the blade still drew blood on the side of her waist and even cut off the garment that obscured her right breast. "My my," she teased. "You must be quite voracious to forcefully reveal so much of me so quickly."

Without warning, the dwarf released a blast of energy out of both his feet and jumped straight at her, his sword narrowly missing her neck. His other arm, however, though in pain after having been struck earlier, did not miss. His hard palm slammed into her abdomen full-force, topped by a magical flare that threw her away, leaving her gasping for air long enough for her enemy to shake off the throb of pain in his limbs.

"What lack of manners! Hitting a lady like that," she chastised him, performing an elaborate gesture with both arms that he could not prevent because of his momentary inability to move his legs. "That power you have, it takes quite the toll it seems," she realized, releasing the spell she had summoned. The effect was that the fire filling the area formed into a sort of circle, like a battle ring, around them.

Finally regaining motor control, though not perfectly, the dwarf brandished his runed sword in her direction, his eyes unflinching even though the heat around him was intense enough to cause his sweat drops to evaporate almost as soon as they formed. He arranged his feet one ahead of the other, the right one in front, and brought the hilt of the sword to his shoulder level, pointing its tip straight at the Desire Demon and pressing his left palm against the hilt's end.

"Come closer..." he told her as his eyes again lit up.

"My, how bright your eyes are," the horned woman observed, almost lustfully. "It makes me want to pluck them out."

Without a moment's notice, the demon threw a sort of fire wave straight at him, as though it was the sole of a shark coursing through the ground. He managed to jump to the side, but even knowing it was just a feint, he could not avoid the electricity spell that shook him to the core and sent his entire body into a fit of sporadic muscle movements. Eventually, he realized he was lying collapsed on the floor, his arms and legs still twitching erratically and his sword some paces away from his grasp.

He tried to crawl for it, but the demon quaintly stepped near it and, with a kick, sent it sliding into the ring of fire that marked their battle arena.

"Ah, now what shall the brave man do without his long stick?" she teased, pursing her lips and pinching at her exposed breast.

Not tearing his eyes away from her, the dwarf prince slowly got to his feet, trying not to wince in pain too obviously. His face stung because of the burns, his left arm was aching, all his muscles were throbbing in pain because of magical exertion and the heat from the fire that surrounded them on all sides was quickly draining him, physically and mentally alike. Dammit, she was powerful, much more so than the sloth demon he had slain in the Deep Roads all those years ago. If he wouldn't have had to deal with a pair of walking corpses and some shades on the way down there, and if those two rage demons hadn't shown up to meddle, he would have been able to fight her on equal footing, but this... this was getting bad.

The demon cast a fire spray at him just as he charged her, but he took it head-on and broke through the barrage, slamming his armored knuckles straight into her face and sending her flying and rolling for a change. She recovered just in time to avoid having her head crushed under his boot, at which point she cast a mind blast as her last resort.

The warrior's senses returned to him just in time to realize that his entire body felt like it was on fire. Instinctively clenching his teeth, he looked down to see that his plate armor was almost glowing red because of how hot it had become.

"Hmm, so you **can** take the heat," that wistful voice was heard in his ear again. That was when he noticed that his armor was heating up because she had placed her hands on his back and was pushing magic into the metal through physical contact. Without a second thought, he bolted away, using all the willpower he had to swallow his cry of agony at feeling his skin boiling. Regrettably, he was not as successful when it came to not falling to one knee.

"But what about the cold?" she asked, summoning some magic once again and instantly chilling his armor and body in a Winter's Grasp. Feeling paralyzed, he could still hear his armor cracking because of the far too sudden change in temperature and, thus density. That was when the demon hurled a magical stone projectile straight into his chest, finally shattering his coat of plates and again sending him rolling, until he almost ended up in the fire that still marked their battle ring.

Gasping for breath, his lungs seized up and he found himself crawling away from the fire wall that was just inches away from his face. That desire demon really enjoyed torture.

"Hmm, such an unsightly view," the Fade spirit spoke as she walked near, thinking he was now helpless. Too bad for her, he invoked his inner reserves and jumped to his feet, burying his elbow into her stomach in the process. Before she could even register that her insides weren't really going out through her back, the fighter turned around to face her and slammed his now bare fist straight into her face, releasing a magical burst of energy the very moment of the impact.

With a flash and a loud blasting sound, she was thrown through the air, until she fell flat on her back two meters away from him. Too bad it was a two-edged attack that also blew apart the skin on his hand, leaving his fist bloodied. He also found that he had to use all the strength he had left just to keep himself from falling to the ground again. He was exhausted, aching all over and whatever clothes he once had were now smoldering after having been subjected to the red-hot veridium. And, of course, he was covered in serious skin burns.

But she wasn't finished yet. Getting to her feet, with her back still turned towards him and her tail wiggling through the air a few times, she seemed to clutch at her face before finally turning around. "That was a brutal hit," she almost spat at him, but immediately became almost enthralled. "I must say that even that mage that summoned me didn't know how to handle me, yet you seem to have done it perfectly."

"What, so you're a masochist?" he barely grunted. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Ah, that dry wit, yes," she lasciviously uttered as she walked close to him, still massaging her wounded jaw, though her other hand made a point of sliding down and caressing her own hips. "Let's see what's underneath that wit of yours, shall we?"

Despite his best efforts, the white-haired one found it impossible to even move anymore, so she walked close to him and grabbed him by the throat with her tail, slowly gathering it tighter and tighter like a noose.

"Hmm, such defiant eyes," she wantonly noticed, wetting her lips as her finger slid down his cheek, even as all he could was helplessly try to loosen the pressure on his neck with both of his hands.

Scoffing, he tried to again gather some magical power in his entire body, even if the risk of winding up with all of his muscles torn to shreds was greater than ever.

"Oh, we can't have that," the demon let out, sending a jolt into him through her fingers as they moved over his back, as if she was trying to get a feel of him in some way. Somehow, she wasn't affected by his odd disruptive effect on magic. Maybe because, as a demon, she knew well how to take advantage of any sort of tear in the veil. The electricity numbed him and broke his concentration as she pressed her entire body against his own from behind, even while her tail still held him by the throat. "Hmm, such a strong will you have."

She forcefully took a hold of his left wrist and, with a mild paralyzing touch, made it all too easy to pull it away from that which was strangling him, until the muscular arm was outstretched and fully under her scrutiny.

"Let's see if we can break this will of yours, shall we?" she luridly suggested as her sharp nail slowly made a cut from his shoulder all the way to his elbow. That was just foreplay, however.

An gasp of pain almost filled that entire hall when two of the fingernails on the dwarf's left hand were somehow pulled out with a jerk, causing his blood to gush out and sending his whole being into an outright seizure. The pain arched from his fingers to his elbow, then his shoulder. But it was when he felt his remaining ones being pulled out sadistically slowly that his lungs finally gave out and the chamber was filled with an echoing scream.

By the end of it, even the tail had tightened around his throat, leaving him unable to breathe in any other way than through short, pathetic heaves as he stared blankly at the ceiling, his hand gruelingly shaking as a pure testament to his physical suffering. "Are you going to give in yet? Beg for mercy perhaps?" she suggested, almost thirsty to see him grovel before her, pressing her hand against one of the more serious burns on his back.

The answer was a simple, sharp glare that even the sweat drops mixed with blood could not daunt.

"Hmm, so physical duress won't break you then?" she concluded, bringing her hand up and pressing the fingers from both of her hands against his scalp and staring down at him. "Then let's see what's inside here."

The pain he felt drilling into his head was even worse than having his nails pulled out and he could swear that his brain had just been stabbed by a thousand knives. He didn't know if he screamed or not. He didn't know if he was still alive or not until his awareness was again pushed into him with a quiver when he felt his weakened frame being again forced to its feet by the neck. His vision was gone, his hearing was gone. Al he could do was feel the intense heat around him, the sting of the burns on his skin, the blood dripping out of where his nails should be and the wretched pain their absence produced.

Horrible... the pain was horrible, so horrible... It shouldn't be so horrible, just what was that bitch doing to make it so intense?

At last, he realized that there was blood dripping out of his ears, but his hearing returned when that thing's fingers pressed against both his temples and sent said blood retreating to whence it had come, apparently healing his eardrums.

"Hmm, such a curious mind you have," she whispered as she slowly walked in a circle around him, letting her fingers rest upon his shut eyelids. "So many questions, both about the past and the future."

The exile still couldn't move for some reason, even though his entire awareness screamed at him to move. **Move** fool! And calm your mind! Futile, all of it. Calm was beyond his capabilities now, just as impossible to reach as it would be for a wolf's fang to bite onto the moon. All he could feel was her sick magic crawling through his brain, disturbing a balance long since kept and even uncovering memories long since stashed away.

"Such uncertainty now, as you face your end," she continued, moving behind him. "What will happen if I die now? Who will tie my loose ends?"

Her voice was at once chilling and burning, causing his breathing to accelerate and his eyes to roll agitatedly as he strove, hoped his sight would come back. "You... tread a dangerous path, demon," he barely managed to say.

"Ah, but danger is what makes it all interesting, no?" the Desire Demon retorted, grabbing him by the left shoulder and actually healing the cut she had made on it just a short time earlier. Her tail still kept him firmly held by the throat, however, even though he could barely move at all anymore. "And yet, it is the past that is haunting you most, not uncertainty over what may or may not be," she perceived. "The pain of betrayal. The pain of loss. The pain of uncertainty. Suffering upon suffering, much of which was self-inflicted because you **desired** to spare others from being subjected to it."

"Get you-... get your sick fingers off me..."

"Yes, self-inflicted suffering. You and I are more alike than you think," she assessed, sounding almost pleased as she practically caressed his face, healing his burns. "After all, torment is one way that helps us understand the other, what gives us sophistication."

"Sadist..." he shot at her, weakly.

"I can make it all go away, you know, if you just solve that puzzle. That peace of mind, that life you so dearly dream of, I can make it happen."

"Spare me your... your bronto shit."

"Hmm, of course you would fight it. After all, your **desire** goes deeper, far deeper," she again noticed, taking a hold of his face with one hand and forcing him to meet her gaze, even though he was still blind. "That secret duty you performed these past four years, that duty you assumed upon your mother's death."

His whole body flinched at her discovery and his heart started to pound like mad, so utterly alarmed he was at how deeply she had managed to claw her way through his mind. "Get off me, damn you!" he demanded, trying to clench his left fist, only to suffer yet another sudden shot of electrifying pain when he placed pressure upon his now nail-less fingertips.

"And there is more," she pressed, completely entranced with her own discoveries that she grabbed his hand and had his nails grow back, even healing all the other injuries he had suffered on the rest of his body. "That question that you never asked yourself, even though you always wanted to, because you feel guilt is better than the feeling of helplessness."

Those words were meant to sap his will, to charm him into giving in to her temptation. Instead, an emotion Raonar never truly felt before suddenly took form in the deepest reaches of his being, like a foreign existence, or a native one that had simply not been acknowledged until then.

"If I hadn't killed her back then, could I have rescued her later?" came the statement of his own feelings on the wings of her disgusting, salacious voice.

That alien feeling grew inside him, like a multi-headed monster, with each word her unnatural mouth spat, growing and growing, until it threatened to push all semblance of reason aside.

Walking behind him and to his side, she leaned in close, until her lips were near enough to his ear that her breath could be felt in it as she spoke those terrible words. "I can even bring **her** back."

A gasp of shock left his lungs, and that alien feeling became more intense, fearsome, pulsating, threatening to send his heart bursting out of his chest, so violently it was throbbing. Then, he felt his neck being released and that demon's fingers passing over his shut eyes, finally giving them back their light, only for the first image he saw to be more shocking than anything he'd ever witnessed before.

In front of him was **her.** Her, of all people. She looked exactly as she did the last time he saw her, with those dark, deep eyes and her silky, brown hair that shrouded part of her face. He felt almost paralyzed, but his heart would not stop throbbing as that alien feeling finally began to acquire classification. More and more it gained an identity, that tumultuous emotion, and it grew and intensified as his hand moved on its own, rising until the tip of his fingers were almost upon her face. That smile she had put on, it looked like the perfect reproduction of the dearest memory he had of her, that one memory he used to focus on in order to chase away that of her death.

Dammit, he had made peace with her passing a long time ago, and that peace was being disturbed so callously... so... invitingly.

"Hello love," her voice was heard, again prompting that feeling to surge and pulse in his increasingly agitated chest.

The peace was being disturbed... so... so **disgustingly**.

"You..." he almost whispered, bowing his head slightly, hiding his eyes as his touch brushed past her face and went lower. "How... dare you..."

"What?" she asked, sounding genuinely confused before his hand grabbed onto her neck with far, far more strength than she had prepared for.

That feeling, that wretched feeling grew. That emotion, he should have felt it when his mother was poisoned, but he didn't. It should have come to be when his lover died, but it failed to appear. It should have manifested when it was revealed that both of his brothers plotted against him, but it fell short even then. Even his father's betrayal didn't lead to its appearance. That feeling he had never truly indulged in, because his habit of always preparing for the worst always made sure he was emotionally prepared for everything thrown at him until that point.

But what had just occurred... defied all norms, all classification. That feeling finally got a name. It was a strong, relentless, gushing, unstoppable flow of pure, seething, undiluted **rage.** Rage, that feeling that could be seen as antonymic to his entire personality was now bursting out of him, causing his whole body to tremble and his arm to shake as his grip tightened around **her** neck.

And then, his wrathful voice echoed in that hall. "**How**...**DARE YOU!**"

She could not answer, so tight his grasp clenched onto her throat as his eyes lit up crimson and all his emotional and mental blocks were swept away by unparalleled fury. The tear in the veil that he harbored, that he **was**, gave way to a violent outpour of raw magical power. It came out of through every possible cell of his physical shell, blowing all of the flames away and causing the atmosphere to become heavier and more suffocating than the heat that had just dispersed. And still his rage grew, coaxed by something that seemed to wait at the back of his mind, a truly alien existence, completely distinct from himself yet utterly drunk with his anger.

**"**How **dare** you use her as a bargaining chip?" the thunder that was his voice came again, his eyes widened and shining that bright red, as though they were the eyes of a demon. "How **DARE** you dishonor that face!"

No answer, there was no answer. _Yes, why should you be able to answer? Suffering, you said you liked it, that it gives you sophistication. Well, here is your beloved sophistication. Choke... slowly. Suffocate, one gasp at a time. Try to unmake my grip and feel that terror as you fail. Look at me and how my wrath leaves nothing in its wake but your pathetic mewling! Demon, pah! You are nothing, nothing but fodder, worthless refuse from a realm that spat you out because of your worthlessness!_

_ Yes, this face you wear, it is the perfect replica. Those eyes I loved to see staring back at me. That soft hair that enchanted my soul as she deliberately let it brush against my skin when we embraced each other. The texture of her skin, all of the details of her being, you copied them perfectly. And for violating that memory you will die, die as you are being stared down upon by what you perceived as a simple means to get what you thought you wanted._

_ You want freedom from this place? Then I will grant it to you! But not yet, no, my anger is not satisfied._

Those thoughts streamed into and out of his mind and he did not even realize that they were not even his own anymore. He failed to notice how that foreign existence subtly came over him, spreading through his mind and spirit, gradually enveloping him until his grip was crushing **her** neck more and more.

_Is this suffering enough for you? Yes, good eyes, that look isn't one that __**she**__ would ever put on, no. Feel it, the suffocation, the pain, the agony, the absolute helplessness! You said you wanted to see the world through that girl's eyes? __**I**__ will show it to you, right here and now! I will show every possibl-"_

At last, his rage was pushed aside by pure shock as he heard that neck snap in his hand. Her body went limp in his grasp, and her head fell and hung backwards. That was when the rage finally quaked for a moment, enough for his mind to reassert control and realize just how appalled he was by what he had just done.

He sprung away from her as her shell slumped to the floor, a twisted, dead thing that still hung onto **her** form. And as he finally recovered his awareness, his shock sent his lungs into a fit and a sharp **pain** arched through his chest for a moment, causing him to lose balance and almost slip off his feet as he staggered backwards, clutching at his heart and agonizing until his back struck against the stone wall and slid down on it.

He ended up just sitting there, leaning with the back of his head against that wall and with both hands slumped to the floor. His eyes were staring blankly to the side, so completely horrified he felt. And that feeling was there because that... that demon... that bitch was right. What she voiced really was what he desired, that life he sometime found himself contemplating, even though he knew it was just a fantasy.

Desire. Yes, desire could be seen as the source of all suffering, because it always makes one wish for things one does not have and, thus, ends up making one feel incomplete. But that wasn't the main problem, the problem was not that he **had** desires, but in **what** he desired. That ideal life, free of all poison and death, his family happy, Leandra there beside him and his people prospering, getting over their stupidity, dropping all discrimination and being no longer threatened by those monsters from the deeps. That was his ideal world, and yet he could not help but wonder... Was he really doing all he was doing for **their** wellbeing, or for his own? Did he really put them before his own person, or did he just see as mere ingredients to his spell of happiness?

Was he really petty enough that he would see all of them as mere means for him to feel better about himself? Was... was that what he saw **her** like? Clearly, that demon was onto something, so far as to actually... to succeed in...

And that was when the reality of things finally sunk in and he realized that, illusion or not, he had just seen her die by his very hand right in front of his eyes **again**. And as that realization came, the pain from that day returned anew, mixing with his disgust at how he had almost lost himself and become an abomination just one minute ago, and how that demon had so deeply clawed her way into his soul, even learning of that unspoken task he had decided to carry out when his mother returned to the Stone.

And finally, he could see that, between survival and that duty, he had never actually gotten around to mourning either of them. And so he mourned them now, four damnable years later, now that that dear balance he had built inside him had been absolutely shattered into a million fragments, each shard making a cut into his spirit, causing it to bleed even more freely that it had been bleeding before.

His heart started to race again, his lungs began to seize up and the trembling in his hands and legs once more erupted in what could only be seen as the most pathetic display of emotional upheaval that one could ever go through, so senseless and undeniably pointless his suffering actually was.

Pathetic. So incredibly pathetic...

"Are you crying, mister?"

The gasp of surprise came a few second later, so long it took him to register that he wasn't actually alone. Slowly turning his head, he finally saw that Amalia was standing right in front of him, looking down and fidgeting with both hand clasped together in front of her. And next to her was Rinne, her head tilted to the side as she whined sadly at him. When did they get there? Just how long had he been lying there, propped against the wall?

With some confusion, he passed his fingers over his face, only to find that tears really were flowing out of his eyes, as if they were sympathizing with his agitated lungs that kept giving out short sobs from time to time.

Crying. What a strange feeling. He had forgotten what it felt like. Come to think of it, he hadn't shed a tear since he was seven and went through that collapsing bookcase incident in the Shaperate. Well, except for the utterly pitiful display on that crumbling bridge. And even that time he was crying because of something completely unrelated to physical pain, well... **his** pain anyway. These tears felt different, because he was shedding them all for himself. Not for anyone else, just for himself. What an odd feeling, to feel his pain coming out of him in such a form, making him aware that it existed and somehow healing at the same time.

Looking back toward where that demon once stood, he noticed that it was no longer there. Had it disintegrated? Had it gone back to where it had come from?

Then, Amalia's voice came again, a soft, crystalline thing that conveyed a mixture of curiosity and worry. "Why are you crying mister? You made the mean lady go away, didn't you?"

His chest seemed to relax somewhat so he looked up at that little girl, slowly moving his right palm over to his heart as his response came out by itself. "The mean lady... did something to mister and... mister's hurting over here really bad right now."

The girl seemed to stare at him for a few moments, tilting her head to the side and just looking at him as he used his other hand to wipe those embarrassing tears off his face. Then came a completely baffling question.

"Do you need a hug mister?"

Both his hands plummeted to the floor and he found himself utterly befuddled, blinking a few times before he finally asked the obvious. "What...?"

"Mama used to say, before she... went away... that people just need a hug when they're hurting over here," she answered, placing her own hand over her heart, imitating his own gesture.

The dwarf noble somehow failed to do anything besides keep staring at her in surprise. A hug... He could use the fingers from just one hand to count how many times he had actually been given one, all of which were from his mother and had happened a very, very long time ago. And now this little human girl he had just met was so... so very innocently offering to do it just to make him feel better.

This was actually more shocking that getting his nails pulled out.

So she asked again, smiling. "So, do you need a hug mister?'

That actually caused a smirk to be born. "Heh, you're persistent, aren't you?"

Returning his smile, she explained. "Papa says people sometimes don't hear you well the first time, so I should keep asking until they answer."

"Your Papa's a very smart man..."

"Well? Do you need one?" she pressed, raising an eyebrow in an adorable way.

At that point, even his legs fell flat to the floor and he just decided to be upfront for once. "Actually... I really could use one right about now..."

Without a moment's notice, the girl just walked up to him and knelt in his lap, immediately throwing her arms around his neck and drawing herself close in the most straightforward of embraces, not feeling even in the least awkward. That was what finally shattered the last remnants of his resistance and he just hugged her back, carefully drawing her closer and closing his eyes.

She was so innocent, that small thing, so untouched by any sort of malice. And so fragile. If he wasn't careful, he could easily break her in half. And yet, as his arms came around her, he finally remembered just what his basic goal was, what was the underlying motivation for everything he did. This little girl was so untouched, so unspoiled, and this made her unlimited potential all the more obvious.

That potential, that seed of greatness that would need just some nurturing in order to sprout and grow into something magnificent. This was one of them, one of those worthwhile things he strove to preserve.

Yes, to see such worthwhile things continue to exists. Forget what he desired, this is what he **wanted**.

And then, her voice was heard yet again from behind his ear as her chin rested on his shoulder. "You're warm, mister."

Laughter, that girl actually made him laugh, even though he was crying just a few minutes ago. "Thanks Amalia," he earnestly told her as he gently set her on the ground beside him, after which they both got back to their feet. "You're a good girl," he added, patting her on the top of her head once, drawing a playful pout on her part.

After that, he scratched his hound on the head a few times, alleviating her own fears, and went over to retrieve his sword and shield. As for the armor... well, he would have to find another one now that there was nothing left of his old one except broken pieces, Even his boots had shattered.

After he strapped his weapon and shield to his back, he went over and, without announcing, simply lifted the girl into his arms, much to her surprise. "Come on, let's go find your papa."

And they were off, the hound and the dwarf noble slowly walking up that corridor, carrying that girl in his arms as she played with his braided beard.

"Your beard's really cute mister," she declared, pulling at it, soliciting a shrug on his part. "Did you make it like this yourself?"

"Heh, yes but... The idea to make it like that belonged to a really nice lady."

"Really?" she asked, excitedly. "Is she pretty?"

"Heh... She was really pretty, yes," was his wistful response.

"Was? What do you mean, mister?" she pried, pulling at his spiked, silver hair this time.

"She... went away... A long time ago..."

The girl actually seemed to understand. "Oh... Well, I wish my Mama would have persuaded Papa to have a beard like yours! It's so soft!"

And there it was again, pure laughter.

Finally, they returned to where Matthias was waiting. As expected, the human was delighted and relieved beyond words upon seeing his daughter returned, running over and lifting her into his arms and above him. "Amalia! You're okay!"

After finally getting over his happiness, the man at last took a closer look at his benefactor, only to be immediately shocked. "Maker's breath! What happened to you man? You look like you've been burnt to a crisp but you're not actually injured. And where's that armor you had?"

"The armor was... destroyed..." he warily answered, scratching his head as he looked at his bare feet. "I'll have to steal that steel heavy chain mail I saw in your village store if you don't mind."

Amalia tugged at her father's sleeve to get his attention. "There was a mean lady down there, Papa! She turned into a kitty but wanted to get inside me! And then mister made her go away! Oh and Papa, will you grow a beard like mister's if I ask really nicely? Please? Pretty please?"

"Heh, I'm afraid we'll have to talk about this later," he replied, turning towards Raonar again. "Sorry friend, she always does like to tell stories."

"Actually, the mean lady was a Desire Demon that this Wilhelm mage seemed to have summoned before he got himself killed."

"A demon?" he asked, aghast at what his daughter had been close to. "Well, you have my thanks for driving her off, Grey Warden. I suppose giving you the command word to that Golem's control rod is the least I can do."

Retrieving the rod from the counter, he stuffed it inside the small pocket that was still intact. "Yes, I could really use that command word right now."

"Alright, just be careful. The word is..."

"-. A statue that likes to squish pigeons .-"

After getting that heavy chainmail that had so conveniently been put on display just recently at the abandoned village store, as well as whatever equipment he had left, the exile again walked up to the inanimate construct in the middle of the village.

"Dulen harn."

This time, something stirred in that thing and it began to move, shaking off its stiffness with the sound of crumbling and crushed rock, until the golem finally became mobile altogether and heaved a few times, to get rid of the dust and sand that had accumulated at her joints. Then, its eerie, magical voice was heard for the first time, competing with its glowing, white eyes in uniqueness.

"Oh, a dwarf **and** a mage. How unusual. And it seems to be the same squishy creature that scrubbed that pigeon crap off me earlier."

_It thinks I'm a mage? Maybe those crystals on its back and arms are picking up strange readings from me. It __**would**__ make sense. _"Oh, so you were aware even then?"

"Oh, I've been always aware, for decades in fact."

"Well, to answer your question, yes, that's me, Raonar the Grey Warden," he candidly confirmed as his mabari eyed the creature with curiosity.

"Hmm, why **did** it do it, however? I can't imagine it was just out of the goodness of its heart. It must seek something in return, yes?'

Pressing his index finger against his beard-covered chin, the noble eventually responded. "No, not really."

"No? Its kind must truly have a penchant for doing pointless things then. Oh, that reminds me," the creature excitedly uttered. "It has the control rod, no? Come then, order me to do something, I insist."

"That sounds a bit disturbing..." the white-haired, now steel-clad one remarked, looking at the golem sideways.

"Come now! It'll be fun!" it asked again.

"Hmm..." his eyes suddenly turned shrewd. "Okay then... do whatever you want."

"..."

"... What? Why are you staring?"

"Does it realize what it just did!" the golem asked, suddenly getting aggravated and utterly astounded at the same time. "It was supposed to give me an order so that I might see if I can ignore it, thus establishing whether I have free will or not! And now it gave me the order to do whatever I wanted, so I can no longer know if I truly possess free will or if I have it just because it ordered me to have one! And now I feel no sort of compulsion to carry out that order, and it may be exactly because it was given!"

"Yes, am a bad, bad man," he jabbed, crossing his arms. "But fine, if you're so pissed, then here. I order you to no longer have a free will."

"..."

"Well? Did it work?"

"No..." it admitted. "But now I still do not know if ordering me to no longer have free will could even work after it gave me the order to have one and, thus, the ability to choose not to obey its order to no longer have a free will."

A white eyebrow was raised. "Does it even matter? You have one, isn't that enough?"

"That's not the point!" the exasperated moving statue shot back. "Since I cannot truly be certain of why I have free will I cannot really know whether I am indebted to it for giving me one or not!"

"That's what's bothering you?" the noble asked in disbelief. "Then I'll make it easy and say you don't owe me anything."

That didn't really improve the Golems mood. "That is not for it to decide. Regardless, what happens now? I have no real purpose, so I suppose I should decide on going with it or... elsewhere."

"Well, I for one would be more than happy to get someone as huge and powerful as you to tag along, even though I know you'll probably never stop calling me **it**."

"Yes, I'm just funny that way," it joked.

"Heh, that's exactly what someone else said. I think you'd like each other if you met."

"Oh, for some reason, that actually sounds promising. As long as it's not a bird of some sort, gods how I hate those damnable things." the amount of contempt and disgust in that voice was palpable. "So then, lead on I suppose... Where shall we be headed first?"

Turning around, the noble started to walk down that hill before giving his answer. "Redcliffe."

"Redcliffe, such a strange name," the construct said as its large feet started stomping the ground as it followed after him. "I am Shale, by the way."

* * *

_That review space is right there and waiting of course!_


	22. Post Ostagar Arc 4: Stone

**Chapter 21: Stone**

**"-. .-"  
**

The small, hopelessly squishy creature of flesh was definitely odd, Shale mused to herself as she just stared at it. It was lying on the ground at the base of a tree, covered up in a simple, grey cloak that its hands clutched at, so as to shield its body from the chill of the night. Sleep, it had called it, this... 'activity' that consisted of doing absolutely nothing, except moving slightly from time to time, and not even being aware. The golem knew of this 'sleep' concept and the only sort of feeling, if she could even be said to have feelings, it stirred inside her was a faint envy, as she herself could never sleep and found life utterly boring at times.

Ah, and there it was, she was actually using 'she' when she was referring to herself. The small dwarf had told her that Shale sounded a lot like a female Dwarven name and decided to just refer to her as such. Already the small Warden's manner was affecting her, though she could not exactly tell why that was after just several hours of walking that road. Perhaps it was the decisive walk it had, with sure, large steps that gave her no reason or need to slow down and wait for it to catch up, even though she was three times its size.

Perhaps it was the strange feeling it conveyed, as though it was harboring a sort of wound inside of it, even though it never actually let it show on its expression. That was what the strange sensation she received through her crystals suggested at least. Or perhaps it simply was not exactly emotionally affected by it, though she had to admit she wouldn't exactly be an expert on the subject.

Perhaps it was its lighthearted manner and the way it just looked at her when she stomped on that chicken and turned it into so much mush on their way out of Honnleath. The small dwarf just stared a pair of silver-cyan eyes at her, an eyebrow raised more than the other in such a way that seemed to question her. Not judge or chastise, just question, though it did seem to have a personal stake in that whole affair. In fact, the small Warden seemed quite dejected after the loss of the bird and even sighed... deeply. _"I was going to eat that," _it had flatly stated, though what it said next was particularly pertinent. _"Though I assume this may have been meant to be... I mean, just how stupid and oblivious can a bird be to not even notice your ground shaking stomping?"_

Perhaps she wasn't as apprehensive of it as she had been with all other squishy creatures of flesh because of how it had actually went to the trouble of cleaning that pigeon crap off of her just because it felt like it. Granted, it had not exactly explained why it had gone to such lengths to do it, though it was true she hadn't actually asked it about it either. Well, except for mentioning it when she was reactivated.

Perhaps it was how completely relaxed it seemed to behave in her presence, even knowing that she had been found standing over her previous master's lifeless body, turned into an unrecognizable mess though it was. Maybe the so-called Grey Warden was oblivious to how easy to squish it actually was, or perhaps it didn't have any problems with it? Or perhaps it suffered from an unhealthy degree of self-confidence?

Or perhaps it was simply just another hopelessly squishy flesh being that had no idea what it had gotten itself into. Even looking at it now was a bit strange, how it seemed to be there, curled up in its cloak yet not truly being there at the same time. The other creature of flesh, the so-called mabari war hound, had strutted off and was now lying on its forepaws near the small pond next to which they had camped, staring at the fish, clearly and entrancingly visible in the light of the full moon. Or perhaps it was just thinking of eating them.

They had stopped some way off the main road, next to a forest spring, where the Warden ate what looked like some leftover pieces of fried meat, speaking only a few words before finally going to the base of the tree and falling into slumber. And it was still there, lying on its side with its back turned to her and some of its spiked, white hair emphasized by the moonlight that made it through the leaves of the various trees.

Presently, she was just standing there, staring at it, trying to gauge how long it would take for it to shift its position unconsciously. When nothing happened for half an hour, however, she just walked close, huffed thump after thump, until she was standing right next to it, staring down at it as it just lay there motionless, utterly defenseless. Its cloak covered most of its body, except for the tip of its bare left foot and the fingers of his right hand that held onto the cloak itself, to prevent it from falling off. Truly the dwarf looked even squishier without the metal clothing it had on when it reactivated her. Granted, its equipment was not far off, and its sword was within reach, but still...

Slowly, Shale lift her huge, stone foot and let it hover above him. It would be so easy to crush it into goo right there and there. Not that she necessary had the inclination of course, though even she thought it was somewhat odd that she had actually considered the prospect. The Warden had not been at all disrespectful towards her and had even lent her its purpose, at least until she could find out what her own was, if there even was one.

Her attention was drawn to the side when a menacing yet huffed snarl was heard. Turning its eerie, white, glowing eyes towards it, Shale saw the hound staring back at her, its head bowed low as a warning. What immediately struck her was how utterly strange it was that that creature of flesh, even smaller than the dwarf, actually had no reservation advancing upon a giant moving statue in such a threatening way. The hound had even bared its fangs at the construct, unconcerned with the fact that they were likely to just dent or outright crush against the granite she was made of.

Nevertheless, she found it quite interesting to look at how totally unflinching the dog was, this being the reason why she did not immediately detect the tingle that started to flow up her leg from the 'sole' of her rocky foot.

"You must be really bored," a voice spoke from below. That was when she finally noticed the strange feeling coursing through her and she instantly backed away, at last noticing that the dwarf had been pressing the tip of its right hand's index finger against her foot for quite some time. It even shone slightly before the light faded and the dwarf turned on its back, staring straight at her. Its long braided beard and moustache twisted in a very odd yet somehow appropriate way as its head turned.

The Warden didn't bother sitting up, but it had half of a smile on its face for some reason, a serene thing that did not fade as it continued speaking. "You golems don't sleep much do you?"

"I do not sleep, no... So it was just **pretending** to be asleep?" Shale surmised, quite apathetically.

"Not pretending, more like trying and failing," he answered, pushing up in a sitting position and letting himself rest on both arms as their palms pressed against the ground behind him.

"Oh? I assume this is where it blames my habit of shaking the ground when I make a step?" Shale sarcastically hypothesized.

"That **was** one of the reasons. But no, it seems I can't sleep right now anyway," he cleanly assured the golem, changing to a cross-legged position.

"Oh? Why not?" Shale inquired, though her flat tone left uncertainty as to whether or not she was really all that eager to know.

"You're not really interested in that," he observed, getting to his feet and stretching out his arms with a long yawn.

"I suppose not," she admitted.

The Warden wasn't looking at her. She could tell that even when it had been doing so, its gaze wasn't completely there. It was like its eyes were trying to reach some place far off, even more so than now, when it just stared at the starry sky and the large moon which was partially eclipsed by a harmless cloud. "Isn't it at all alarmed by how I was holding my foot right above it?"

Its gaze descended upon the ground, as if in reflection. "You didn't actually go all the way, which is more than others can brag about."

"That was remarkably vague," the construct observed.

"Well, your reasons for being in a position specifically aimed to stomp me are about just as vague, so we're even on that one," it shrewdly retorted with a grin.

"I suppose..."

After walking over to the mabari and patting its side a few times, the dwarf noble seemed to consider something, after which its eyes moved in such a way as to suggest it had gotten an idea. "I know! Since I can't sleep anyway, I'll have a go at that."

Striding over to where its bundle of equipment was waiting, it rummaged through it for a while, until it took out a sort of bag. The lumps in it, and the odd clattering noise it was making when moved brusquely enough, suggested it may be filled with stones or other such things. Turns out, however, that it was actually carrying a number of orange crystals that seemed to hum faintly and even glow in the dark.

"Ah! Crystals! Where did you find them!" Shale found herself asking with a higher degree of excitement than she had expected.

"In that mage's cellars. They were just lying around but I figured they may be similar to the ones already inset into you. Or just valuable enough to sell somewhere." Speaking those words, the dwarf walked up to her and then behind her. "I'll need you to sit, if you don't mind..."

The golem could practically feel the Warden's grin in the nuance of his voice, but she agreed. Ironically, however, even seated, her head was at around the same height as his, so large Shale was. Eventually, chiming and humming sounds began to be heard as the dwarf began to quaintly pull out each of the blue-purple crystals out of her, one by one.

"Hmm... I don't really remember any records of Golems with this sort of crystals before. And I do believe I read every one in the Shaperate." Its voice was even, as though it was a simple, scientific assessment.

"That mage, my so-called previous master, liked to experiment on me," Shale found herself replying, quite indignantly. "These crystals are meant to channel magic of the elemental kind... and it need not ask me how I know that, I just do."

"Far be it from me to question the mighty Shale," the warden snickered.

The night dragged on and, for a while, all that was heard was the periodic scraping of crystal on stone as the short, squishy one just removed or inset the crystals, each one sending a magical tingle through the golem's whole body. Well, the silence was broken by the occasional "Hmm... this one goes here," and "Oooh, now **this** should feel right!" There were also a few instances where the magic of the crystals seemed to spark flames, at which point the small Warden would say something along the lines of "Typical" and just go on with what he was doing.

Eventually, however, Shale just found herself blurting something unexpected. "It is quite calm."

"Hmm?" its voice was heard from behind her as he twisted a crystal in place. "You'll need to elaborate."

"What I meant is that it is not as... wary of me as I had expected," she awkwardly clarified. "All other fleshy creatures used to cower at the mere sight of me, and even after I got paralyzed it took a long time for anyone to get the courage to approach me. Not that I actually enjoyed them near me, mind you, what with the snuggling and... other things I care not remind myself of."

"Oh, that's probably because I don't exactly feel fear," its deep but soft voice replied as it tapped the tip of a crystal against her stone skin a few times, for reasons unknown. Perhaps it just liked the tapping sound?

"I see..."

After a while, the small one walked over to her side and knelt beside her in order to inset some crystals into her arms as well. "So, how exactly did that mage find you?" it asked.

"I am unsure... Underground, I think. He did so enjoy to just go down there, something to do with his magical research."

"Ah, that **would** make sense if it was the Deep Roads. But why aren't you calling him 'it'," the other one inquired, looking up at her momentarily, though his eyebrows half obscured his eyes.

"I just don't. Amusing aren't I?" Shale jabbed.

"So people were just afraid of you?"

"Oh yes. They used to run in fear whenever that mage spat 'Golem, be frightening!" she said with disdain. "It's not that I had a problem with it, of course. The problem was being ordered to do it."

"Well, I guess you don't need to worry about that anymore," the other one observed almost absentmindedly as he inserted the last small crystal into her stony wrist.

"Yes, and may I say that I still am not over how you so evilly confused me as to why I have free will."

"Seriously, get over it," was the bored response.

Shale just shrugged as her so-called companion walked over to her other arm and began putting in the last of the crystals.

"So, how does that feel?" the dwarf finally asked as he backed away and gazed upon the construct, stroking his bearded chin as he grinned expectantly.

"Ah, very nice, very nice indeed!" she sincerely proclaimed. "They do not make me look wide, do they? I find I am already wide enough as it is."

"And you wonder why I refer to you as a female," it answered, tilting its head to the side. "So, do they do anything?"

Shale looked at her own arms for a bit and they lit up in flames. She lifted her right one in front of her face and began to study it, twisting it from one side to another. "I must say that burning those damnable pigeons will feel especially satisfying after I've crushed them."

Seemingly noticing the worrisome level of bloodlust in that eerie voice, the small Warden massaged his eyes, partly to help them relax somewhat. Its questions were still unanswered, however. "So you don't really know exactly where you came from? Don't you remember anything?"

"I remember... a dark place. I am not certain what it was, or how long I was there for but... perhaps that **was** the Deep Roads? Why does it ask?"

Shale watched as the white-haired one went over and picked up its flacon of water, after which it took a good drink before answering. "My people lost our Golems some time ago... I was curious to know where you'd come from. Maybe there were more of you somewhere, I don't know..."

"Ah, so it's is saying my... kind was created by squishy creatures like itself?" Shale asked with some reservations.

"Paragon Caridin made the Golems, using the Anvil of the Void," the soft creature of flesh replied, sitting down with a thud and looking wistful. "A real force they were. I did, however, find it interesting that none of the records in the Shaperate actually said how they were made. That secret was lost several hundred years ago."

"I see. Is that not a bit... irresponsible?"

"Well, our current so-called Paragon **did**, in fact, go on an expedition to find it last year, but we haven't heard from her since and, to be fair, she was, more or less, eleven nugs short of a dozen."

"Such strange metaphors you beings of flesh use," Shale noted dryly.

"It means insane," Raonar explained, helpfully.

"I know **that**!" Shale actually sounded a bit put off. "Either way, I suppose it is no different from the rest of my so-called masters."

Bringing his hands together above his knees, the dwarf looked at her sideways. "Oh?"

"It sees me as just another tool, or so it seems. Something to carry its heavy loads, perhaps? Or just to kill things in its stead?"

"Wow, you really have this 'tool' complex down to the letter don't you?" the Warden noted with boredom. "That hypothesis kind of contradicts how I ordered you to have a free will, doesn't it?"

Shale actually seemed surprised at how obvious that answer had been. "Does it always do this?"

"Do what?"

"Set up situations so as to easily crush any and all assumptions that others may possibly form later?" she flippantly asked.

Of course, the Warden started laughing. "Haha! Oh, sod yes! It's just freaking hilarious to see someone's entire flawed reasoning crumble or outright explode in their faces. Makes it much more easy to actually make them see how ridiculous their way of thinking actually is."

Shale just raised a rocky eyebrow a him but said nothing more for a time. The diminutive Grey Warden sat for a while, staring blankly, either at the night sky or the distance. The golem would have expected it to again try to go to sleep, but it did not. it just... stayed there... in a very boring way. The golem tried to find something to distract her from that feeling that she had just remembered being affected by. There was nothing helpful around, however, and playing "I spy" on her own had already grown old after decades of being inanimate so that option wasn't actually an option at all.

She found it ironic that she actually would have wished for a bird to show up, even if it was just because she was bored enough to want to crush something. Perhaps she should just start destroying the forest one tree at a time? It was not trying to sleep, after all, so it shouldn't have a problem with it.

The dwarf's voice drew her attention again. "Rinne and I will take shifts if you want."

Turning around to face it again, Shale found it gazing sideways in her direction no less detachedly than it had been until then. "Take shifts at what?"

"Keeping you company of course!" he declared, dead serious, though he did let himself indulge in a chuckle.

"Keeping me company?" the construct incredulously echoed.

"I'll stay up half the night and prevent you from going mad with boredom, then I'll have Rinne do the same while I get my energy back in the time left," he summarized.

There was a moment of awkward silence.

"It really thinks that I actually **want** to spend time in the company of hopelessly squishy creatures of flesh?" the golem asked in disbelief, though she actually couldn't make out whether the disbelief was at how the dwarf actually thought that or at how she actually was far less against the idea than she would have expected to be.

"Am I wrong?" it directly inquired.

"I think it is just worried I might actually try to crush it into paste, or just stomp on it by accident," she deadpanned.

"Hmm, so the apathetic golem actually tried to dodge my question," he shot back with a snicker.

"..."

"Well?" it pressed.

The golem couldn't believe how utterly non-reluctant that creature actually was or did its best to appear as it offered that 'favor'. "Do as it likes," she uttered with a shrug of both shoulders. The problem was that she didn't really know if she was going to later end up wishing she had refused.

Somehow, the time seemed to pass far more quickly than Shale had expected. The dwarf dragged her attention into a variety of activities, from playing I spy to trying to make out just what the mabari's every odd snort sounded like. The biggest effect that had on the golem was making her wonder just why in Thedas that fleshy creature was acting so utterly at ease and with such an air of familiarity towards her. Wasn't she supposed to be imposing? Something that other living things should be afraid of? For one, it was refreshing. On the other hand, she thought that she wasn't as awe-inspiring as she thought, and that was quite frustrating.

"I still do not understand why it is acting so utterly at ease around me," she finally confessed as she just stood there, the Warden being seated and leaning against a tree just a short distance away from her. "I mean, even my sheer size was usually enough to make my old 'master's' horrible wife wince at the thought of me be being anywhere near her while she slept, despite how my control rod actually worked back then."

"You're asking me why I'm not being a douche? How very tactful of you," he smirked.

"It catches on quickly," she deadpanned again.

The dwarf stared blankly for a moment before answering. "You... remind me of home I guess."

And, at long last, Shale was stumped. "That... was an unexpected answer... What makes it say that?"

"Hmmm..." His fingers started to twirl his very long mustache into a spiral. "Well, let's see... You're huge, made of stone, you seem reliable, solid, strong, imposing and seem to have as much of an inclination to help me as you have to destroy me."

The golem actually felt taken aback by that description, not just because it was, in fact, a fairly accurate depiction of **her** per se, but because seeing one's home in such a light was somewhat... conflicting. And those words had been spoken so flatly too. "That is definitely the first time someone even told me something like that," she warily spoke as she looked down at it.

"I don't know whether I should say 'you're welcome' or 'sorry'," it replied, not even bothering to look up as she stood to its left.

"Both, most likely," she told it. "But... thank you for the answer I suppose."

The awkward socializing went on for a time, until the small Warden actually goaded Shale into starting a very graphic description of the many ways she had used or thought up for killing all the birds in existence. Her rambling went on for quite a while, until she finally realized that the flesh creature had not said anything in response for about just as long. That was when she finally looked back in its direction, only to see that it had collapsed on the ground.

Looking at it, there was really just one logical response she could put together for him just fall unconscious like that. "How rude." Of course, had she actually known about how it had almost not survived the Korcari Wilds, traveled on foot for many days, eliminated a whole darkspawn infestation and faced off an insane Desire Demon that almost tortured him to death, after which it gave him a whole new set of emotional scars and nearly caused him to turn into an abomination, she would have seen it far less rude for it to finally be overcome by exhaustion. Really, some people would have killed themselves by then. Or at least tried... maybe even multiple times.

That remark was met by a whine on the part of the black hound that shot her a disapproving glance before it walked up to its so-called master and bit onto its cloak, after which it carefully pulled it over him. Well, as well as she could manage at least.

"So now I am to talk to a fleshy creature that cannot even speak? How lovely..."

Rinne gave her a questioning look.

"Oh, don't look at me like **that**!" the golem protested, not bothering to keep her humming, magical voice down even in the slightest.

The hound chimed curiously.

"And what is **that** supposed to mean?"

The mabari barked more or less excitedly, though it did not actually convey any message.

"Are you even intelligent?" the construct questioned it. "Come to think of it, why am I even speaking to you?"

The hound seemed to sneeze, and that just seemed to irk Shale even more. "And what is that supposed to tell me? That you're allergic to me?" The dog just whined, after which it barked again and again faked a sneeze. "So... What now? You're going to play mime?"

The rock giant couldn't believe her ears (if she even had any) when the four-legged creature of flesh barked in confirmation. "I suppose it's better than being crapped on by pigeons," she grumbled.

Rinne barked excitedly a few times and started to shake her tail before finally beginning the game. She faked a sneeze again.

"Right, a sneeze, I got that the first time," Shale flatly pointed out.

The hound barked in approval, after which it gave the sleeping dwarf a soft nudge with its nose while not drawing its eyes away from the stone giant. Then it lifted its head again and gave another bark.

"This whole situation screams of senselessness," the waking statue whined.

Rinne actually managed to grunt as though it were scolding the golem for not paying attention. Then, she repeated the earlier maneuver.

"Fine. First word, sneeze. Second word, dwarf."

The dog actually barked excitedly **twice** this time, but did nothing else, eyeing the golem eagerly as though it was her turn to do something. "So what now, am I just supposed to guess what that meant?"

Another approbative bark, and Shale was starting to think that maybe those many years of doing nothing but observing really had driven her mad. "Fine, dwarf sneezing. Astute enough for you?"

The hound, of course, barked again, but still waited for quite a while until the pieces finally clicked. "What, so you're afraid he's going to catch a cold?" Shale couldn't believe it, and the fact that the dog yet again confirmed her guess made it all even more unusual. "And what am **I** supposed to do about it? And why should I even care?"

The dog just moved its gaze towards the golem's right hand, huge though it was, after which it glanced over to her left and again looked up at her and gave a meaningful woof.

Shale immediately became outraged when she actually understood what that animal was getting at. "Oh, that is **so** not happening!"

The mabari whined at her, pleading, staring with what most would see as a heart-wrenching pair of eyes. Shale only saw what she usually saw, however. "Oh please don't tempt me. I may actually end up wanting to crush those things just because they look especially squishy."

That was when Rinne actually got annoyed with her and, as odd or impossible it may sound for a dog, frowned. When the golem just turned away from her, however, it started to sneeze. Again. And again, and again, and kept on sneezing, or faking it, until Shale just couldn't take it anymore.

"Oh, do stop that or heavens help me I will step on you!" the rock giant threatened as she turned around, only to get a confused stare in response. "Yes, that sneezing is annoying!" she felt like she needed to confirm.

Much to Shale's bewilderment, the dog started to bounce around, as though it was thrilled because the golem had apparently discovered something. Then, to make it all the more clear, the hound sneezed once more and gave its master yet another nudge.

Shale stared at those two in confusion for a while... and then it hit her. "Oh no... If he catches a cold, **he'll** start sneezing too!" The moving statue sounded positively horrified at the prospect, not just because the constant noise would be incredibly annoying but because loud sounds had the habit of scaring birds out of the trees on the side of the road and, as irony dictated, they would definitely end up covering her in their bodily wastes.

Unwavering in her determination to never, ever, **ever** let that happen, Shale just strode over to where the unconscious dwarf was lying, knelt next to him and moved her palms over him, using her new crystals' fire affinity to envelop him in a blanket of warmth. And all the while, the mabari war hound was sitting on the opposite side of the positively helpless and undeniably squishable Grey Warden, panting happily and occasionally glancing in Shale's direction with what could only be seen as an evil or at least devious expression.

"The two of you actually planned all this didn't you," the Golem mumbled, at which point the dog just barked absently, as though it was trying to say "I have no idea what you're talking about" in the least convincing manner possible.

So in the end, all Shale could actually think about was how bitterly ironic it was that not only had those two managed to make her do exactly what they wished, but they had actually made her **want** to do it.

And it had to be the two of them because that dog could not **possibly** have thought it all up itself.

Or could it? Oh no...

"I can't believe I was cowed by a dog of all things," the Golem finally moaned while thinking that, as outlandish an assumption might be, perhaps birds weren't, in fact, the most hateable squishy creatures of flesh in the world.

* * *

Author's note: I know not as long as some of the others, but it was necessary... more or less.

Next chapter will finally continue with the storyline (will jump straight to the wardens being utterly shocked at seeing Raonar alive and apparently already a hero in Redcliffe.)

* * *

_And, of course, that review space is right there and waiting!_


	23. Faux Respite 1: Reunion

Author's note: Many, many thanks to kuro-oni5 for his wonderful review and for actually notifying me that I had posted Chapter 20 twice. The correct Chapter 19 should be up now. Those that ran into the re-posted Chapter 20 should go read the correct one because its pretty important.

Other than that, you all have a nice day ;)

* * *

**Chapter 22: Reunion**

"-. Bribing your way to the top can actually work .-"

Hugs were supposed to feel great.

Well, this will teach him to actually make assumptions.

In hindsight, it was kind of sad that it had never occurred to him very often to consider that hugs could be troublesome considering that _'Do not presume' _were the exact words he had told Bhelen before he left for the deeps. On the other hand, the memory of Amalia and her free hug was still more or less fresh in his mind so no one could really blame him for actually having formed the general opinion that hugs were desirable things.

But still, this was even more troublesome than dealing with the utter shock he had thrown everyone into, although, to be fair, it was they that actually came and found him there. It wasn't like he had deliberately set things up in such a way as for all of them to meet up in Redcliffe. That he had more or less hoped (read: expected) for the other Grey Wardens, if they had even survived (of course they did) to eventually reach that settlement was besides the point.

And really, the fact it had almost happened aside, it was their own fault that they had assumed he had died.

Knowing that any attempt at pulling away would be futile, the white-haired one tensed whatever muscles he could and decided it would just be easier on everyone if he just waited for the whole thing to be over. He helplessly glanced over in the direction of everyone else, who were mostly gathered together some paces ahead of him and staring, some with their mouths wide open while others looked mildly amused.

Alim was pressing his index finger against his chin in a very contemplative fashion, which made it more than clear that he was roaring with laughter on the inside at how utterly stumped the dwarf noble's face must have looked. Next to him was the witch he remembered having met in the wilds, Flemeth's supposed daughter, Morrigan. She looked quite bemused (disgusted at physical contact maybe?). The faint surprise at spotting her in the group actually made him relax somewhat, a clear mistake as that only increased the pressure on his lungs.

Gwen and Alistair stared in each other's direction for a while, mentally telling each other something along the lines of "Is this for real?", before finally turning their confounded eyes upon him once more. Alistair looked a bit hopeful though, which clearly raised an alarm, so Raonar steeled himself for what would come later and decided that the shock his companions were suffering from could actually be seen as a small mercy.

Kallian was smiling but she seemed to not be looking at **him** even though she was gazing in the same direction. That struck a cord, but it may also have been just a false impression. He really had to be careful to remember that these people weren't politicians so as to not look for underlying implications where there aren't any. On the other hand, Kallian **had** been a thief before she joined the Wardens, so dissimulation may, in fact, be one of her better talents. She had even managed to come out as promiscuous during that drinking contest with Solveig, even cheat, without anyone, save Faren of course, noticing (he had made a point of telling him all about it during the long hours before the ill-fated battle... he had even sounded very impressed).

Theron appeared to be smiling. He was positioned to the side, practically sitting on the fence, showing only a sort of relief. His large wolf had sat itself on the ground next to him and was also looking in the same direction as its master (The Dalish hunter had gotten a wolf in the meantime? Efficient, but Rinne was still more awesome... probably).

Then there were the two dwarves whose identities he could not begin to guess, an intrigued human redhead woman dressed like a scout and a huge man, Qunari if he were to guess, standing in a militaristic fashion behind the others and staring ahead with an utterly emotionless expression on his face. There was, however, something strange about him and that ugly two-handed axe he seemed to carry on his back. Bloodshot eyes, a concealed grimace, the obvious effort he needed to put into keeping motionless. Yes, he would need some special attention and soon.

No one seemed to notice or care about the fact that the two mabari war hounds were already snuggling.

Of course, that was most likely because the newly-found Grey Warden had more pressing matters to worry about, one in particular that was coming dangerously close to being classifiable as life-threatening.

His voice came with a forced gasp. "F-Faren..."

"Shut up."

"Faren... Let g-Let go!" it took all he had to force those words out through his throat.

The other one made it clear he wasn't going to comply because he increased the pressure. "Shut up and let me hug the living lights out of you!"

Normally, that enthusiasm would be more than welcome, but there was a small problem with this whole matter and it was regrettably clear that it had to be said **now** before he lost all physical ability to do it."F-Faren... you're **suffocating **me!"

There was a pause.

The other dwarf immediately let go with a gasp, finally allowing the exile to stagger back a few steps and barely prevent himself from falling over by stooping and pressing his hands against his knees, breathing heavily and not bothering to conceal how utterly glad he was to finally see that air was once again allowed to enter his lungs.

There was an even longer pause.

And then, the world moved again and sounds could be heard, and all was well in the universe... well, more or less.

Faren looked a bit concerned but said nothing when the silver-eyed one finally recovered and began to stand up straight. Then, just as his relief at seeing the former prince alive at last began to wear off, he remembered something he swore he would do if he ever got his hands on him again.

Raonar opened his mouth to say something, but a clenched fist impacted his jaw before he managed to look up properly and sent him faltering backwards, though he managed not to fall to the ground somehow. Gasps were heard from behind as the rest of the group voiced its bewilderment in unison. Even more surprisingly, however, the one who had just been struck did not even bother raising his hand to massage his face, settling, instead, for slowly turning his head back towards the one who had just punched him, giving him his own reason to be confused.

He was just smiling, as if he had expected that to happen. "I had you really worried didn't I?" his voice came out unbelievably warm, as if it was a parent talking to his child after the former recovered from a long sickness.

Faren tensed, as though he was about to punch him again, but restrained himself at the last second, though his jarring voice could not be stopped. His eyes were fierce with anger. "If you... If you** ever** do something like that again, a punch will be the **least** of your problems!"

"Duly noted!" the other one said with what looked like a totally honest smile as he rose both his hands in a placating gesture in front of him.

There was silence.

Then, Faren was left emotionally disarmed and found himself unable to face that straight gaze so he looked to the side. "Good..."

And that was that. As far as reunions went, it hadn't been so bad. Granted, that it didn't go worse was likely at least in part owed to the fact that Shale had decided to just return to her corpse-gathering duties because she was at least allowed to squish those and could use them as a consolation prize after not being permitted to crush any sentient living beings (that she seemed especially inclined to stomp on the newly-arrived mages was a fact that, thankfully, remained unsaid).

Then, the silence was broken by the dwarf noble's lighthearted tone as he brusquely grabbed Faren by one wrist, causing him to widen his eyes in worry. "Now that that's over with!"

By all accounts, that exclamation should have been followed by some sort of statement, but the only voice heard next was that of the castless dwarf himself almost shouting "What in the nug's rump?" as the other one almost dragged him along, blissfully ignorant (deliberately of course) of all the others. He forced him to follow him all the way to the other side of the village center and near what looked like a larger than usual building. Then, he stopped in front of the door and, much to everyone's astonishment, almost threw Faren inside, thankfully through the open door and not a window or anything else. Then, he followed after him and both were lost inside that house, or whatever it was.

Of course, everyone felt compelled to at least make sense of things and they finally spotted a sign hanging above the door, like a plank of wood with an anvil carved into it. And, all long last, Alistair decided to break the silence.

"That... was weird."

Morrigan would most likely have jabbed at him but was cut off as the white-haired one suddenly came out of that smithy and strode up to where an apparent bag of equipment was lying, right next to the house on whose canopy he had been taking a nap. Again, he did not spare the others a single glance as he began rummaging through that pack, looking for something specific. After a while, it became obvious that finding whatever he was looking for wasn't easy to locate, so he started taking things out.

The champion's helm that Fradlin had given him (and which was, thankfully, not destroyed by that demon) was taken out and placed beside the bag. The same happened with a red steel dwarven longsword (Gorim's), a pouch of... something and a few pieces of armor, heavy steel chain mail by the looks of it. After that, the one searching finally drew out a rolled up piece of parchment, somewhat crumpled but about as large as a map.

After that, he simply turned around and made for the smithy again.

Then, he stopped, as though a realization finally dawned on him, or he was just acting like it so perfectly than no one could even notice if there was a difference.

He slowly turned around and, finally, actually looked at everyone else, all of them still standing there and staring, even the dwarf merchant (he was a merchant, right?) and his apparent kid. "Oh right! I'll get to you in a jiffy! Just... stay right there." he merrily uttered. Then, he just turned around again and was lost within the mysterious bowels of the Redcliffe Blacksmith's Shop.

There was a great deal of stupefaction in the air and no one had any idea what to do except stand there dumbstruck. Could anyone possibly stir so many conflicting opinions so easily and lightheartedly? And within only five minutes of being revealed to not be dead?

Alim found that he was unable to stop himself from grinning as he maintained his thinker posture (his right hand raised in contemplation in front of his chin as its elbow was held up by the back of his other hand). He felt relieved to see Raonar alive and was quite eager to know just what had happened after he ordered them to flee.

Gwen was as glad as anyone could be to rediscover a lost comrade, although she dreaded the fact that she would most likely be getting the "I told you so" speech in the near future. She was torn between wanting to praise him for predicting all that would happen and strangling him.

Theron also seemed to do nothing, but he was secretly glad to see that **someone** with a higher degree of cunning had finally reappeared and he was quite sure that it would not take long for Raonar to convince the others to let him assume leadership.

Kallian was, for one, glad to see Faren feel better and, even though she still didn't exactly understand everything about the former prince, she was, unlike Theron, sure that, instead of convincing everyone else he should lead, he would most likely end up making them want it to happen if not even suggest it on their own. Looking back, that was a very frightening thought.

Morrigan kept a blank expression and said nothing, though she was quite curious now that she was certain that the vision she had seen while joined to Alim's consciousness was definitely of the white-haired dwarf Grey Warden.

As for Alistair, he was also glad to see another Grey Warden, but besides the fact that he had just been stopped from blurting out his great secret, he was growing increasingly alarmed at the fact that he could not see Duncan anywhere. This meant that he would actually have to ask the silver-eyed one about what had happened and he feared the answer he might receive.

And of course, everyone was too immersed in their own thoughts to even pay attention at how Damon and Rinne had begun wrestling and rolling on the ground again and again and again. Well, no one except Sten, who gazed upon the two hounds with a glimmer of interest in his bloodshot eyes, no doubt admiring their passion and skill as they managed to do battle without injuring each other in the slightest.

The long stretch of unbroken silence was finally ended by Leliana who let her curiosity get the better of her. "Forgive me, but I must ask..." Nine heads turned towards her, Bodahn and Sandal included, yet she continued undisturbed, "...just **who** is that exactly?"

Silence ensued, and all the Wardens glanced at each other in turn, as if they did not know who should answer that.

Then, Bodahn actually spoke. "Well, I suppose I'll let you all catch up then, Me and my boy will see if there's anywhere we might take a rest or do some actual trading." And they trudged off along with their oxen-pulled cart, the wardens forgetting that said cart held all the equipment they weren't carrying on their own person.

Eventually, Gwen thought she would answer the chantry sister's question, though she sighed deeply before doing it. "He's another Grey Warden."

"Is he your Order's leader?" Sten's slammed.

All the others stared at him with differing degrees of shock, ranging from Kallian's mild surprise to Gwen apparent horror.

"Where did **that** come from?" Alistair asked in utmost confusion, scratching his head yet somehow not finding it comfortable to actually look at the giant.

Sten, of course, gave the obvious answer. "He told you to stay right here, and you all obeyed."

And there it was.

The fact that what the Qunari said actually made sense was especially alarming to the lady human warrior, who ended up staring blankly and noticing that her troubled mind was screaming on the inside. The fact that no one else seemed to say anything made it all even worse. And then Theron decided there was a way he could make it even more troubling by actually speaking, even though he had made a point of not socializing very much with anyone until that point.

"Why? Would that be a problem?" the Dalish inquired with an unexpected grin. That elf didn't use to smile, which made Gwen hope that the reason he was doing it now was because Theron was just glad to see Raonar alive and not that the latter had some power that caused reality to become distorted.

There was, apparently, and more or less thankfully in Gwen's opinion, no time for more to be said as the dwarf noble finally came out of the smithy again, shouting "Just stay there and let him finish it!" at whatever or whoever was inside before slamming the door shut and, at long last, walking their way.

"Yo!"

And so came more stupefaction as he stopped in his tracks a few paces in front of them.

"... Why are you **looking** at me like that?" he asked with a frown, sounding remarkably identical to someone that actually, and against all odds, had trouble understanding why all those people were staring at him as though they had expected him to be dead or something.

And there was silence.

"I'm really glad to see you survived," Kallian said sincerely, to which the dwarf nodded courtly and said "You too" before waiting for another while, only to see that none of the others were going to say anything.

It was then that Raonar let a deep sigh and instantly turned his eyes towards Alistair. "I know what you want to ask, so do it. It will be better if you actually ask the question before I give you my answer."

Now it was Alistair that felt the gazes of everyone fixed on him, so he had to muster some of his Templar discipline to stay cool. "Duncan he... What happened to Duncan?"

Alistair knew what the white-haired dwarf was going to say because the latter decided not to keep a straight face as he gave the expected answer. "I'm sorry. He didn't make it."

Gwen instinctively took Alistair's hand into hers, subtly as they stood next to one another. Then, just as Alistair was about to say something, the dwarf noble turned around, went over to his pack of equipment and pulled out what looked like a flacon of ale. After that, he walked back up to the group and tossed it over at the templar, who caught it by reflex.

"I'll tell you all about it later if you want. For now, though, I thought you could use a drink," he said with a wry smile.

Alistair looked at the flask for a while and then his shoulders slumped. "I guess I really could use one."

Raonar waited as the almost-templar and Gwen made their way towards a far off perch and sat down, the flask making a loud hissing sound as its cap was removed. Then, he could finally address the others directly. "I see you picked up some company," he began, measuring the chantry sister, Morrigan and the Qunari in turn. Then, he focused on the witch. "Somehow, I don't think it's all that surprising for you to be here."

Morrigan seemed slightly intrigued by the grin he had put on as he said that. "Well, aren't you the intuitive one." She would have expected him to scowl, to act as any dominant male would.

Instead, he gave a short laugh and told her something that both ruined her day and made her wonder. "You and your so-called mother are so very much alike, it's actually hilarious."

"Hmm..." she uttered, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes at him. "You compared me to my mother. For that, I have decided that I do not like you."

"Well," he brightly followed. "I can assure you that you may like me even less once we have a little chat about your hidden motive for 'helping' the Grey Wardens. And maybe we'll talk about Flemeth's own goals too, since I do believe they may not be entirely the same or may end up diverging at some point."

Morrigan frowned. Deeply.

"Yes, I just like suspecting suspicious people, especially women with revealing robes such as yours. Not to imply you're not attractive, I am just making an impartial point here that is absolutely not colored by whatever paranoia people may think I am suffering from," he added, beaming in the afternoon's sun. "And who's this?" he followed up, turning his attention towards the red-haired woman.

"Ah, I am Leliana," her Orlesian voice almost chanted.

"She says she is helping because the Maker sent her a vision in which he told her to do so," Morrigan explained with disgust as she started to walk away. "And you say **I'm** suspicious. Cute."

"It must be an empty life, to go on without believing in any sort of higher power," the woman suggested as Morrigan went towards where Shale had disappeared to, no doubt in order to take a closer look at that arcane oddity. "But what she said was true. I know it sounds crazy, but I-"

"No need to explain anything!" the short one intervened. "If everyone else was okay with it, then I'm cool with it too. Just as long as you don't do anything crazier than me, you should be fine, and that pretty much makes it almost certain you'll be fine."

"Ah, I see," Leliana said with a sly smile. "Perhaps later you may wish to tell me more of these... crazy things you have done. You will find that I have a special fondness for tales. But now I will leave you to your reunion."

Raonar could swear he saw her wink at him as she took her own leave, only she made her way back up the path, most likely in order to go gaze upon the view of Lake Calenhad and the Castle.

Hopefully that was not a signal that something weird was going to happen.

Sigh... of course it was.

Now that **that** was over with, the exile was finally able to focus on the one person that really required his attention. The Qunari was huge, almost as tall as Shale, which was saying something, though the golem definitely had more body mass, if that phrase was even appropriate at this point. Looking at him more closely, he could well see that he had been right in his previous assumption that he was suffering from a very specific ailment, and the tingle behind his eyes was just one of the signals.

"A Qunari is it? I must say I did not exactly expect to run into one of you so far to the South of Seheron. Yes, I read whatever I could find on you, mostly because I find your, what do you call it... technology? Quite fascinating."

"You seem to quite enjoy speaking," Sten voiced with dry sarcasm, though that failed t prompt a visible emotional response on the dwarf's face.

"He calls himself Sten." Theron explained, almost surprising Kallian by actually speaking without having been called upon first. The Dalish had been more or less grumpy since even before Lothering and had made a point of not socializing very much.

"He said he came here at the behest of the Arishok, their so-called military leader, or one of them, in order to learn about the Blight," Alim followed up.

"Ah..."

Silence fell once more, until the dwarf again broke the silence in a very unusual way. "Guys... Can you give the two of us some space?"

All three elves raised an eyebrow in unison (and the fact that it was the same eyebrow made that whole view especially creepy) but only shot each other a glance and decided to just do it. After a short while, they were standing or sitting some distance behind the dwarf and giant, far enough to not be a nuisance to Alistair and Gwen who were sharing the ale that the newly-found survivor had just given them.

Sten and Raonar measured each other. They were staring at one another while holding the same position, with their hands brought together behind their backs. The Qunari looked down at the dwarf and the latter looked up at him, both with completely flat expressions and not blinking for a long while. Then, the Warden voiced his question.

"So, the Arishok sent you?"

"The Arishok asked "What is the Blight?" and by his question, I am now here," he replied, with a very deep voice that was quite appropriate for someone so large.

"I see."

The short pause in the discussion had the dwarf walking closer to Sten and lifting his right hand all the way up to his own eye level, stretching his fingers as though they were numb or something.

Then came the demand. "I'll need you to kneel."

Sten kept his look totally blank as he gave his answer. "No."

It took a moment for the Qunari to register that the short one's fist had buried deep into his stomach. The punch had been sudden and powerful, accompanied by a burst of raw magic that broke cleanly through his well-hardened muscles and sent a very strong physical shock into his abdomen. And for the first time in his life, Sten collapsed from one single hit, barely putting his left arm between his face and the ground since his right one was busy clutching at his middle.

Everyone in sight stared in shock again.

Between heavy breaths and pure, unadulterated astonishment at having been so quickly forced to his knees, the giant felt his control slipping. He heard his apparent enemy shrug in front of him (he had stepped back in time to avoid being caught under the man's massive frame), and Sten's free arm broke its contact with the ground as instinct hurled it forward into a punch.

The dwarf caught the blow in his right hand, though he failed to stop himself from wincing as the might of that strike caused a sharp pain to arch through his arm, concentrated inside his wrist.

"Ugh... not bad," he admitted, meeting the enraged, bloodshot eyes of the giant as he practically refused to let go of the fist that had been flung in his direction. "But it is, in the end, exactly as I expected. The blow was much weaker than what you would have normally pulled off, wasn't it? And you actually lost control and lunged at me without **thinking**. All the symptoms are here." That definitely caught the panting man's attention. With a quick swipe, Raonar grabbed Sten by the wrist and used his left hand to take him by the jaw and force him to look him in the eye as he spoke. Not that Sten had any inclination to look away.

"Just so we're clear," an icy voice began, meeting only a mixture of defiance and pure surprise in those violet eyes. "When I give an order, you follow it. I don't give them out for fun. I know cases of people dying because of insubordination. Take this situation for example."

He let go of his jaw and moved his hand higher, using his thumb to pull down his lower eyelid so as to inspect it. "You came to learn what the Blight is, you said. I'll tell you. It's a disease, and you've been infected with it," Sten actually flinched. So did everyone else who was looking and was near enough to hear. "And I told you to kneel so that I could properly draw it out of you, not to humiliate you as you assumed I wanted. You should learn not to make assumptions."

Then, the dwarf let go of Sten's hand, which the latter relaxed and again used as support to keep himself from collapsing to the ground completely (he still couldn't breathe properly). The next action that the Warden took was tear off the belts with which the darkspawn war axe was strapped to his back (he had to strengthen his muscles with magic of course), after which he removed it and threw it on the ground in Alim's direction.

"Burn it. Burn that thing until there's no shred of taint left on it and then get rid of it," he ordered, unwaveringly, before again taking Sten by the chin.

"You've been subjected to starvation too, haven't you? I can see the signs well," the dwarf guessed, warranting a surprised frown on the still heavily breathing, and now sweating, Qunari. "And you've been infected with the taint for a while. You're lucky your people have strong physiologies because you would have been beyond help already otherwise."

The giant was absolutely speechless and did nothing to stop the short but remarkably stout and muscular warrior from firmly holding him by the chin and placing his right palm on his forehead and over his eyes.

And that was to be the one and hopefully last time when the dwarf noble ever drew darkspawn taint out of anyone again. He focused all of his attention and began to draw the corruption out of the Qunari and into his own system, an yet he was astounded at jut how much of it there was inside him. The subtle glow in his eyes grew as he pulled it out, until light started to come out through his bare skin, causing the other Wardens to become alarmed at run to the scene, though they did not dare come close enough to intervene.

The sensation was stronger, far stronger than when he'd drained part of the taint out of Theron, or when he pulled it out of Gorim in the Deep Roads. It was more akin to the violent struggle during the joining, when Kallian almost died.

"Maker's breath!" Alistair gasped.

"What's he doing?" Theron asked in amazement as he practically saw what looked like black taint gathering and passing from Sten into the one doing the taint-purging.

"Wait..." Alim interrupted, though he still very diligently levitated the axe in mid-air and sustained the blue flames that were eating through it. "You don't **know**?"

Theron looked puzzled, and that was reason enough for Alim to realize that Raonar had been modest enough to not mention anything to Theron about how he so selflessly saved him in the Brecilian Forest. "He did that to you too, in the Brecilian Forest. That's why you survived until we reached your keeper."

"What?" the hunter was peeved. He owed a durgel'Len his life and he didn't even do him the courtesy of informing him?

"Wait, so he can **actually heal darkspawn corruption?"** Gwen couldn't believe it.

"No," Alim cleanly replied, though that failed to actually make everything make sense. "I think that, as long as it's in its rawest form, he can suck the taint out of things. Which means he can prevent people from becoming ghouls but not heal those, or animals, that have already turned."

Kallian was mostly enchanted by the visual effect of the apparent magic that the former prince was using.

It was at that point that the dwarf finally gave in and let a rousing cry leave his lungs in his last-ditch effort to draw the final remnants of the corruption out of Sten. And then, the white light coming out of him died down instantly and, after a moment of utter stillness, Sten finally fell to the ground, unconscious, blowing dirt and dust in all directions, and the dwarf noble fell on his back, just as messily.

"-. .-"

"So, how many fingers am I holding up?" Alistair's voice was heard as his senses returned.

Apparently, the dwarf noble was lying on his back with the other wardens, except Faren, gathered in a circle around him. Alistair was leaning over him, holding no less than three fingers in front of his eyes.

"Three..." he uttered as he sat up, bringing his hand to his forehead in order to chase away the momentary dizziness that awoke. "I am **so** not doing that again! I think I just lost a whole year of my life!" That made everyone stare at each other in turn, looking quizzical, so he realized he would have to explain it further, so he got up as well as he could, not refusing Alistair's help. "I'm pretty sure doing that accelerates the taint."

Ah, now it made sense. Since everyone had pretty much suffered their first batch of nightmares already, Alistair had, fortunately, explained the basic things about being Grey Wardens, like the appetite, the low fertility issue and, of course, the dying within forty years at most thing, and 30 years on average.

Raonar made a mental note to never, ever, ever do that again unless absolutely necessary because it will either outright kill him or shorten his lifespan even more. Sten was definitely going to work (very, very hard) to make up for the year he sacrificed. The exile had expected only a few week's worth of taint to be inside him but wouldn't have cringed so much even if it had taken away a couple of months. But a whole year? Seriously?

He finally deigned to look in the Qunari's direction and saw that he was still lying unconscious in the same spot, which meant that the prince himself had only drifted out of consciousness for a while. Eventually, they all got their bearings and decided to at least move Sten to a more comfortable position. Of course, it took the combined efforts of Raonar, Alistair and Theron to even succeed in lifting that huge person off of the ground, after which they carried him over to the wooden perch and let him lie on a sufficiently serviceable blanket.

"Okay, so I have to ask..." Kallian began, "why did you lock Faren in the smithy?"

The dwarf noble clapped his hands against each other, dusting them off, before answering with his ever present smile. "You'll all find out soon enough."

"Wait, never mind that!" Gwen protested as she finally succeeded in remembering that something weird and life-threatening was supposed to be happening in Redcliffe. Of course, all three elves and Alistair waited to ask what they all wanted to know. "Just what was that knight saying about walking dead? And how did you get here exactly? What one Thedas happened since Ostagar? And what's with the Golem? And the dog..."

"Oh, that..." the white-haired, short person trailed off for a moment. Then, he took a deep breath and released a flow of words that somehow managed to explain things in an oddly comprehensive manner. "Well, Duncan and I managed to get to the upper reaches of Ostagar. Then we were cornered. We ended up falling off the ledge and Duncan got mortally injured and died a few hours later once we got away through the Korcari wilds. At some point, I collapsed and woke up the next day with the dog already there with me. I spent more days than I'd care to remember doing my best to survive, until I finally managed to reach a village called Honnleath. I got Shale from the son of some mage, well, more or less, then came up here where I found out walking dead were attacking the village. So I had Shale and Rinne help me fight off those things, along with whoever else I could 'persuade' to assist, **after** I convinced that smith to actually repair the militia's gear."

Then, the dwarf finally inhaled again.

And the silence stretched, until Gwen got around to saying "I see..."

Alistair was the most stricken and a year's worth of grief seemed to loom on his brow. "This doesn't make any sense!" Everyone turned to look at him. "You say Duncan was mortally injured but didn't say anything else. This, this sounds just too unreal! He had way too much experience to just die like that! What really happened, I want to know exactly how he died. How did you escape when he didn't?"

Alistair probably didn't realize just what those words came out sounding like, or they sounded exactly as they should have but he did not care to admit it.

"Now **that** was uncalled for!" Alim protested with a deep frown.

"No, actually, I think that was exactly what he wanted to say," the dwarf calmly cut them off before they could start to bicker between themselves because of the templar's total lack of tact. Then, his eyes looked up at the human with a neutral gaze. "So, should I assume that you think I... did something? Because if you do, at least say it now so we know where we stand."

Alistair flinched. "What, no I... I didn't mean it like that." He could tell he didn't sound at all convincing by the way Kalian and Alim were staring daggers at him. Even Theron, who was still leaning against the fence some distance away, was glaring in his direction, and Gwen looked a bit concerned. "I really didn't mean it like that..." he repeated, with a somewhat pained voice.

"I'm sure..." the flat, obviously disbelieving voice said. Then, the dwarf noble just looked away from everyone else and walked past them, heading up the ascending path to the higher level of Redcliffe.

"-. .-"

"Care to explain what **that** was about?" Alim demanded in a harsh tone after the dwarf was gone.

Alistair was feeling very small now, even though everyone else around him, including Gwen (maybe), was actually shorter than him. Sten was still unconscious on the perch. Morrigan was off somewhere (thank the Maker for small mercies), so was Leliana and the huge golem didn't even look in their direction as it finished up gathering up whatever corpse chunks were left lying around the village.

And now, the almost-templar was surrounded by three very peeved elves and an apparently skeptical human woman.

"Alistair... that wasn't what you usually come across like," Gwen pointed out.

"I know I..." he paused. "I didn't really mean to come out as though I was actually accusing him of anything."

"But you did," Alim flatly noticed. "Which means that, somewhere deep down, you actually considered the possibility that he may have done something or failed to do enough. You're blaming him for Duncan's death even though you don't really have any idea of what happened!"

"That's not what it's like!" he shot back, visibly outraged, though he was thankful that there weren't any villagers around as they were recovering in the Chantry. "I just... I don't know. I don't know if I should really trust everything he says."

That drew Gwen's attention. "Well, I know he can be a bit... unnerving, but I don't really see why **you** would be so suspicious of him."

"I don't know, he acts too... casual about all this. It just feels like he's deliberately holding out on us..."

"That is not very convincing and makes no sense whatsoever anyway," the mage observed with a raised eyebrow. "He managed to predict the outcome of the battle and got us to safety. He split the treaties in order to maximize our chances of doing anything about the Blight. And he went back to get Duncan, **on his own**, even despite the fact that the sky was practically crashing down around him. And now we find out he saved this village practically single-handedly and you **still** suspect him of foul play?" Everyone had to admit that summary actually did seem to invalidate Alistair's reservations. "What's **really** making you mistrust him so much, Alistair?"

There was a short silence, and the former Templar finally caved and said it. "Well... He got exiled out of Orzammar for **something** right? And only Duncan and Faren knew exactly what it was as far as I can tell. And there was what Faren himself said too..."

"What are you getting at?" Alim pressed, as the others were listening with baited breaths.

"Faren mentioned about both of that guy's brothers wanting him dead. There has to be something about you that would make your own brothers want to kill you, right?"

Theron and Gwen looked puzzled.

Alim and Kallian... not so much.

"Alistair..." Alim uttered with a sigh. "I'm afraid you got things totally wrong."

After a second, everyone noticed that Alim had said those words at the exact same time and in the very same intonation as Kallian. The city elf and the mage looked at each other and repeated the performance, only with a different sentence. "Wait, so **you** know what happened there too?"

Gwen, Theron and Alistair opened their mouths, then shut them again when Kallian took the word. "Look, I'll just say that it's... really complicated but totally **not** what you think... I think..."

There was another pause.

"Okay, that didn't come out right for some reason... And no, I won't tell you what went on because I've been sworn to secrecy."

"And I just don't feel like telling you," Alim teased. "Now go and apologize."

The senior Warden was positively horrified and began to consider that maybe surrendering leadership was not one of his brightest moments.

Then, the Dalish hunter finally came forward and spoke. "We **could** vote, you know, and I'm sure it would be an overwhelming majority."

And there was blissful silence as Gwen decided to spare him the pain of actually agreeing with everyone else on something that Alistair was sure he wasn't going to enjoy in the slightest.

"-. .-"

It hadn't really bothered him, Alistair's slip-up. After all, he **could** have squeezed in the necessary information into his summary of events but chose not to in order to see just what Alistair's state of mind was. And he wanted to get to speak in private with him without arising too many suspicions and making his life even more difficult. So he had walked up to the high perch on the other side of the path next to the tavern and was waiting there. It may very well have been the highest point in the village.

Presently, he was sitting on the edge of the wooden platform and staring ahead. The natural terrace below him, on which the windmill rested, was populated by several knights, each doing whatever they wanted. The view of lake Calenhad and the Castle was marvelous and no one would assume it was the same place from where those many walking dead had poured during the previous night. And the sun was high up in the sky, painting everything in a gold color, even Leliana as she stood on the edge of the cliff, admiring the sight and playing with some Andraste's Grace flowers.

Looking at it, the previous night had, in fact, been quite a success. At first, when those undead began to come out, he assisted the knights in holding them off, until Thomas came screaming that they were coming from the river too. It was at that point that the Warden just ordered everyone to follow him down there, leaving Shale alone to deal with whatever others were coming from up the path itself. Shale seemed quite taken with the prospect of having absolutely nothing to worry about as she squished them into oblivion.

This left Raonar with half a dozen knights, Berwick, Dwin, his two goons and all the militia to deal with anything down in the village center. He didn't even have to resort to his special skills in order to keep everyone alive (even Loyd the bartender). And he even won the contest with Dwin, much to the latter's annoyance, though his aggravation likely stemmed mostly from the fact that he had been outdone two to one (well, almost three to one actually, but he'll never really admit it, especially knowing it was because he had insisted he could use that huge greatsword to actually win).

Alistair's heavy chain mail caused quite a rustle as he walked up that path but the dwarf pretended not to notice him until he had come up and stopped in his tracks some paces behind him. It was then that the exile decided to play the dramatic effect card and bit on an apple he had so foresightedly acquired from the knights. "Was there something specific you wanted?"

He could practically hear the human's shoulders slump. "I... ah... came to apologize."

"Oh?" he bit on the apple again, chewed for a while, and swallowed. "For what I wonder?"

"You know what for..."

"I'm not entirely certain I do," the other one challenged in his ever so straightforward tone.

"Look, I didn't want to come out as if I was actually accusing you of anything." As earnest as that sounded, it was remarkably well worded. Alistair was definitely using his 'dumbass' attitude as a facade.

"The way you said it doesn't actually deny the fact that you **do** think I'm to blame for Duncan's death."

"That's not how it is!" the man protested, his outraged gesticulation causing the metal suit to clatter slightly. "Look... I'm... sorry. That was completely uncalled for."

The dwarf gave a long, long sigh and gestured at him to approach. "Sit down. I'll tell you what happened but this will take a while."

Some time after the man sat down next to him, Raonar finished describing how they had been cornered, how Duncan had saved his life, how they had escaped Ostagar and, eventually, how Duncan gave his last breath. He skipped the part where Duncan told him of the business with Maric and the Deep Roads, and of Fiona, just in case.

"I see..." the templar broke off. He really didn't know what to say.

"So," the dwarf candidly asked, "when are you going to tell them?"

Alistair stared. "Tell them what?"

The short one just couldn't help himself from grinning, or couldn't be bothered "That you're a very particular kind of bastard of course!"

Alistair gasped and was sweating under his armor but shut his mouth almost as soon as he opened it. And yet, he had to speak. "Duncan actually told you that?"

"Yep."

"Damn... my blood will keep hounding me wherever I go, won't it?" the distraught human moaned.

"Well, at least Duncan managed to do part of what he hoped to do before he died," the exile pointed out seriously. "And it's not like he didn't die with honor." Yes, at least **he** had actually been honorable in his own way.

Predictably, silence fell between them until the human finally finished with his brooding. "I suppose dying to save someone's life is a worthy death at least." Read:_ I really don't want to talk about my parentage right now._

Ah, and that was what struck the cord. "Someone's life?" the dwarf echoed. "You really don't like me much, do you?"

The templar really was stumped by that. "Where did **that** come from?"

But the noble immediately turned merry again. "Never mind! I know how to fix it!" and he practically let himself fall off the edge of the multi-meter high platform, much to the human's shock. Of course, he released a magical pulse from his feet just before touching the ground, breaking his own fall quite readily, though he did end up rolling a couple of times. Then, he strode back towards the village center below, waving at Alistair as he left.

"-. .-"

By the time the dwarf had returned, Sten had awakened and was sitting on the wooden perch in front of said house, looking particularly exhausted. Everyone else was either discussing things or waiting, though Gwen seemed to have just finished speaking with Bann Teagan when the small Warden returned.

"Ah, there you are!" the bann gladly spoke upon seeing him. "I have just met your companions and am glad to see that they are, shall we say, more sociable than your other ones."

"You mean not made of stone or part of the animal kingdom." was the amused reply.

Teagan laughed and, after exchanging more pleasantries, went up on the hill next to the windmill where he would explain the plan to infiltrate the castle.

"Okay!" the dwarf once again began speaking. "Now that that whole business is over with, I can finally socialize with you guys!"

And the next minute had him rummaging through his pack and bundle of equipment until he took several items out, each neatly wrapped in a cloth, after which he handed one or two of the to all of the other wardens, except, of course, the castless dwarf that had still not come out of the smithy.

Kallian unsheathed the Green Blade and admired its fine make and the green-colored Veridium metal it was wrought out of.

Alim got a belt that supposedly boosted willpower and mental resistance, though it looked more like a stiff cord interwoven with burnished brass wires.

Theron got a new dagger on which a strange inscription rested "For Olaf: Finally, a blade that's up to the challenge of one of your fine firm cheeses." Theron rose an eyebrow but ended up chuckling as he replaced the kife he usually had around his ankle wth it.

Around the time when Raonar was preparing to hand Gwen her own presents, Alistair finally came down from the upper level of the village and drew close, looking very curious but somewhat less distraught than earlier.

"Anyway Gwen," said the hero of Redcliffe as he handed her a sword and a shield neatly wrapped in common linen. "I thought you might want these back."

The word 'back' instantly caused her heartbeat to escalate and she unwrapped the pieces of armament as fast as she could, ending up positively marveled when she laid eyes on the Cousland Family Heirlooms. For a moment, time seemed to stop around her and she subconsciously let her fingers slide down the hilt of her sword while she let the Shield of Highever rest against her as she got to one knee.

And when she finally gazed back in the dwarf's direction, he found that he was just smiling at her, as though he felt a measure of delight of his own while looking at her and her overflowing mirth.

"Sorry about the shield if it's a bit dented," he said, "I kind of had to fight some darkspawn and a demon with it since my own got destroyed by a particularly troublesome ogre."

Like that would actually matter more than the fact she had them back. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I think I love you."

Alistair looked aghast for a moment but Lady Cousland was utterly oblivious to that fact because she decided it was best if she just kept staring at her heirlooms.

"And since we're at this part anyway!" the dwarf's excitement returned. "I think I have something for you too, Alistair!"

"Oooh, a present for me?" he joked, warmly. "I definitely like presents."

"Even if you didn't, you'd be all over your heels for this one," the noble candidly declared as he drew one of the three remaining weapons from the large bundle. This one was unwrapped but its sheathe was well-worn and Alistair immediately recognized it.

"That... That's..." he was genuinely speechless as he came forth and took a hold of it as carefully as he could, just as though he were afraid of damaging it by handling it too brusquely. "I..."

"That's Duncan's sword, yes," the stout one confirmed.

"I... wow... I have no words..." the templar was genuinely touched.

"Just take care of it," was the gentle request.

"I will, thank you. I'll always treasure it. It's good to have something to remember him by."

The former Aeducan let himself indulge in the feeling that he was finally getting the appropriate reaction for his actions instead of somehow making those closest to him want to see him dead. And then, he took the one largest, equally covered up greatsword that was left and walked over to where Sten was sitting. The latter had been deliberately ignoring the display of emotion in favor of getting his bearings back as fast as possible.

"So, how are you feeling?" the white-haired Warden asked him upfront.

Sten looked straight at him as he sat there with his arms resting on his legs. "Better. Thank you." That his eyes were not as bloodshot as before seemed to confirm it.

"You're welcome. I trust there will be no more problems with insubordination?" That hint was given with a straight face.

There was a pause.

"As you wish," he confirmed, just as blankly.

"Alright then, that will be good enough_." Well, it seemed to have the worked as intended, for now at least._ "Then you'll need a new weapon. And I promise, this one isn't tainted." And he just handed him that big sword and walked away towards the others, only to hear Sten gasp in disbelief and jump to his feet when he unwrapped it.

Raonar slowly turned around and saw Sten staring at him, and then at the sword, and then at him, and then at the sword. And he continued to stare at the sword as he finally regained the ability to speak. "Asala..."

And silence again. The sword was very large and had a hilt that was thicker and larger than usual, as though it was designed for a particular set of hands. And its blade had a unique shape and was forged out of what looked like blue steel, a material which was very rare, even in the Deep Roads.

"My sword... My soul... Completion, I had almost forgotten it... Where did you find this? **How** did you...?"

"Hmm..." _Well, this was definitely not something I expected. _"There's a story in there somewhere." _Somehow, I feel like I should avoid saying I won it at a bet I made with Dwin about who would kill more undead._

"Who are you? **What **are you?" the giant looked positively stupefied.

"Pardon?" _And I thought dwarves stood out._

"Are you sure you are a Grey Warden?" Sten had to force himself from stopping his smile from being too wide. "You must be an Ashkaari to find a single lost blade in a country ravaged by Blight and war."

The dwarf noble had to admit that, while political flattery always disgusted him, honest one was... well, it actually made him feel kind of warm and fuzzy inside. "Maybe later you'll tell me all about how you ended up traveling with us."

Sten returned to his normal, blank expression and nodded. "As you would have it."

Raonar basked in the praise and thanks he received from everyone else until, at long, long last, the doors to the smithy was thrown open and the red-haired, castless dwarf trudged out, the hem of chain on his side jingling as he walked over to the others, his back hunched and his gaze covered in a frown of weariness.

"Well, how did it go?' the other dwarf asked brightly.

Faren walked close and grabbed him by the front of his shirt. "I... will... kill you... if you **ever** hand me over to a drunken blacksmith again."

The other one's response was to simply grab him by both forearms and force him to aim his hands at the sky. "Hmm, but Owen did make them properly, didn't he?" He then let go and backed away a couple of steps. "So show us."

The redhead sighed but found it impossible to stop a smile from appearing as he lunged his hand to both sides. And as he drew his palms backwards, his two wrist blades came out in a flash out of his newly modified leather gloves, accompanied by a thrusting sound. Then, they disappeared with a distinct noise once more as he relaxed his hands again.

"Hmm, they'll need some oiling since they're a bit too noisy," Raonar assessed with a critical nod of the head.

And all that were present watched in amazement, until Alistair voiced their identical thoughts. "That must be the coolest thing I have ever seen, which should make it clear how creepy it actually is."

"I must say that those hidden wrist blades really suit you," said the city elf while Theorn and Alim only nodded in approval.

"So that parchment you took out of the bag earlier were the schematics?" Gwen realized.

"Yes. The parts had already been forged before you guys even got here. All that was left was to follow the blueprint and put them together," the dwarf noble revealed. "And don't look at me like that, if I survived the Korcari Wilds on my own and without help, of course I would expect you guys to make it out of Ostagar alive as well." _That I had trouble sleeping because of worry will not be said here though. _"Oh, and by the way!"

He then again pulled something out of his seemingly endless bag of holding, a dagger that looked vaguely familiar and seemed to have been modified (it had a ring on the end of the hilt). "Those wrist blades were for my sake," the silver-eyed one explained as he walked up to the only other dwarf there and pressed the palm of his right hand against the top of his head. Hard.

_**Exactly**__ like my mother used to do to me,_ Kallian remembered as she herself related to the pout that Faren had put on right now. _Cute._

"That you have them will give me peace of mind knowing you can protect yourself at all times," he went on, after which he passed him the other, masterfully-crafted dagger. "Duncan wanted to give you a weapon but you couldn't use maces right? This is his dagger."

It was amazing how frank he could sound when he wanted to. That was when everyone finally managed to put at least some of the dots together, though the real picture came into view when the genuine nature of that present was made clear.

"I know I'm a day late but, Happy Birthday!"

Faren was dumbstruck and just stood there speechless.

And the silence stretched on.

"I must say I approve of this," Theron voiced.

But Kallian just **had** to say it. "Faren, you're getting all misty-eyed..."

"I am **not!"** he shot back with an even louder pout.

"Okay, we'll stop here before things get awkward," the silver-eyed warden commanded, notifying the others that they should just restrict themselves to amused chuckles for now. Still, he playfully punched Faren's shoulder before he went over and packed all of his things again. That gave the others enough time to finish up their smart comments, all of them quite happy that Morrigan was still off somewhere and unable to start speaking of how pointlessly sappy everything had been.

"Okay," the dwarf prince finally said once he was done rearranging his things. "Now, we should probably gather our non-warden companions and see what we do next. So, Alistair, what'll it be?"

There was a pause.

Alright, so the pause was longer.

And of course the stout warrior would have to ask. "And **why** are you all looking at me in stunned silence again?"

Faren started laughing, but that was only because he realized what Raonar was doing.

And Kallian did the same.

And Theron started to laugh as well until even Alim could not take it anymore and burst, leaving only Gwen gazing sideways at Alistair and looking as though it took all she had to stop herself from laughing along with the others.

Everyone ignored Sten, even the two mabari hounds and the wolf that had decided to just stare.

The former Aeducan just stroked his perfect beard and moustache until the elves and dwarf finally calmed down and were able to breathe properly again. Then, he gave a long, long suffering sigh. "Senior Warden Alistair surrendered leadership to someone who's been a warden for just a few weeks, didn't he?" he instantly guessed, though no one was really surprised he was so perceptive by that point. "So... Who's going to be the leader then?" Somehow, he actually made himself sound totally impartial, even though he suspected it was Gwen.

And that made it even more obvious to Faren, Alim and, to some extent, Kallian that he was going to manipulate all of them into wanting to name him leader since he wouldn't have to deal with mutiny if they actually were made to be the ones who suggested he should lead in the first place. After all, that would mean openly admitting that they were wrong, even though it would probably be a false belief.

Theron decided he couldn't be bothered with the whole spectacle, however, so he skipped ahead. "I vote we skip all the nonsense and just let Raonar assume leadership since he has practically dictated our every movement thus far." Gwen threw him an icy glare that the Dalish hunter was content to blissfully pretend to ignore while hurrying things along. "Anyone against the motion?"

There was only awkward silence and metaphorical daggers or sly glances passing between the Wardens' eyes.

"Oh come on!" the white-haired one let out. "That's just too anticlimactic! And here I was excited we'd maybe engage in some game of wits or some ritual battle for deciding the leader which, of course, I would win because I am just that foresighted and would have totally known what to prepare for!"

And another pause came.

Then, Alim pointed out the obvious. "You just gave all of us presents. What did you expect?"

"True..." he immediately agreed with a very serious expression. "Okay then, gather the rest and let's go and talk to Teagan about infiltrating the Castle and saving the sick Arl Eamon from nasty, demon-possessed corpses. And Sten, no buts!"

And he was gone before anyone had a chance to say anything else to him.

And they all sighed.

And stared at each other while Rinne and Sten tactfully followed after what they saw as the obvious choice for a leader.

And as time seemed to drag its boots, Alistair just could not stop himself from inquiring. "Did he just bribe his way to the top?"

"I'm afraid so," Gwen confirmed with a very annoyed expression.

Alim went off to find Morrigan and the Golem while the other elves and dwarf followed the new Warden Commander up to the windmill.

And so, the only two human Wardens were left to ponder on their own, and all they could feel was that they were the minority in that group.

"I have the distinct feeling something weird is about to happen," Gwen reluctantly let out.

"Well, if it makes you feel better, I think you did good enough as the leader up to now," Alistair said sheepishly.

And it took all of Gwen's self-control to stop herself from punching him for not being able to properly conceal the fact that he, too, was in favor of that dwarf being the leader of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden instead of her, the Heir to the Cousland line.

When had she fallen so far?

* * *

_And the review space is right there and waiting as always!_


	24. Faux Respite 2: Abominable Abominations

Author's note: Again, many thanks to kuro-oni5 for his/her glowing review and for notifying me that I had posted Chapter 20 twice. The correct chapter 19 is up now and, since it's quite relevant, I suggest reading it.

* * *

**Chapter 23: ****Abominable Abominations**

"-. What is it, mother? I can't see it clearly. .-"

Even though the giant was quite put out with being left behind in the village, Raonar ordered him to stay put. When asked by the others, the new Warden Commander explained that, even though he is supposedly part of a physically superior race, the taint left him severely weakened and it will take about two days for him to really get his bearings. After that, he'll have to catch up on all the food he missed during those weeks spent in the cage. Of course, he didn't actually explain it to Sten like that.

The reason he gave the giant was that he was a liability without proper gear and, while he now had his sword, he needed at least some basic armor. So he left him in Owen's hands, the blacksmith having been tasked to modify a suit of heavy chain mail to fit his larger than usual frame. He'll probably have his hands full pounding at metal for the next day or so. Sten tried to protest at how unbefitting and dangerous it was for a drunken sot like Owen to handle him, but relented when asked to choose between that or fighting darkspawn in rags and getting infected again.

At least Damon and Rinne had been left there to keep him company.

Theron had stated bluntly that there was no way in this world or the next that he would even step foot in an underground tunnel that shemlen built and which goes beneath Lake Calenhad if he had anything to say about it. He invoked something about the possibility of a cave-in and drowning as one of the reasons. As such, the Dalish hunter was left to, ironically, be the only elf that would join the 100% human knights, along with Gwenith and Alistair, when they advanced on the front gate to Castle Redcliffe. Of course, the group using the tunnel opened by Teagan's family signet ring would first have to open said front gate.

This meant that there was only Raonar, Morrigan, Leliana, Faren and Kallian to see the utterly flabbergasted look on Alim's face as he just kept staring at the human in the cell. The elf's eyes still blinked from time to time, as he was still processing the information that the man had sputtered. That or he was trying to wake up from this horrible nightmare only to realize that it was real.

"Jowan... how in the name of the **Fade** could you be so **stupid?"**

The escaped and now imprisoned circle mage almost cowered in fear at Alim's outburst, raising his hands in a placating fashion as though they would help stave off the tongue-lashing he was going to get.

"Hmm... I take it you two know each other?" the Commander interceded, hoping to help the outraged blood mage calm down at least a little.

"People would say we were **friends** when we were both back at the tower," the Grey Warden mage replied, pressing his fingers against the bridge of his nose in frustration.

"But why is he here? Aren't mages supposed to never be allowed to leave that tower?" Kallian caught on.

"Indeed, 'tis true that the Chantry likes to keep its mages locked up in a cage," Morrigan disdainfully agreed. "So this one must be a fugitive then?"

Alim was finally able to take a deep breath and prevent himself from blowing a hole through the wall with lighting just to relieve himself of his aggravation. "Are you an idiot?" he lashed out at the uncomfortable human again. "Say that again."

The human called Jowan stepped closer to the bars of the cell he was locked in and reluctantly explained the situation more clearly. "Look, I thought I was doing something right! Teyrn Loghain's men helped me escape from the templars and Lady Isolde wanted someone to tutor her son, someone that could teach him to hide his talents and prevent the Chantry from taking him away. So I thought I'd take the opportunity and help Ferelden..."

"By poisoning Arl Eamon!" the elven mage almost shrieked. "I can't believe I'm asking this a third time, but how can you be so **stupid?"**

The dwarf noble cleared his throat and drew everyone's attention before things could escalate. "Right, maybe some actual introductions are in order... And both of you explain exactly why you know each other so well and how all this mess may have happened."

The human was dressed in common mage robes that had begun to wear out because of the time spent in prison. He had dark hair, mostly unkempt, and while he was not in any way ugly, with his black eyes and mostly well-built face, he was not particularly dashing either. He just looked... bland, which oddly seemed to fit his demeanor. "Alim and I were... friends, back at the tower..." at that, he gave the Grey Warden mage a look that seemed to ask if it was alright for him to talk about it.

Fortunately, the latter decided to just explain everything himself. "Jowan here is also a so-called blood mage."

Morrigan looked especially stumped. "A blood mage? Him? I... would never have guessed..."

"That should teach you not to judge a book by its cover," Leliana followed up, quite obviously pleased to have found something to annoy Flemeth's daughter with.

"I get that you had some problems with the tower before Duncan conscripted you," the city elf told the mage, partly so that she could move things along before Leliana and Morrigan got into another one of their verbal duels. "Does this have something to do with it?"

"Right, you never did tell us just how you actually became such a powerful blood mage," the bearded dwarf pointed out, not hiding his curiosity. "Wasn't the Circle supposed to be adamant in its loathing of blood magic?"

"The **term** is primal magic," Surana voice in annoyance, crossing his arms. "But I suppose telling you now is as good a moment as any." The elf took a deep breath and finally began his disclosure. "There are always people, apprentices mostly, that like to dig into the libraries and look for hints and passages of power that can teach them how to use the power of life instead of having to siphon energy from the Fade or from the air or ground, or whatever. None of them ever get really far that way though..."

"'Tis most interesting that there even are books like that available to every apprentices," the witch of the wilds mused.

"Yes, well, they're really cryptic and it's done partially on purpose anyway," he explained, instantly capturing whatever attention everyone else had invested into anything besides listening to what he was saying. "You see... there's always been a... hidden cartel of Blood Mages back at Kinloch Hold."

"Ah, truly?" Morrigan asked, quite intrigued.

"Yes. Those books are scattered about to see which of the apprentices are serious about learning blood magic and if they're bright enough to join in. And, of course, if they can be trusted."

"Ah, so... You two somehow got involved in this cartel?" Raonar guessed, though it was quite obvious by now. "And it eventually returned to bite you in the ass?"

"Too true I'm afraid," Jowan dejectedly confirmed.

"Jowan got involved about two years ago," Alim said. "He managed to blunder his way into some tomes because he was desperate he wasn't advancing well enough in 'normal' magic."

"Wait a minute," the short one requested, scratching his forehead. "You're saying the leadership of the tower was completely oblivious to this blood mage group?"

"Well, Irving isn't exactly the most perceptive of First Enchanters," the magus replied with some flavor of irony. "Actually, that's probably why that guy Anders kept escaping the tower. He practically hated Irving, although there was also the fact that Anders himself was brought to the Circle when he had already reached adolescence, unlike the rest of us who were taken away from our families when we were children. That and the fact that he couldn't stand Uldred either."

"Uldred? That's the mage that was at Ostagar and wanted to light the beacon himself," the exile noted, narrowing his eyes as a suspicion started to be born at the back of his mind. "But what does Uldred have to do with all this?"

"Well, Uldred was the one that Irving trusted because he supposedly had this special skill that let him root out malefikar," Surana relayed with some disdain. "Makes you realize that Irving is kind of an idiot, considering that Uldred is actually the one in charge of the illegal blood mage cartel."

Morrigan coughed suspiciously while the other just shared a look.

"Well, that makes sense actually," the dwarf prince stated cheerfully.

"It does?" Kallian asked. "Wait, don't answer that."

"Fine by me... So what happened exactly that got you two in trouble?" the dwarf noble followed up. "And how long have **you** been involved, Alim?"

"Well, I joined around the same time as Jowan, partly for the power benefits and partly because he needed someone to keep his ass out of the fire."

"You make it sound like I was a burden!" Jowan complained, helplessly pacing about his dank cell. "You joined on your own. I never asked you to-"

"Anyway..." the elf mage brushed the observation aside. "It worked out well for a while. I was just so awesome that I grew in power like that!" he snapped his fingers proudly, "in areas that others took weeks to master. Of course, I hid it in order to stay inconspicuous. Jowan didn't exactly do too shabby either, but his performance at 'regular' magic tests was way weaker than most people's."

"I found out they were going to make me tranquil!" the human prisoner cried out in his defense. "I wasn't just going to abide by that!"

"Yes, Uldred was going to turn Jowan into a scapegoat," Alim confirmed. "And, thus, preserve the image of his "malekifar detection ability"," he air quoted. "But of course Jowan had to make it worse."

There was a pause, after which he decided to just go on with the storytelling. "He had gotten involved with a chantry sister names Lilly."

There was a more awkward pause.

"But, that is forbidden," the Leliana voiced. "Mages may not be outright forbidden to marry but members of the chantry take vows of celibacy."

"That's true, but Lilly hadn't taken hers yet," Jowan told them. "I found out they were going to make me tranquil, so I asked Alim to help me and Lilly escape after destroying my phylactery."

"Phylactery?" was the Warden Commander's question.

"It's a vial of blood that helps templars track down the one it belongs to," Jowan explained.

"Yes, makes you realize how hypocritical the Chantry is, considering that this phylactery business is blood magic in itself," the Warden mage noted with a sigh. "Anyway, I helped Jowan destroy his phylactery but then we were caught by Irving and Templar Commander Greagoir. Jowan used some really messy blood spell to knock the head templar out, along with everyone else, just as we had planned, before finally making a run for it. Too bad that freaked Lilly out and she broke up with him right there, choosing to get herself imprisoned in Aeonar instead." Alim shook his head in disapproval as he said that.

"You took quite a risk..." the fair-haired female elf realized.

"A bit too big of a risk if you ask me," Faren finally broke his long silence. "I mean, what if Duncan wasn't there to conscript you? What would have happened to you?"

"Hello, very powerful blood mage here?" Alim reminded him. "I **did** intend to get conscripted in fact, since it would have gotten me out of that tower more easily, but I could have escaped whenever I wanted. I mean, if Anders had no issues breaking out over a dozen times, I'm sure I would have been able to pull it off." Noticing that he only got an indignant snort from the small rogue in reply, he continued.

"Mages like me who passed the Harrowing can't be made tranquil. Once I was discovered to be a blood mage, though I wasn't found out per se, I would have been either executed or taken to Aeonar myself. Execution... I could have escaped from, but I was more interested in actually getting away, or being escorted out of the tower, so I could find my own phylactery. It's in Denerim right now."

"I see..." Raonar uttered, twirling his long mustache around his index finger. "So... you infiltrated that cartel... and later used 'becoming a Grey Warden' as a means to an end, in this case to escape a gilded cage? The two of us are more alike than I thought."

"Of course," Alim said with a scoff, "I never thought my risk and sacrifice would end up with Jowan poisoning Arl Eamon." He instantly glared at the man, causing him to flinch as he broke off in a yell, "Which just **happens** to be the one man that can help us stop Loghain's treachery! Nice going!"

"I thought I was finally doing something right!" the one in the cell weakly tried to defend himself. "The Teyrn is a hero, everyone thinks so... I didn't think it would come to this."

"You know, it's interesting how easily people can actually believe that poisoning someone is for the greater good," Faren said with sarcasm, though he became a bit annoyed after that. "All nobles are alike, dwarves or otherwise."

"Humph," the other dwarf grunted.

"Present company excluded of course!" the castless man turned it around, squinting both eyes in his attempt to lighten up the mood. All he got in response was a punch in the leather-armored shoulder. From a steel-armored fist. At least it wasn't an especially hard hit.

"We still don't know what may have caused this whole walking dead business," Kallian said with a shrug of both shoulders.

"It wasn't me!" the prisoner at once cried out. "I didn't do this! Honestly!"

"So what, who else could have screwed up so badly?" Alim asked, quite peeved. "Or are you saying Connor may have done something stupid and torn open the veil?" The elf had to admit that this actually sounded plausible.

"I don't know but I think that's the most reasonable explanation. It would take a very powerful demon to animate so many dead and do all of these things and since it wasn't me, well, you know, process of elimination and all that."

"This day just keeps getting better and better..." the Commander of the Grey let out in annoyance. "Fighting walking dead and dealing with possessed children was so not in the job description. What's next? A corpse with super-powers?"

"-. .-"

"So what, you're a prophet of doom now?" Faren yelled at the other dwarf in utter aggravation at the fact that he had sunk his daggers into that corpse about **eight times** and it still was moving. "You just **had **to mention a corpse with super-powers didn't you?"

The revenant on the far side of the castle courtyard telekinetically threw a stone slab, once part of the wall itself, at Leliana. She managed to dodge, fortunately, but she still hurt her shoulder as she rolled to the side, which meant she was no longer able to aim a bow properly.

"How do you kill these things?" Kallian asked as loudly as she could while fighting two unarmed walking corpses at once. She managed to throw one over the other, slamming both of them against the dirt in the courtyard. They still got up though.

"Well, either burn them or hack them into tiny pieces!" the exile answered as he decapitated a zombie, right before hacking all of its limbs off one by one.

Then, the revenant tried to magically pull Faren close... but failed because the dwarf resisted it. So it magically pulled Leliana instead, hoping it would get to kill her quickly. The supposed chantry sister ended up on the ground, but Morrigan managed to aim a cone of cold at all creatures around her, turning them into icicles and giving her enough time to get up and even shatter a pair of them. The so-called 'boss', however, succeeded in breaking loose of the spell and lunged its large sword horizontally, slashing the woman over the abdomen, quite deeply, as she jumped back, trying to avoid it.

She ended up falling over, clutching at her middle. So the revenant aimed to thrust its sword into her, only to have the weapon knocked out of its grasp by an arrow that Theron somehow managed to shoot through the holes in the castle gate. The next second, Alistair, who was also behind the gate, cast a Holy Smite on the undead elite monster as well, paralyzing it and blowing away whatever other enemies were near it. The shockwave did not hit the bard, who was still lying on the ground.

Meanwhile, the red-haired Orlesian recovered after drinking one of her stronger potions. The cut she had received was, fortunately, not deep enough to harm her internal organs so it healed fully.

Eventually, Alim decided to unleash a barrage of fire upon whatever undead were left, (though he was annoyed at not having a staff anymore since he had lost it a long time ago), at which point the two dwarves started to turn on the wheel that could finally raise the gate and let Ser Perth, Gwen, Alistair, Theron, Shale and the knights inside. Once the gate was raised enough, a veritable slaughter ensued, though Shale took a special delight in stomping everything in her path. She ended up doing a third of all the work and, by the end of it, the castle courtyard was full of mashed, formerly demon-possessed cadavers.

"What? It is over already?" Shale asked in disappointment. "Awwwww..."

"Yeah, be disappointed," the dwarf rogue snorted. "I honestly think darkspawn are less annoying, even though they stink worse."

"The do?" Shale asked. "I do not have a nose, per se, so I wouldn't know."

"You should feel lucky then."

"It's amazing there even are so many undead," the dwarf noble uttered, adjusting the belts that held his steel gauntlet in place. "I mean, after all the ones that invaded Redcliffe last night, I'd have thought there would be fewer of those things left."

"Well, the castle is quite large," Ser Perth tried to explain. "And there were a fair number of guards and servants working or stationed here. I only pray that whatever evil lurks in this place can still be stopped."

Gwen wiped off the blood off her greatsword and put it back in its baldric. "You guys **do** realize that Isolde was so obviously luring Teagan into a trap right? Granted, she may not have seen a lot of choice but..."

"We still don't know that for sure," Alistair tried to reason, though the looks on those that had used the tunnel to get into the castle threw him off. "Did you guys find out anything?"

After sharing a look, Alim and the white-bearded one explained what Jowan had revealed to them and that Connor may have become an abomination. Everyone listened intently and took quite a while before finally succeeding in putting together a suitable reaction. Ser Perth predictably started to rhetorically plead to the Maker for mercy while Theron just kept silent, trying to stop himself from blurting out anything about how he thought that human belief in the Maker was nonsensical. Lady Cousland frowned quite visibly while Alistair started fidgeting.

"Wait," the templar finally began after he put his thoughts in order. "Connor is a mage? Well **that** would certainly explain lady Isolde's behavior." That definitely caught everyone's attention. "Lady Isolde is a very pious woman, which means that she sees magic as evil. And if people were to find out Connor was a mage, he would be taken away and given to the Circle. He would also lose all rights to bear titles and so on and so forth."

"So the Chantry actually has that much power?" the dwarf noble asked in bemusement. "That.. Is such a recipe for disaster."

"I must say I agree," Theron finally found the willingness to speak out while ignoring Ser Perth's glare.

"We should probably go inside with all haste," The Knight Commander suggested. "Whatever demon is responsible for this needs to be dealt with quickly.

"Wait," Gwen interrupted. "What if Connor really is responsible? What are we supposed to do? Kill him?" Her tone was noticeably conflicted.

"That depends," the Circle mage started. "If the demon forcefully possessed the boy, he'll be beyond our help and will likely have gone through some really horrible mutation." Kallian and Gwen shuddered at what their imagination was showing them. "On the other hand," the elf followed up, "If whatever thing is responsible for this approached him in the Fade while he dreamt, we might still be able to exorcise him."

"And how would that work?" Ser Perth asked.

Alim sighed. "With more mages? And lyrium? Look, it's complicated. For now, let's just go inside and see what we can do about all this, hoping that Jowan won't make things worse now that we let him out of that cell."

"-. .-"

The main chamber was mostly free of anything except some armchairs near the walls, fancy rugs on the floor and a large fireplace on the far end. There, in front of it, lady Isolde stood, though she was hunched and looked as though she had trouble moving. And next to her was a boy that looked like he had barely hit puberty. Only upon closer inspection could one notice that there was something wrong with him, as his eyes were bloodshot and the look on his face was dark.

Granted, that there was something wrong could more easily be deduced by how Bann Teagan was performing jester tricks in front of those two and the oddly immobile guards that were stationed there.

"This does not bode well," the leader of the Knights weakly let out.

"Hmm, the Bann is pretty agile," assessed the Warden Commander, warranting odd looks from everyone present, especially Alistair and Gwen. "What? He is!"

"Something tells me that pointing out the obvious fact that this is not the time for such comments would be met by a really weird retort on your part, so I'll just stay here dumbstruck," the almost-templar decided.

"Anyway, I suppose this is some form of mind-control via blood magic?" Gwen asked Alim, deciding to just ignore her commanding officer.

"Well, I suppose Teagan **might** be doing this of his own volition, but I doubt it," the elf replied with a grin, much to the human lady's annoyance.

"Hmm, now he's doing some weird, jumping on his back stuff," the dwarf rogue pointed out with some odd type of interest. "Should I just use my chain to immobilize him?" he asked, taking a hold of it as it hung on the side of his belt.

"Let's just wait and see what happens," Kallian suggested. She actually seemed quite amused by how that shem was being dominated, even though she knew that this was the work of a demon or some such thing.

The child only noticed the large group of newcomers when Shale came in, stomping the floor loudly as she bent forward in order to come through the double doors which, though quite tall, were still not quite her size, unlike the larger ones that led to the courtyard. "A human imitating a bird or some other critter. Ugh, makes me want to squash it even more."

The boy, who could only be Connor Guerrin, waved impassively, at which point Teagan stopped his undignified display and went over to sit on the floor some distance to the boy's right. At that point, the Wardens, along with Morrigan, Leliana, Shale and Ser Perth walked closer, naturally headed by the stout exile.

"A guest?" the boy uttered in acknowledgement, though his voice sounded like that of an echo that traveled through a thousand caverns. "It is staring at me. What is it mother? I can't see it clearly."

The Orlesian woman began to reply, though her voice was irregular, as though it took a lot of effort to even utter a sound. "That's a... dwarf, Connor. You know what dwarves are. We've had them here... before... at the castle."

"Had them? For dinner maybe. Hmm, looks like a tough chew," the macabre voice followed, the boy raising an eyebrow as an evil grin colored his expression. "Maybe in a nice stew... regardless, the thing required an audience, so it shall have one. You there, what is your business here?"

Raonar could practically feel the mixed emotion coming from his subordinates. Alim and Theorn looked unconcerned, while Kallian and Faren were anxious to see what kind of scandalous stunt he would pull next. Needless to say, Alistair and Gwen looked as though they were praying to the Maker that he'd take this seriously. Waving at the mage to advance with him, the dwarf noble took a few steps forward and waited until Alim was next to him before speaking.

"I am the one that defeated those undead you sent to destroy the village," he bluntly declared, leaning on one foot and crossing his arms in provocation. Had he had eyes at the back of his head, he would have seen Gwen rolling her eyes and Alistair scratching his forehead while everyone else did their best to hide their grins.

"So it was you!" the possessed child shouted in anger. "You're the one that ruined my sport!"

"Yes, guilty as charged. Whatever shall we do about this I wonder," the short one confirmed, impassively stroking his immaculate beard as he stared straight into the child abomination's eyes.

"Why are you interfering?"

"Well, why did you kill everyone, reanimate them and then send them after everyone else?"

"They were meant to reclaim my village!" the voice lashed out. "I should have you killed for spoiling it!"

"No, Connor..." the boy's mother pleaded, almost shedding tears. "Please, don't hurt anyone."

The child seemed to shudder and he lost his balance slightly, covering his eyes and shaking his head. Then, he spoke, with a normal child's voice. "M-Mother? Where am I? What's happening?"

"Oh, thank the Maker," she let out in relief, walking closer and kneeling next to him. "Connor, can you hear me?"

The deep, angry, echoing voice returned once more. "Get away from me woman!"

Isolde staggered back in fright and the boy abomination was disoriented enough that he didn't hear the loud steps of the Commander of the Grey. By the time Connor could open his mouth again, the dwarf had already walked close and removed the gauntlet on his right hand.

"You are beginning to bore m-" the demon child's shout was interrupted the same moment that a strong hand smacked him over the head, leaving him totally shocked. Connor, or whatever was possessing him, stared at the white-haired individual, blinking repeatedly, so utterly stupefied he/it was.

"You'd better be more polite when speaking to your mother, young man, or I **will** smack you again," he warned him, an implacable look of total disapproval drilling straight into the boy.

"How... How dare you?" the loud voice yelled from inside the child, waving angrily in the process.

"No, please, don't hurt my son," Isolde pleaded desperately, looking as though she was ready to get on her knees to do it. "He's not responsible for what he does!"

"I know **that!**" he shot back with a scowl, practically grabbing onto Connor's head with his large hand. "But whatever demon is possessing him deserved it for actually tricking an innocent child."

"It was a fair deal!" Connor yelled, striking with his weak fists against the arm that had grabbed onto him.

"Foolish child, to make deals with demons," Morrigan uttered, as though she was disappointed in humanity as a whole.

"Right, a fair deal," Raonar scoffed, letting go of the annoying boy and quaintly walking back to Alim's side. "You're such a poor liar."

"I am no liar! Father is alive, just as I wanted! Now it's my turn to sit on the throne and send out armies to conquer the world! Nobody tells me what to do! Nobody!"

"Nobody tells him what to do! Nobody!" Teagan echoed in the most disturbing clown-ish voice one could ever muster. Sure enough, Connor was annoyed enough that he forgot, or the demon forgot to remember, that he/it had just been smacked over the head.

"Quiet uncle! I warned you what would happen if you kept shouting!"

"Ahem!" the dwarf cleared his throat, drawing Connor's attention again. "I just said you were a liar. And I meant it."

"And why would you still be so convinced of that?" the demon sarcastically asked from inside the boy.

"Well, for starters, how do I know it's really the demon, as in **you**, that's keeping Arl Eamon alive?" he elaborated as he put his gauntlet back on.

"Hmpf! The deal said that Father would live and so it was done!"

"Oh really?" the dwarf challenged. "And how do I know for sure that the poison wasn't meant to put Eamon in a catatonic state in the first place?"

"Wait... what?" Alistair let out. "You think the blood mage wasn't meant to kill him?"

"Even Jowan said that he really did poison the Arl," Alim noted.

"Yes, well, if it was really meant to kill, and Loghain obviously intended Jowan to take the fall, he wouldn't have really bothered with a slow-acting poison, now would he?" Raonar speculated. "Granted, this is just an assumption based on what we know about things so far."

"Ah, I see what happened then," Alim took the word, assuming his thinker posture. "The boy asked the demon to make sure his father didn't die and it decided not to mention that he wasn't really dying. **If** your theory is correct of course..."

"Well, it's just a wild assumption of mine..." _based on how that Berwick was actually Loghain's spy._

"Enough!" the possessed child hollered. "This is getting dull! You spoiled my sport by defending that stupid village and now you will repay me!"

Connor promptly ran out of the room, at which point Bann Teagan and the half dozen guards present proved that they were obviously being mind-controlled by senselessly engaging the seven Grey Wardens, Ser Perth, the five other knights, Morrigan, Leliana and Shale. The Warden Commander was careful to order Shale to stay out of the battle as much as possible, since she was huge and would have probably destroyed the entire room, plus her allies, if she started to punch things. That and the mind-controlling wasn't actually permanent (Alim had made a point of stressing that over and over before they came in), so killing those men would have been unnecessary anyway.

After about five minutes of annoying battle in close quarters, every 'enemy' had been knocked out, including Bann Teagan.

"I really miss my royal armor," the exile wistfully let out as he wished he could massage his shoulder, which had been struck by a spiked mace. Twice. "It was so tough! And modified to fit my frame." His musings were interrupted when he noticed that Faren was waving his hand in front of his eyes, trying to snap him out of his daydreaming.

"Hey, are you still there man?" the redhead asked with a raised eyebrow. His other hand was holding onto his chain, whose other end was twisted around Teagan's legs.

"Oh yeah, just thinking about stuff," he merrily responded as he tried to wipe some blood of his round steel shield. "So, are they all back amongst those with self control?"

The mage decided to answer while using some minor healing magic on Alistair's back. "I think that the spell may have worn off by now. Hopefully they won't end up addled."

"'Tis unfortunate then, for it would have been amusing," said Morrigan.

"At least I am not the only one who is bored," Shale agreed as she lightly kicked one of the unconscious guards in the side. "Yes, totally out of it. Hopelessly squishy that one."

"I never imagined that things were so serious," Ser Perth finally declared once he and his knights had all put away their weapons. Only two of them had been more seriously injured and just one had fallen, though his life was not in danger.

At last, Lady Isolde got her bearings and ran over to where Teagan was lying on the ground, his legs still immobilized by Faren's chain. "Teagan! Teagan, please wake up!"

The man seemed to stir, and Alim signaled Faren that it was safe to release the human. the dwarf did so, gathering his chain and returning it to its proper place.

"Ah, good!" cheered Leliana as she returned her stiletto to its small sheath on her forearm. "It seems that Bann Teagan wasn't too hurt in the fight."

"Can you stand?" Isolde worriedly asked as she offered his hand to help him get to his feet.

He accepted the help and managed to get back up. "I... Yes, my mind is my own again. Thank you, friends, for arriving when you did."

"This is a nightmare," the Arl's wife started. "Magic, demons! How did it come to this?"

Some of the others wanted to reply to that, but were stopped when they noticed the deep frown that the dwarf noble was aiming at the woman. Eventually, everyone else noticed it, until Isolde herself was forced to abandon her moaning. "Why are you staring at me like it was my fault?"

"Because you are at least partially responsible," he mercilessly stated in what could only be classified as an icy tone.

"No, this was all that blood mage's doing!"

"I'm afraid I'll have to agree with him, Isolde," said Teagan with no small amount of aggravation of his own. "You kept this a secret from everyone, Eamon included, even hired a malefikar, and look what it led to!"

"And what would you have had me do?"

"Well, not keeping it a secret from Eamon would have been wiser," the Bann suggested.

"I will not lose my son! Not to magic! Eamon would have handed him over to the Circle immediately, because he would 'do the right thing'. This is not Connor's fault!" she almost yelled back. "This is that blood mage's doing! He's to blame for all this!"

"I'm afraid not..." Jowan said from the door, where he had appeared some time ago, noticed first by Kallian and Leliana, who were standing closest to it. "I am not responsible for the walking dead and everything else."

"You! What are you doing here!" she shrieked. "You were supposed to be imprisoned, you fiend! I offer you protection and you poison my husband? And then you cause all this chaos?"

Realizing that this was going to turn into a whole quarrel about what had happened and what everyone thought had happened, and with people casting blames on everyone else, the Warden Commander decided to just move things along. "Shut it, all of you!"

There was an uneasy silence.

"Jowan didn't summon the demon. Connor did. Deal with it! The people to blame for this are you, lady Isolde, along with Loghain and Jowan, though his part was mostly because he's not particularly schooled in non-naivety. Connor made a deal with a demon. The demon screwed up everything and did this massacre in exchange for keeping Eamon alive and now we have to decide how we're going to handle Connor and if there is any way **not** to kill him."

"How can you even consider killing my son?" the woman cried out in desperation.

"How could you even consider thinking about hiring an apostate to tutor your child without your husband and, thus, your son's father knowing about it?" Raonar shot back in the same icy voice as before. "That ranks amongst the top five most stupidest things I have ever heard of or witnessed! And I've seen more than most people alive!"

"I will not stay here and be harassed in this manner by someone who released the one who poisoned my husband and caused all of this!" Isolde yelled sharply. "I won't be judged by someone who has no issues with killing a child! My child!"

The atmosphere suddenly became heavy. "How dare you imply that I have no qualms about **killing a child**?" That was when Raonar broke into a cascade of shouts of his own. No one present ever remembered him behaving like that before, except Gwen, who had been present at the strategy meeting in Ostagar. And even that time he had not been so fierce.

"Your stubbornness and decision to keep Eamon out of the loop about Connor being a mage just killed everyone in this castle, almost killed Teagan and almost eradicated all life in Redcliffe! How many mothers worked here and are now dead? How many sons? How many daughters? How many children? How many men, women and children from the village died because of this? Massacre! This secret of yours caused massacre upon massacre and the fact I was here to stop the last one was pure coincidence! And then you come and lure Teagan here to share this fate! And all you can do is cast blame and mewl in this pathetic manner? How **dare** you try and weasel your way out of your responsibility for letting this happen?"

"You weren't thinking of Connor's own wellbeing when you kept his magical aptitude a secret from Eamon! You weren't thinking about his well-being when you hired an apostate to tutor him! You weren't thinking of his wellbeing when you repeatedly **lied** to your husband's face about what was the most massive thing in your son's life! All that time, you only saw what you single-mindedly considered was for the best. You convinced yourself it was for the best just so you could not realize how utterly **selfish** you were! You were **never** thinking of Connor's wellbeing, only about your own!"

"How dare y-"

"You handed your son over to the first blood mage that someone happened to stumble upon! And even though any sort of logic likely screamed inside of you the words "**this is utterly stupid", **you did it anyway! Because you would not '**lose your son to magic"**! You say you love your child, but all you do is do what makes you feel better, even at his own expense! Instead of seeing him as your son, you see him as a means to feel better about yourself! All he is to you is an object that improves your mood!"

"That is not true! That is not true! How dare you!" Isolde practically broke into tears and fell to her knees. "I love Connor! I love my son! I never wanted this to happen..."

By all accounts, someone in that group would have jumped in to say something by then but they had all been taken completely by surprise by their leader's merciless ferocity.

"Oh, I know you love your son," the icy voice returned, causing the woman to look up at him, even as the tears fell down her face. "And that only makes it worse, because it means your selfishness overpowered that love. And that is one of the worst kinds of betrayal. You betrayed your own child and now he has become an abomination that killed hundreds."

"No! No!"

"Yes," the cold, cutting voice hurt more than any yell would have.

The woman broke off into unrestrained sobs and Teagan tried to hold her up as she lay there, on her knees. He could not prevent himself from throwing the Warden Commander a glare which the latter just shrugged off as he crossed his arms and just blankly looked back at him.

"That-" Gwen had trouble speaking because of the shock. "That was a bit too much-"

**"Silence!"** the white-haired one commanded as his eyes lit up white. Then, he slowly turned to look back at them. "Like it or not, Connor is an abomination. Maybe now you'll see just how much of a favor I did all of you by assuming leadership."

The heavy atmosphere persisted over a minute of silence that was only interrupted by the crying mother's weak sobs. Then, the commander turned away from them and made for the door through which Connor had disappeared. "Maybe it's time you learned. Actually, maybe it's time that all of you learned it. Lies **kill**. Think on this."

"No!" the boy's mother pleaded in horror. "Don't murder my son! There must be another way! Please!"

The dwarf responded by slamming his foot into the wooden closed door, a magical outburst throwing it out of its hinges with a loud noise.

"Lyrium, blood magic, whatever. All of you can think about some way to fix this. I'm going to talk to that kid."

Kallian and Leliana both tried to say something. "Look, maybe one of should go wi-"

"No buts!" the loud voice commanded. "You all stay here and brainstorm. And mark my words: if you come after me, I will beat the crap out of all of you."

With that, he walked out of the room, leaving everyone else shocked at what they had just heard him say.

"I-I'm sorry I..." Alistair tripped on his own words, trying to put together a suitable apology. "I'm sorry, lady Isolde, I... We..."

The woman could say nothing because she was crying too hard, so Teagan had to reply to that. "Did he have to be so brutal? I mean... I know what he said was probably justified but he-"

"Went too far?" Alim finished his sentence, his own annoyance visible for all to see. "That was what you were going to say? Even though she accused him of having no issues with killing children? Do you have any idea how it feels to be told something like that? Maybe it never occurred to you, but the decision about what happens to this child was never supposed to be his. You started all this and you don't have the strength to handle it, so you are just pushing the decision upon the first person that comes here, even though you **know** that the only way to deal with an abomination is to kill it."

"I, no this can't be..." Isolde moaned.

"Yes. You decided to extricate yourself, lady Isolde, by having someone else 'make the decision' so that you could have someone to blame. Because that's all you have done since we met you, blame everyone else for what happens. I know you're a desperate mother right now, but you aren't at all guiltless in this."

"No! No... I'm sorry... Connor, I'm so sorry..."

"Look, emotional distress or not, are we just going to let him go up there alone?" Gwen asked, more than a little alarmed.

"Yes," said the voice of the only other dwarf, for once grabbing everyone's undivided attention. "Don't worry, he won't do anything. Actually, I wouldn't be surprised if he actually managed to calm that kid down. We should just see what we can do about all this and make sure we have a suitable bunch of solutions for when he comes back from upstairs."

"Alright," Alim said. "Well, then here is what we have."

**"-. .-"**

The door to the room that Connor was inside of was just ahead, so Raonar stopped and began to take off his armor, one piece at a time. Looking back, he probably should not have been so brutal with that woman but he just felt like she needed a wake-up call to reality. Duncan hadn't exactly told him much about Alistair's life in the short time they had before he died, but he did hint at the fact that Isolde was the main cause of the guy's misery. And Alistair's lack of faith in himself only proved that assumption true. So that made two children whose lives Isolde screwed up because of her own fears and selfishness.

The last piece of equipment fell to the floor with a short banging sound and the dwarf noble was now just wearing his normal clothing. He knew well from the experience in Honnleath that regular armor hardly had any use when facing demons that attack using magic so he could afford to try and look as non-threatening as possible.

With careful and silent steps, now that he was barefoot, the dwarf exile walked out of the corridor and into the antechamber that led to Eamon's room. There, in the middle, sat the boy on the floor, looking scared as he hugged his own knees. Instinctively, however, he looked up when he noticed the stout one approach and jumped to his feet.

"Please! Go away! She'll just hurt you!"

The newcomer stopped in his tracks, somewhat alarmed by the degree of panic that was in the child's voice. His face almost crumpled and he looked at him with pity. "You sound so scared."

"I... I am scared. I wanted to be brave but I... I know she's not really gone. She's always close."

"You poor kid..." The dwarf slowly walked up to the child. "What happened to you? How did you end up like this?"

The boy managed to respond in a surprisingly level tone, though some fear still made it through. "After mother locked Jowan away in the dungeon, I... I went and looked through his books, the ones he never let me read. And then the mean lady started coming and talking to me in my dreams, and when I woke up bad things had happened."

The Warden stopped in front of him and crouched so that he could look the boy in the eyes. Connor looked sad and frightened, but he still didn't break. "Do you know what she is?"

"She's a mean lady. Sometimes she acts nice, but then she hurts everyone. I feel like I'm asleep when she does it, but I guess I'm not."

"She's a demon, Connor."

"She says that she wants to help, but then she does these mean things. Demons are liars." The boy looked away with sorrow.

"Why did you run up here?" the short man pried, trying to get the child to calm down a bit more.

"There was fighting and I got scared, so I ran. She told me to come here, she wants to be near father. She says that as long as he's here and alive, people will come. People like you, I guess. She wants to... hurt you."

"Does she have a name?"

"She didn't tell me. She says names have power."

The exile gave a long sigh and put his right hand on the boy's head. "What am I going to do with you?"

"I just wanted to help father. And mother was so sad. And now so many people are dead and it's my fault." The boy actually seemed to understand what was going on perfectly, and the way he was actually assuming responsibility struck something deep inside the one he was speaking to.

"You really believe that?" the Warden asked him, almost whispering.

"That's why you came up here, isn't it?" the child replied with his own question, looking straight into the dwarf's eyes, unflinching, even despite the fear. "You have to... stop this... You have to kill me, don't you? She said you would."

There was a painful silence.

"And If I said yes...?"

Connor shut his eyes in an attempt to muster all the will he had left. "At least... At least no one will be hurt anymore. And mother won't have to see me like that again."

"Oh, just come here," the exile let out as he knelt and put his arms around the distraught child. "You're a really brave kid, you know that?"

Connor managed to steel himself for a moment, but he gave in and started crying in the stranger's arms. Tears of fear, or sorrow, of mourning and regret started pouring out of him as the white-haired one drew him close and pulled the boy's head close to his heart.

"I didn't know she... I didn't think she'd hurt everyone! I just... I thought I'd... But she just... It's all my fault! She hurt everyone and it's all my fault! She killed everyone and it's all my fault!"

"No, it's not your fault," the soft whisper said as a hand set itself softly on the child's head, comforting him. "It's really not your fault."

"But I did all this!" the child barely yelled between sobs. "And now she just wants to hurt people more! Please sir, you have t-.. you have to stop her! Somebody has to stop her!"

"I don't want to hurt you. Not when there are other things we can try..."

"But she'll... She'll just get more mean! And she'll hurt more people and I won't be able to do anything!"

"Shh, it's alright. It's not your fault. You're very brave. You're really, really brave. I'm really proud of you."

The former prince felt the child tense, and then relax as his breathing seemed to ease up. But that only let his tears flow more freely, until the front of the dwarf's shirt was totally soaked.

"Please sir, you have to stop her..."

For a while, nothing was said or heard, except a scared boy crying because he had wound up in situation that no one should have to deal with. And then, when he had finally let it all pour out of him, Connor was surprised to hear the man ask him a very unexpected question.

"Can you talk to her? Call her?'

"Wh-Why?" the boy asked, both surprised and alarmed. "You... You want me to?"

"I want to have a few words with her. Can you get her for me?" he confirmed, still holding him in his arms.

"I... I don't know, I haven't tried," Connor replied, sounding understandably fearful. "But... If you think it's important, I suppose I could try."

That was when the Grey Warden finally let go of the young lad and backed away. "Yes, I think it's time she and I... discussed some things."

"-. .-"

"So is that truly what you want then?" Teagan reluctantly uttered, scrutinizing both Jowan and Isolde.

"Yes," Isolde declared. "Connor is innocent in this. If this blood ritual can help someone go into the fade, defeat the demon and save my son's life, then I will be the sacrifice."

"Wait a minute," Theron interrupted. "Alim, shouldn't **you** be able to perform that ritual too?"

The elf cringed and shot him a glare. "Yes..."

The Dalish and the magus stared at each other, but Jowan somehow guessed what they were talking about. "You- You're suggesting I be the one to be sacrificed, don't you?"

Alim scoffed, which was understandable considering that he didn't want to be the one to kill Jowan. "Why does this kind of situation have to exist?"

"Whatever happens here, there is a high chance that Jowan will be executed anyway," Teagan pointed out, obviously glad to know there was an alternative to killing Connor's mother. "If the **malefikar** says he wants to make things right, then he should be willing to do it."

"Well, that's easy for you to say, since it's not **your** life!" Alim shot back with a frown.

"I still think getting the mages' help from the tower would be better," Alistair stated, getting approbative nods from Gwen and Kallian. "One of the treaties we have **is** for the Circle of Magi, after all."

"But there's no guarantee that Connor won't go on another massacre while we're here," Theron pointed out.

"Actually," the Warden Commander's voice was heard from beyond the doorway (as the door was still lying on the floor). "There is, more or less."

Raonar had put his armor back on and was now leaning against the side of the door and looking at everyone who had convened in that chamber. His expression was almost flat, but had a tint of severity about it. "You know, lady Isolde, Connor has a better sense of responsibility than you. He actually told me to my face that he blames himself for what happened and was actually really open to the idea of his own death, since all he wanted was for the 'mean lady' to stop hurting and killing people."

"No!" she screamed. "No, it can't b-"

"I didn't kill him, sheesh," the exile cut her off with some measure of aggravation.

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief, and it was Bann Teagan that picked up the conversation. "I am truly glad to hear it. But tell us, what do you mean by the fact that there is a guarantee?"

"Well, I managed to have a few words with that demon and gleamed enough from her to know that she can't really move too far away from here because of the deal that says she has to keep Eamon alive. So, now that everyone in the castle is already dead, she doesn't really have any means of causing too much damage, at least not if we manage to get to the Circle and back in, let's say, two weeks at most?"

"So can we really do that?" Alistair hopefully asked. "That's good. I'm glad."

"Well, it seems you get to live a little longer after all," the Bann told Jowan. "Then you'll stay here and help keep an eye on the boy while I keep my sharp eyes on you, is that understood?'

The mage nodded, likely both glad and relieved to know he could help set things right and still live another day.

* * *

_The review space is right there and waiting of course!_


	25. Faux Respite 3: Camps and Campfires

**Chapter 24: Camps and Campfires**

"-. The difference between love and selfishness .-"

The day was growing old and the sun had almost descended behind the Frostback Mountains that lay to the west. Already the blue of the sky had been broken and diluted, seams of orange and red trickling out of the golden disk, flowing behind and underneath the clouds in equal measure.

Through the cracks of that celestial mist descended pillars of fading brilliance, shafts of light whose only purpose was to bathe the crowns of the trees and the high grass on the hills in a last tide of glittering nuances, spurred by the soft breeze, even as nature's last diurnal inhabitants retreated to the relative safety of their dens.

But that was just half of the sun's last gift to the Earth. The other half of its rays reflected off the nearly tranquil waters of Lake Calenhad, that lake that, some say, was large enough to be considered a sea in its own right. The myriad of small waves that could be seen closer to the shores broke the sunbeams, reflecting light off each other, creating a mosaic of colors as the reality that existed around the lake created an upside down reflection of itself. And that mosaic turned more and more into an outright painting the farther you looked, until the true image of existence could be gleamed from that near-perfect reflection. Thus is was that even the sun could let its gaze rest upon its twin, the latter seemingly reflecting its sibling's rays back upon itself.

The sun descended more, and the sky around it was growing more crimson, the rest becoming darker, to the point where even the moon's distinct frame started to be seen, a white, pale thing that looked like it wanted to make itself noticed. A flock of birds did a last round of practice flight, diving quite low as they glided above the lone path, until they gave out a panicked chirp when a stone hand tried to strike at them for coming to close.

"I **swear** that if I **do** kill every bird in existence, I will have done a public service!" Shale let out in aggravation as her angry hand swipe cut only through air, the swallows being far too quick for her to even graze. The birds even decided to circle around the Grey Warden group a few times as the humans, elves, dwarves and unusual specimens, those being Sten the Qunari and Shale the construct, progressed along the path, waiting for Theron to join up with them and inform them if he had found a suitable camping spot. Bodahn and Sandal had stayed behind in Redcliffe.

Then, the flying creatures took a last dive, as though they enjoyed annoying the golem, the latter responding by trying to grab them in mid-flight. She had little fortune, however. The only thing she succeeded in was almost causing the silver-eyed Warden Commander to fall on his head, if not for Sten, who was walking beside them, quaintly using his left hand to push him back into balance with a nudge to the back.

"Shale, there's no need to get so agitated," the dwarf noble detachedly suggested as he sat on her right shoulder, his left elbow resting on her head as he bit on the apple he held in his other hand. He was wearing regular clothing and scoured ahead for signs of the Dalish hunter. "Those birds won't soil you, and if they do, I'll clean you up. So relax." Then, he turned his head to the right and, since his head (well, really almost his whole body) was higher than everyone else's, looked down at Sten. "Thanks Sten. I'll be sure to later show appreciation for saving me from a skull fracture."

Sten shrugged in acknowledgement, even as Shale sighed very, very deeply and loudly, loud enough, in fact, that it was heard even over the sound of the two oxen's hooves hitting the beaten path and the creaking of the wheels of the cart that carried the party's supplies. Granted, that Alim and Morrigan decided they couldn't be bothered to walk and were also part of the burden those oxen were carrying was just one minor detail. No doubt Morrigan was reveling in it, however, considering that it was now Leliana's turn to guide the cart.

"I'll never get over how that guy can so shamelessly manipulate people," Alistair told Gwen in a low voice as the two of them walked along the road, some paces behind the ones in front. "Or golems and Qunari in this case. How on earth did he get Shale to actually carry him? Wasn't that golem a bit antisocial besides birdaphobic? Or... living-thing-a-phobic?"

Gwen did not answer, since she really had nothing to say to that. She just stared at the backs of those three, and at how the black mabari war hound, Rinne as she was called, trudged along to Shale's left.

"It's actually a really funny business," Faren smirked from behind them, drawing their attention as he stepped more lively until he matched their pace. "I actually asked it... or her, I think that guy calls it "she", not sure why."

"Wait, so that golem is... female? Do golems even have genders?" Alistair asked, quite puzzled, passing his right hand though his hair.

"Don't ask me, I have no idea, I just go with it," the redhead dwarf replied, fiddling with the wrist blade in his right glove. Swish, whish, swish, whish, swish. The blade came out and disappeared back in, again and again, as though it was there one second and then it wasn't. Faren seemed quite taken with those things, which clearly classified as creepy in Alistair's mind.

"So, are you going to tell us already?" Kallian asked with slight impatience as she moved to walk next to the other three, four if Gwen's mabari counted. When Faren just looked up at her in confusion, she decided to clarify. Clearly he was investing far too much attention into those new weapons. "Why did Shale decide to carry our ever so fearless leader?"

"Oh, that," he remembered as the blade again retreated into the glove with a whish. "It was really weird, actually. You know he fought all last night? And only got about two hours of sleep before we showed up? And then he had to fight undead and other stuff? Personally, I think it was a miracle he didn't speak even more brutally to that woman. Anyway, you know how, before we left Redcliffe, all he joked was "man, I wish someone would carry me or I'll just drop dead." He never even intended to be carried, in fact, but you know how he likes to say odd things."

"Yeah," the templar also seemed to recall that. "And then his dog stopped eyeing me suspiciously and seemed to look in Shale's direction. Actually, they seemed to look at each other for a moment, though I have no idea what that was about. Then Shale just moved up and picked him up."

"She did, did she?" the dwarf asked, scratching his stubble.

"Yeah, I was really confused. Actually, I'm still confused."

"Well, I asked Shale when we stopped for water a couple of hours ago, and you know what she said?" The others just looked at him, anticipation clearly boiling. He reveled in their slight anxiety for a moment before continuing. "Shale said she... wait, let me remember the exact quote." The redhead straightened up as he walked and tried to imitate the words as well as he could. He even managed to actually sound quite a bit like the golem, as unlikely as that may sound. He was really skilled at imitating voices, only failing to reproduce the magical echo.

He took a deep breath and the words came out with exaggerated intonation and elaborate mimicry and arm gestures. "I will **not** again suffer the **indignity** of having that **horrible** mutt of his somehow manipulate me into wanting to do that small creature a favor, so I'll just go ahead and do it while I can still at least pretend that I'm exercising my free will."

There was silence, during which only the sound of walking and wheel creaking could be made out. There was also how the former prince, still seated on Shale's shoulder, and Sten were discussing the latter's unfortunate experience when he lost all his men, and the panic attack that ensued upon his awakening, the same one that resulted in the slaughter of that entire farm hold.

"I'm... not sure I really want to know what that deal between Shale and the dog was about, to be honest," finally said the almost templar.

Gwen looked worried as her hound Damon ran up until it was walking alongside the other mabari in the group, complementing her pure black fur with his own, a nuance that reminded one of chestnuts. "Somehow, I'm suddenly worried that being around that black dog is not in Damon's best interest," the human lady mused, to the full understanding and sympathy of the others.

"Hey Gwen," Kallian interceded. "When those two dogs have puppies, can I have one?"

The woman glanced at her with an utterly horrified look on her face, her long, dark brown hair fluttering through the air and refracting the last of the sun's direct rays. She then took a deep breath, in an effort to stop herself from snapping at her comrade in arms. Then she exhaled and repeated the maneuver. Several times. "I am **hoping** it will never come to that."

"What? But... But why?' the city elf managed to sound totally stricken. "I can't believe it!" she then gave out in apparent stupefaction.

"What?" Gwen pressed with no small measure of annoyance of her own.

"You..." the city elf put as much faked shock in her voice as she could. "By the **Maker!** You... You hate puppies don't you?"

"What? No!" Gwen was absolutely stumped. "I get that you're teasing me but that's really not it!" The look on the fair-haired lass's face did not abate however, throwing her off her loop. "Oh Gods, I don't hate puppies!"

"And you call yourself a Fereldan," the elf pouted, looking away in disgust, though she was secretly amused at how easy it was to annoy the woman, even when the latter was aware that was the whole point. "You are a cruel, cruel woman."

Faren and Alistair wisely decided to let themselves slip farther to the rear of the line so that they would not have a chance to be caught in the womanly wrath that those two seemed to be on the verge of unleashing.

"I swear, Alistair, women really scare me sometimes," the dwarf warily whispered.

"You're really tough then, because women **always** scare me..." the other one whispered back. Noticing the odd look that Faren was giving him, however, he tried to extricate himself. "Joking! Just... joking... Sheesh."

"Riiiight..."

The two male wardens kept looking warily at the two women as they stared each other down, until they both shrugged at the same time and looked away from each other, as though it were beneath them to even behold the other.

Then, no one said anything else for a time, until the fearless leader of Ferelden's Grey Wardens gestured with his right hand for everyone to stop, after which he actually got to his feet, until he was standing upright on Shale's shoulder and looking ahead.

"Ah! There he is!" he merrily exclaimed as his high view point allowed him to spot Theron coming back from up ahead, along with his wolf. "Maybe **now** we can finally get some rest!"

There was a suspicious choir of coughs in the background as everyone couldn't fail to think about the obvious fact that he had barely walked at all during those hours since their hasty departure from Redcliffe.

"-. .-"

True to his word, the Dalish hunter had actually found a very, very convenient spot to camp for the night. It wasn't too far from the road and yet hidden behind the trees well enough that it wouldn't be seen by passersby unless they knew to come looking. Basically, it was a fairly large clearing in the same wood that extended into the mountains, all the way to Gherlen's Pass.

The group had set up their tents on the far side of the clearing and a large campfire was already crackling in the center. A couple of hares were already roasting as they hung above the bright flames while Theron quaintly made sure to turn them at regular intervals. Kallian had decided to help out with what seemed like a sort of stew, which actually seemed to have a very appealing fragrance. Regardless, Gwenith, at the very least, was more than a little glad that she had had to rely on Alistair's horrible cooking skills only as far as Lothering. And yet she still regretted never having bothered to even consider learning how a proper meal is prepared.

Morrigan had set up her own fire and tent a fair distance away from those of everyone else, while Faren and Alistair were arranging the last bedrolls, furs and whatever else they had that would make their tents at least remotely comfortable. Sten was cleaning up and waxing his armor, while Leliana had sat down and propped herself against a tree so that she could properly engage in some healthy star gazing while she used a sharpening stone on her daggers.

Of course, the two mabari war hounds were wrestling, rolling on the ground and yelping or snarling occasionally, while Anor (Theron's wolf) was staring at the moon wistfully as he lay on the highest ground available nearby. Alistair eventually sat next to the two elves that were preparing the food, pestering them with questions, while Lady Cousland was brushing her own hair. She decided it was time she started to wear it in a single braid on the right side of her head, hence the hair care endeavor.

The only two people that were not, currently, in camp were Alim and the at once annoying yet seemingly competent new Warden Commander himself. They had left to get fresh water from the small spring that the Dalish elf had located earlier and seemed to be taking their sweet time coming back.

Of course, there was a very good reason for that. A couple of them actually...

"-. .-"

"You're pushing yourself too hard," Alim told the white-haired dwarf as the latter failed to fully chase away his exhaustion even after splashing cold water on his face for the twentieth time. The mage had his arms crossed and was leaning with his right shoulder against a tree.

"Yes, I am aware," the dwarf answered as he was crouching next to the spring, his head hanging forward as the water trickled down his face and dripped off his beard and nose. "But I couldn't very well say 'Wait, let's just postpone Connor's exorcism because I want to take a nap" instead of leaving Redcliffe immediately, now could I?"

"Actually, you could have," was the barefaced response. "You've been fighting for a whole day with just a few interruptions, right? And I know that's not all that's been eating at you."

The stout man looked up at him sideways. As he stood there crouched, he seemed even smaller than his race usually made him. Looking at it, Alim could not exactly remember if he had ever seen him without his usual lordly countenance. Normally, he had a glint in his eyes that hinted at the fact that he was always paying mind to everything around him. Now he was just a tired dwarf washing his face in a futile attempt to chase off the need to sleep. Alim **had** offered to help out with magic, but was refused for no apparent reason.

The twenty-first splash of water still failed to fully snap him back to his senses, but Raonar managed to ask the obvious. "And what do you think is eating at me?"

"I had a vision of you... Sort of. Back in Lothering, before I stopped dying."

Raonar couldn't help a smirk. "Before you stopped dying?"

"You must be really tired if you thing **that** attempt at dodging my point will work," the elf said flatly.

The Warden Commander gave a long suffering sigh. "So, I appeared in your vision? That's kind of... disturbing actually."

"What did you go through? I saw you being tortured, or at least really beaten up." The blood mage did not try to conceal his concern, though there was something else in his voice that his listener was just too tired to have enough attention to detect.

The stout warrior let himself sit down properly and used both hands to weigh on the ground behind him, his rough palms crushing the blades of the grass underneath. "That's... not something I'd care to talk about any time soon. There was, however, something I wanted to ask you about."

"Hmm? Why do I get the feeling my life is going to become more complicated?"

"Oh, your life is already complicated, you're just going to realize how much." A pair of cyan-white eyes locked onto Alim's own gaze for a moment. "It's about that weird stunt you pulled back in Ostagar, that magic you used to heal yourself and, as Theron told me, kept you alive until Morrigan managed to get you back into shape."

_Could he have...?_

"You made a deal with Honor, didn't you?"

The mage, of course, knew that was a rhetorical question but tensed at how quickly that person had seen through it. Or perhaps he had managed to put the pieces together over the past month. "I swear your deductive ability is scary."

"Well, you **did** stay in the Fade even after I jumped into that abyss, back when we had the Joining," he pointed out. "And those strands and tendrils of white light that coursed through you after that arrow went through your chest were just too much like what that spirit is made of for me not to put the pieces together."

"I see..."

The proverbial silence fell between the two, during which time the one sitting down decided to try and stay aware by having his eyes follow a small squirrel as it hastily carried an acorn up to its hollow. When Alim would not say anything, however, the Warden Commander decided to just ask what he was curious about. "Was it worth it? The deal I mean."

"You're not going to ask me what it was?" the elf inquired, somewhat surprised.

"I'm not a control freak, Alim," the other one said with some disapproval in his voice. "And I'm well aware that deals with denizens of the Fade aren't so casually discussed."

"Alright, then to answer your question, yes, I think it was worth it. I didn't exactly get to fulfill my end of the bargain per se and, as I understand it, Honor hopes I'll never have to, and so do I to be honest, but I'm sure I won't regret doing it if it does come to it. In fact, if the situation for me to act on the deal did unfortunately come to pass, I'd probably want to do what Honor expects me to even if he had not agreed to do anything for me in return."

The dwarf stared at him in stunned silence, though he supposed it wasn't such a monumental surprise to learn that a spirit that has been around for centuries could be so cryptic. "That sort of convoluted formulation of words sounds worrisomely familiar..."

"He said he got the taste for it from you," the elf half-joked. "Or regained the taste."

"That settles it then," said the short one, with some apparent hopelessness. "We are all doomed if even millennia-old spirits are starting to borrow habits from me of all people."

"Haha!"

"Oh, by the way, I have another question."

"You do, eh?"

"Yes, there would be one." The cyan eyes locked onto his gaze once more. "That storm you conjured up, was it really supposed to go off so badly?"

The elf narrowed his eyes and waited a bit before giving his reply. "No."

"I though not."

"I suppose you have some sort of theory?" Alim guessed.

"Flemeth," was the flat answer. Needless to say, the mage was surprised, although not as much as one may have expected.

"Morrigan's supposed mother? Why would she do that?"

The stout warrior stretched his arms. "Well, because she's more than just a "witch". She came to me, by the way, when I was wondering the Korcari Wilds."

"Something tells me that the more you tell me the more surreal my life will get. And since I'm a mage, you can guess how hard it is for things to even seem surreal to me."

"She wanted to get me to make a deal with her, without telling me what it was. I refused. Then I called her out on her own odd behavior and outright asked her if she interfered in your last spell, among other things. And, of course, she didn't answer."

The elf rose both eyebrows. "That was... so incredibly rash, especially for you."

"Yes, well, I was suffering from starvation, fatigue and armor chafe, among other things, like the fact that I had no idea if there actually were any Wardens still alive. Only Grey Wardens can kill Archdemons you know. Oh, wait, you probably don't."

"I'm not even going to ask..."

After some time of silence, the tired dwarf told the blood mage one final line. "I noticed you've been spending time with Morrigan. Don't be too quick to trust her."

The two did not get to make any other exchanges because someone was heard approaching, though only when he was already quite close to the two. Both Raonar and Alim immediately felt very glad of the fact that Faren was on their side, because if an enemy of his skill had managed to approach so silently, they would have been in big trouble. And he hadn't even been trying to come unnoticed, which was even more troubling.

"Hi," said the dwarf as he stopped a few paces behind them. He was holding what looked like a small cup in his left hand.

"Well, I'll see you in camp," the mage told the white-haired Warden, taking the hint as the newcomer eyed him for a moment. The tired dwarf just nodded, so the blood mage walked off, patting Faren on the shoulder as he passed him by.

The spring was located at the base of a large sycamore and, while there was no actual beaten path to it, since it was apparently not known by travelers, it was surrounded by mostly level ground with few rocks. Presently, the former noble had let his back rest against the trunk of said tree and had both arms outstretched forward, the elbows using his knees as support.

The other dwarf walked up to him and, since the trunk of that plant was quite wide, sat down next to him and passed him the cup he had brought. It was filed with a warm draught that released a very intriguing fragrance.

"I had Morrigan make this," Faren said. "It's supposed to help you recover some of your energy."

"Ah, that should come in handy," the exile acknowledged as he accepted the cup. "My thanks."

The newcomer waited for the him to drink down part of it, during which time he got to see the lines of fatigue that had begun to show on his face, as well as how bloodshot his eyes actually were. It was actually odd that it had taken him so long to notice it, considering the fact that the red should have been very visible in contrast with the white of his eyebrows. The drink did, on the other hand, seem to have an effect, however, as Raonar seemed to get more lively within a few seconds of taking the first sip.

"Ah, provided it's not mixed with some slow acting poison that will kill me in my sleep, this drink is exactly what I needed," he merrily declared. "So, are you still pissed at me?"

The redhead gave him the raised eyebrow look. "Isn't it a bit random to be asking me that?"

The other one's glance was just as incredulous. "Random? You punched me in the face a few hours ago."

"You deserved it," the rogue answered with a dismissive wave. "I mean, you went as far as calling me a **brand** to my face just to get me to leave so you wouldn't have to deal with anything even remotely close to the shock you felt when you had to kill that certain someone back in the Deep Roads?"

There was a period of silence before the reply was given. "Alim told you about that eh? And here I was expecting some lecture on why I should never call you a brand again."

"I don't really care about that too much, to be honest, not when its coming from you... Wait, did I really just say that?" The castless man let himself indulge in a moment of shocked silence. "Anyway, what I **am** wondering is just why you immediately assumed such a situation. I mean, just how much of a pessimist are you?" he pressed. "I can take care of myself."

The one drinking the supposed tea looked at him sideways, with a stare that seemed to suggest he should have known better than to say those things. "In case you forgot, you almost **died** when you got shot by those arrows. So you'll forgive me for not having the greatest of faith in your ability to take care of yourself."

Faren seemed to wince at that. "You can be really mean, you know? I guess I should be glad I'm not getting the "You performed the worst kind of betrayal" speech at least."

The noble only mildly acknowledged the reference to his brutal tongue-lashing of lady Isolde. "So we're trading barbs now? You still didn't answer my question," the commander reminded him after drinking the last of the enchanted tea. "Not specifically anyway."

"Question?"

"Are you still pissed at me?" he repeated.

There was a pause.

"No..."

"Really?" Raonar excitedly asked, blinking repeatedly. "Awesome!" he let out, punching Faren's shoulder a bit too hard. Apparently, that drink really had restored his strength, at least temporarily. "Come on, let's go back to the camp. We have things to discuss. And eat!"

"Wait," the younger dwarf requested, stopping his listener from jumping to his feet with a hand on the shoulder. "I want to ask you something too..."

After complying, the warrior nodded his accord.

Faren seemed to stop, as though he was afraid he might touch upon a sensitive subject. True enough, he did. "Are you worried? About what's happening back in Orzammar I mean."

Raonar closed his eyes and let the back of his head touch the tree trunk he was propped against. He considered his response for a while, as though he himself did not really know it. And, after a time, he finally appeared to reach a conclusion. "A little."

"**Just** a little?"

A sigh preceded the clarification. "Bhelen can't really do anything while father is still alive, and my father has been king for a long time and the nobles don't really like Bhelen more than him. Father's not all that old, though, so unless he decides to take his own life (unlikely) even in spite of my letter, after inevitably seeing what an ass he's been to me and Trian, and how totally fucked up Bhelen is, the current state of affairs should persist for quite a few years. All that remains is for Trian to stay 'dead' and use this time to get over himself."

"I really don't get you sometimes." The castless just got an inquisitive frown. "Self-sacrifice is all well and good, but aren't you bothered at all? You were dragged through the whole city in chains, some of those bastards even spat on you. I was hidden amongst the crowds. I **saw** it."

The white-haired one cringed at that, making Faren instantly regret having revealed that small bit of information. "I'm sorry you had to see that..."

"This isn't about me, dammit! This is about you doing crazy shit for people who don't even deserve it!"

"And who decides who deserves what?" the calm voice asked, causing Faren's shoulders to slump, so the exile continued. "I got **myself** exiled, so it's not like my... unfortunate experience is all on them."

"That tough attitude of yours is just a pile of bronto shit and you know it," he shot back. "I get that you're all clever and have this weird ability to shove your angst to Stone knows where so no one else has to deal with your brooding, but it's not healthy. Just taking everything on yourself isn't healthy. That's why I was so pissed at you when you sent the four of us away and stayed behind."

"So what, you're saying I'm trying to do everything alone?"

"Am I wrong?" the redhead challenged.

"Yes."

"... I'll need more than that..."

"Look, I am most definitely **not** trying to do things alone, that would make absolutely no sense." he inhaled deeply before continuing. "What I am **doing** is my best to ensure that those who **can** make a difference stay alive, me included. Those two last times... I was forced to act on my own counsel because things were happening too fast and I didn't have time to talk you all through whatever was going on in my mind. So yes, dropping the ball on you before you could protest was the best way I could think of for trying to save who I could. So you'll just have to live with it if my methods aren't to your liking."

Faren deflated. That guy was just too unreasonable. Or his reasoning was just not logical, which made even less sense.

"Anyway, let's go eat!" said the former Aeducan, once again assuming his candid manner.

And all Faren could ask himself was if there was any chance he would ever actually **get** what was going on in that guy's mind, though he was starting to think it might not be in his best interest to know.

"-. .-"

The eve had finally set in.

Kallian had finished preparing that stew only a short while after those two hares had been properly roasted, so it was mostly time for people to finally get something to eat. In fact, everyone except the two dwarves were already present, though Morrigan had refused to join them and had already taken her meal to eat in privacy. Sten was seated on a log some distance away, apparently pleased with the taste of the food, although it was hard to tell for certain when it came to him. Well, to the city elf at least. As for Shale, she, or it, was standing some distance from the Qunari, scouring the trees with the awareness of an eagle so as to not be taken by surprise by any winged beasts.

The rest of them had taken their places around the campfire, either filling their wood-carved bowls and plates with Kallian's concoction or just biting at some of the fried meat. The circle was composed of Kallian herself, Theron, Alim, Gwenith, Alistair and Leliana, in that order, which meant that the city elf and the chantry sister were sitting next to each other. The latter was even in the process of telling the tale of Andraste, while the others listened in with varying degrees of interest.

Then, the two other wardens finally deigned to return, along with the fresh water, from the spring, though Faren looked noticeably more put off than when he had left. Then, the other stout creature went off to do something while the rogue came forward and took his place between Leliana and the elven lass, quite eager to have a bite himself.

After a short while, and after giving Sten a pack of cookies as thanks for saving him from falling on his head earlier (cookies which the bronze-skinned one was quite grateful for), the remaining Grey Warden came and took his own place near the fire, between the blood mage and the templar, which had, oddly enough, failed to notice the irony of having been seated next to each other. He placed an odd-looking package on the ground next to him, accepted the dish of stew from the one on his left (Alim that is) and let himself enjoy the flavor.

"Hmmm, the food is delicious," he earnestly complimented. "now if only we had some ale to go with it, and maybe some background music, we could even forget that there's a Blight going on."

Leliana seemed especially intrigued by that. "Ah, that second wish may not be too hard to make true in fact."

There was an amused chuckle. "I doubt you can set up the orchestra of harps and violins, among other things, that I have in mind though."

The woman raised an eyebrow and answered while everyone else decided to just listen to the exchange. "I did not know the dwarves had such avenues of entertainment."

"They don't," he confirmed. "I read books about such things and was now just letting myself indulge in an utterly pointless exercise of wishful thinking. I sometimes wonder if my people would get a grip on reality if there was any actual music to be heard in Orzammar."

"Well, I am not sure I can do anything about that," the sly woman told him from across the fire. The embers threw a mixture of light and shadows over her face, and her hair fluttered slightly in the breeze as she let her spoon hover on her lips for a moment. "I can, however, adjust the strings of my lyre and see if the songs I **do** know are to your liking."

"So **that's** what was in that bundle you threatened to dye my hair pink if I touched," Alistair realized, though he too late noticed that he had spoken with his mouth full, earning him a sideways look from Gwen.

"So what are you, a traveling minstrel, or a bard?" asked Kallian, with some excitement.

"Something like a minstrel, yes," the Orlesian accent confirmed.

"I really need to catch up on surface words because I had no idea that 'minstrel' was the same word someone used for a woman that is very good at killing things with a knife or a bow," Faren deadpanned, looking utterly unimpressed at the odd looks he was getting as he gobbled down the rabbit roast.

"So what songs do you know?" the human lady asked as she kept sipping at her own food, unaware of the fact that she was still hanging on to so-called eating manners, or doing her best at least.

Leliana seemed quite grateful for the change of subject as she squinted both eyes. "Ah, many! Ballads, love songs, adventure tales put to rime... songs of mourning."

The time it took for all of them to finish eating was filled with various questions and suggestions about what the bard could and could not sing, or which verses she remembered. Theron mostly kept silent, content with the fact that, at the very least, he had elves seated on both sides. Kallian was the most excited about the songs, since she supposedly liked singing herself, while the two humans ended up making odd faces, though blushing just the same when the minstrel asked them if they would like her to write them a special love song, for whatever reason.

Alim seemed to be more or less unconcerned, while Faren still eyed the chantry sister with suspicion, being more curious about her obviously colorful past than the others, who had also guessed at it by now.

"Thank you for the meal to whoever made it," the commander uttered. "Now we can finally get down to business."

Of course, all seven heads turned towards him, which meant he had to clarify, although everyone had pretty much guessed that what he wanted to talk about had something to do with the package he had brought with him.

"Leliana, maybe now you can go an adjust that lyre of yours? We have some Grey Warden business to discuss," he told her.

"Ah, I see. Of course," she complied, knowing better than to call him on his mistrust of her since she had yet to disclose anything about her own past to any of them.

After she got up and left, the dwarf noble took the package in his hands and unwrapped the leather bindings, revealing what looked like a pile of documents and letters, or at least that's what all those papers seemed to be. "Before I show you these, I want you guys to tell me what happened with Cailan after we got separated."

The three elves, plus Faren, tensed slightly and did not know where to start. Fortunately, Theron's apathy allowed him to more easily relay the events.

"After we left, a pack of wolves, led by Anor there, saved us. Then we were led to a cave, the wolves' apparent den, where Alim was able to use some of his last power to bring that shem back to consciousness for a short while before he died."

Alistair's fists clenched as he sat with the others, noticed only by the castless dwarf. It was the city elf that continued the retelling, however. "Cailan, he... He felt responsible for the loss at Ostagar, for all those people who died. He said he had been warned it would happen."

"Well, to be fair, he was," said the leader "By me **and** Loghain."

"Loghain's a traitor," Alistair snapped. "It was because of him that everyone there died, Cailan, Duncan, the soldiers, everyone! And don't try to defend him after it was you that discovered he was planning to do it in advance."

Raonar looked at him with a straight face. "Actually, I planned for the possibility and I don't really have any proof that he was planning an actual coup. I don't, and neither do you. It may have just been a tactical move, although, true enough, declaring the Wardens outlaws that killed the king definitely wasn't his most sparkling moment, considering that **only** Grey Wardens can kill Archdemons. And no, don't ask me why or how we're supposed to do it, I have yet to figure it out and Duncan died just before getting around to telling me."

"You're actually defending Loghain? After what he did?" the almost templar couldn't believe it.

"We only know what we suppose he did, Alistair, and that he has something against us as an Order, although I might actually know **why** that is."

That definitely gave everyone pause. "What exactly do you know that we don't?" Gwen asked with narrowed eyes. Since she was quite pissed off at Loghain herself, she had a special reason to know.

"Well," the dwarf began, scratching the side of his head. "Before Duncan died, he managed to tell me a story. Apparently, the previous Warden Commander, Genevieve, somehow ended up collaborating with a certain group of darkspawn," there was a choir of gasps, though he continued unabated, "which had been plotting with First Enchanter Remille of the Circle of Magi to turn all human into ghouls."

There was stunned silence.

"Wait, what?" Alistair couldn't believe his ears.

"Yes, that is a good reaction," the leader assessed. "Anyway, Maric, even though he was already the King, went into the Deep Roads with Genevieve, Duncan and a few others, but eventually ended up captured by Remille, **after** some of the latter's magical trinkets, which he had given the Wardens beforehand, accelerated the taint in Genevieve and the others, except Duncan who had stolen a sort of safeguard. Basically, they fell under the control of the Architect. The only reason things didn't go to hell was because Loghain showed up and saved their hides, and you can realize what a reaction he had when he saw the Grey Wardens collaborating with darkspawn. Everyone else died, while this Architect and Utha, another Grey Warden turned ghoul, and a dwarva of all things, escaped. You can imagine just how much faith Loghain had in the Grey Wardens after that."

Silence fell again.

"But that's still no excuse for declaring us traitors after he let everyone die!" Alistair protested. "He even said we conspired with the Darkspawn, all of them lies! And now I hear he's even made himself regent and, instead of doing anything about the Blight, is starting a civil war."

"Well, most of that is true but..." said the leader. "You and Gwen weren't there, but the battle was going very, very badly and the most Loghain could have done at that point was charge in and get many of his men slaughtered just to save Cailan. Granted, Alim's really, really scary display of magic could have made it quite easy for him to achieve it without many casualties, but Loghain had no way of knowing that."

"I can't believe you're actually defending him," the senior Warden voiced with a shake of the head. "And don't tell me he wouldn't have had a chance, he had a lot of soldiers."

"Well, I really didn't want to say this, but you two were very late in lighting the beacon."

Gwen gnashed her teeth but said nothing, knowing it was true. The other human, however, spoke again. "The darkspawn had infiltrated the tower! And both of us nearly died!"

"Which was in no way predictable and still doesn't change the fact that the beacon was lit too late."

"What, so you're saying it was **right** of Loghain to jut abandon the field?"

"No." the dwarf firmly stated. "I'm saying that making any assumptions right now is just premature. And hating him is just not productive so you really should do your best not to let something like that eat at you because you'll just end up becoming a new version of what you see him as. Hate does that to people, turns them into monsters that is."

"Wait, so... you're telling me to **not** resent the one responsible for every bad thing that's happened to the Wardens, the one who threw Ferelden into chaos and is now causing a civil war, because it's for my own good?" The disbelief was obvious in his voice.

"Pretty much, yes," the impassive voice confirmed. "And even though I know it won't really help much, I can assure you that Loghain did, in fact, try to persuade Cailan not to be on the frontlines."

"So what, am I just supposed to take your word for it?" the warrior asked, not convinced.

Raonar frowned at him momentarily before answering. "I'll let your implication that I'm not worthy of trust slide for now. But to answer your question, no, you don't need to take my word for it. Gwen can tell you whether or not what I said was true, since she was right there during the strategy meeting."

Alistair immediately turned to her, so she decided to just say it. "It's... true, but Cailan would have none of it."

The almost inaudible breeze was, oddly enough, heard quite clearly by everyone as they once again stopped speaking, and even the noises Lelliana was making in her tent, as she prepared her instrument, could be distinguished.

"Sorry but, this all just sounds too unbelievable," Alistair finally uttered. "I'll need some time to think about this."

"Well, you'll have to delay that for a bit because there are some other things I want us to discuss," said the Commander of the Grey. "Particularly with the four that were with Cailan. Did the King disclose anything we might be able to use?"

The three elves, plus Faren, looked in random directions as they summoned their memories of the event. Then, Tabris began. "He said something about bringing the Chevaliers and Wardens from Orlais into Ferelden, as military aid, but I have no idea how we're going to manage that."

"We aren't," the silver-eyed one bluntly declared. "Loghain closed the borders, so that's not an option, neither is calling the Orlesian Wardens, even though I did manage to salvage Cailan's letters to and from Empress Celene." He divided the missives between the others, except for that very special one.

Kallian and Theron didn't bother with them much, while Faren was utterly uninterested, though Alim made sure to read them carefully. Gwen and Alistair scanned them quite thoroughly when it was their turn.

The templar gasped yet again. "Wait so, they were planning an alliance! And the armies would have come and helped in the fight and the other Wardens would have survived! Duncan would have survived... And Loghain destroyed it all!"

"Right, trust the templar to see just the side of things that can be taken as a reason to hate Loghain more," Alim reproached. "I get that Duncan was like a father to you but-"

"You don't understand **anything**!"

"Might I point out that I'm pretty sure Loghain did not know about these letters?" the dwarf noble cut in.

"Well, pretty sure is just not enough," Alistair blurted.

"Fine then, exhibit B." And the exile let them take a look at **the** letters, the one from Celene and the one from Eamon to Cailan.

Alim raised an eyebrow but decided to not react in any other way, while Kallian scowled and Theron kept a blank expression. Faren seemed to understand well enough why those three reacted thus, although he wasn't exactly up to speed on Fereldan politics and history.

Alistair frowned, not sure of what to say, and time dragged on until the fire itself had mostly died down, so Alim summoned a sphere of light to make it possible to actually read those papers.

Gwenith, on the other hand, did know what to say. "Was Cailan really so naive? And Eamon actually advised him to set Anora aside?"

Alim, Kallian, Theron and Faren felt a bit conflicted, considering that they were very sure he had just the best intentions, as was made clear when he died. And yet he would so easily discard his wife?

"So that's why he refused Eamon's troops," the templar concluded. "But would it really have been so bad if such an alliance happened?"

"You really need to catch up on recent history, Alistair," said Lady Cousland. "The Orlesians didn't exactly treat Ferelden nicely during the time they had us **enslaved**. I know we weren't personally around at the time, but Orlais hasn't changed its ways since then and you can be sure a political marriage like this would have ended less than favorably for us."

"I think his idealism and overall unfortunate upbringing got the better of Cailan," Raonar said. "Maric was made out to be this awesome savior and it probably put a lot of pressure on Cailan to have to fill his shoes. The king did, of course, give me the key to his chest in case things did go wrong, which is a plus for him. But, in the end, his interest in glory got him killed. Too bad too, since he would have been a decent ruler if he had been educated in at least some practicality."

"How can you speak so blandly about this?" Alistair was positively irritated. "I mean, if Loghain didn't know about these letters, that means he just planned that coup of his because of ambition. And he had Arl Eamon poisoned even before the events of Ostagar came around. This whole deal screams of foul play!"

"I agree," said the dwarf noble.

"How can y-... wait, you do?"

"Yes, it was foul play and yes, it disgusts me. But that doesn't mean I'll start to hate everything and blame everything on him. It just doesn't make sense to do so, especially when we don't know all the facts. What annoys me more about all this is not that he abandoned the field, but that he framed us for the deed, which is just a way of shrinking from his responsibility, and is now getting into a civil war. The fact that I am getting tired of being framed aside, he's just too ignorant of the darkspawn threat, so we have to stop what he's doing in order to deal with this Blight ourselves. That is all."

There was a pause.

And the human male spoke again. "You are the strangest person I've ever met."

"I'll take that as a compliment, though I suppose I should feel insulted by being said to be weirder than Flemeth, since she is also someone you met."

Someone coughed, the noise momentarily putting a stop to the cricket sounds.

"Alright, with that steam out of the way," Gwenith took the word at last. "What else have you got there?" She gestured towards the remaining documents that had not yet been shown to the others.

"Ah, those. Well, these are Duncan's recruitment records that I saved from the camp. I had secured them, along with Gwen's heirlooms and other things, prior to the battle, just in case. They include descriptions of each of us, our names and where we hail from, what we were or used to do but not much else."

"Yes, Duncan did always say that joining the Grey Wardens was like starting a new life and that the past didn't matter as long as you stayed true to your brothers," the senior Warden said.

"Anyway, did Cailan say anything else?" the cyan-eyed dwarf asked.

The three elves and Faren all exchanged glances, then stared in Alistair's direction with some uncertainty before the castless rogue gathered the courage to speak out before Theron had a chance to slam them with the information. "Yeah... sort of... he, uh... Well..." the sentence broke off and everyone just ended up staring at Alistair which, in turn, began to fidget nervously.

Then, the ranking warden of Ferelden just could not help himself any longer and started laughing like mad, falling on his back because of how awkward the situation was going to become. "This is... hahahaha! This is so unbelievably hilarious!"

"Oh, so may I understand that you already know what this shem king may have told us?" Theron at last broke his long, uninterested silence.

With some difficulty, the exile pushed himself back into his cross-legged position. "Oh, I do believe I do, and if you four **also** know it, then that means Gwen is the **only** one who doesn't, which means Alistair is **so** going to get it."

"Oh Maker, what did I do to deserve this?" Alistair whined, pressing his fingers against the bridge of his nose.

"What am I missing here...?" Gwen gave in and asked, unsure of whether or not she will regret it.

"I think this is my cue to put a safe distance between me and you two adorable humans," said Raonar, promptly getting up and facing his own inability to properly walk, since he had to bend forward and clutch at his middle, as he was splitting his sides with laughter. Predictably, the other four left the campfire in just as much hurry, although the mage did leave a magical globe of light behind, just so the almost templar could very clearly see the woman's expression now that he was finally going to break the big secret to her.

"-. .-"

3,2,1...

**"YOU'RE THE BASTARD SON OF KING MARIC? AND ALL THE TIMES I BLATANTLY IMPLIED THIS BY JOKING ABOUT YOUR RESEMBLACE TO CAILAN, YOU LIED TO MY FACE ABOUT THERE NOT BEING A CONNECTION?"**

Deep inside her mind, Kallian imagined those words written down, in bold, capital letters, and reached the conclusion that they would have hurt her eyes as much as Gwen's outraged yell hurt her ears, even though she had already walked a good distance away. The only feeling she now had was an utmost pity for the unfortunate man that had tragically ended up in a situation where everyone but his prospective lover knew his greatest secret.

The elf made a mental note to always remember this as one of the most amusing situations she had ever encountered and decided to eventually write or have someone write a story about it.

There was, however, something else she wanted to take care of, so she decided she would confront that person now, when everyone was, more or less, in a good mood, despite their worry about how complicated it would be to deal with all this mess. She spotted the former noble standing with his hands behind his back and watching the two mabari war hounds sleep, cuddled together.

He turned around when he heard her come up from behind him. "Ah, Kallian, how is your life?"

"Well, you know, constant walking, nightmares, being infected with a slow acting poison that will turn me into a ghoul sooner or later if I don't get myself killed first, the usual," she deadpanned. The dwarf just shrugged and smiled, however, so she decided to cut to the chase. "I want to talk to you about something."

That seemed to get his attention. "Already? Shouldn't you all be together somewhere, roaring with laughter at Alistair's predicament?" he then looked over her shoulder, spotting the men all gathered together and informing Morrigan about what was happening, knowing she would revel in Alistair's suffering.

Kallian had to admit that joining them definitely sounded tempting, though she wondered why Raonar himself hadn't acted on his own advice. She decided not to pry too deeply into it though. "Yes well, the others **are**, in fact, doing just that right now, so I took advantage of this to talk to you in private."

The answer was a simple glance in her direction.

"I want to know what you really feel about Faren."

The direct question actually succeeded in making him straighten up and let his hands hung at his sides. "Now **that** is a weird question to be asking me all of a sudden."

"Yes, well, I don't know when I'll get the chance to ask you again, so..."

The prince gazed at her for a time and she couldn't help but feel a bit intimidated by his eyes. Unlike Faren's, which transmitted a sort of insecurity (when he failed to look away in time that is), his were decisive and straightforward, implacable.

"Did something happen during my absence?" he asked, tilting his head and frowning in an oddly worrisome manner.

"Nothing like **that!**" she hastily answered, picking up on his allusion immediately.

"Well, you sound awfully personally interested in this..."

Kallian paused a bit. "That's because I am, I suppose."

He turned to face her properly, and the elf couldn't help but feel it was amazing that he had somehow managed to find a spot that placed him high enough for his eyes to be at around the same height as hers. He definitely knew how to bypass whatever issues his height could ever pose.

"Still, you have to admit, the way you asked me sounded really, really weird," he pointed out.

"Actually, asking someone that would always sound weird I guess."

"Well, to answer it, I suppose I should just be blunt and say that it's entirely not something I feel obliged to share with everyone who asks."

"In other words, it's not my business then?" the lass asked with a frown, crossing her arms and shifting her weight.

"Well, if you can present a good argument for which it **could** be your business, than I might even tell you," he cleanly replied with a smile.

"He told me about that whole debacle in Orzammar, an about the faked kinslaying," she slammed, her raised eyebrow a testament to her absolute conviction that this 'small' detail would definitely get him to talk.

"... that's IT? **That's** your argument?" Raonar sounded positively stupefied at the fact that she had actually though it to have been a good one. Since Faren had made a point of swearing her to secrecy, she would have expected at least mild shock from this one. And yet, he did not look taken aback in the slightest.

Somehow, a cricket was able to enchant the night with its song for about ten times before the two finally spoke again.

"Wait but," the elf struggled with her reply. "Wasn't this supposed to be your huge secret? Shouldn't you be all shocked and concerned right now?"

"If you though I would react like that, you clearly don't know me very well," he responded with a suggestive wave of both hands. "Basically, I fail to see how knowing that makes my feelings for Faren any of your business. And yes, I know that sounded totally awkward, but if you're rooting for him, then don't worry, because he doesn't swing that way, and neither do I."

"I know **that**!" the lass protested with a pout.

"Well if you do, why start this conversation at all?"

Kallian scratched her forehead in frustration and muttered a curse under her breath. "Andraste's knickers, you are so incredibly annoying."

"That's an entirely subjective analysis," he waved her off, though he made it no mystery that he enjoyed what was happening. "So if you know he's straight, and that so am I, what exactly is this about?"

The young elf closed her eyes, as if she was trying to find a suitable formulation. Eventually, she knew she had none, so her blunt speech took it from there. "I'm worried about him."

"Ah, and the vagueness deepens," he deadpanned.

Frustration boiled so the fair-haired girl jumped to requests. "I want you to promise me that you won't disappoint him."

Well, at least that seemed to solicit an actual change in his facial expression. "You'll need to elaborate..."

She took a deep breath. "Look, he was really broken off after thinking you had died, almost as bad as how Alistair was over Duncan, maybe even worse. I talked to him, on his birthday a few days ago, and he was in a really bad shape, emotionally I mean."

"I see." The dwarf turned thoughtful and the moonlight fell on him from behind, shadows shrouding his face, making it impossible to see it clearly, even though it contrasted with his white hair and beard. "That's... a bit troublesome, although still vague."

"He said he felt like he'd lost his crutch and expressed some concern over becoming 'that thing I was before he found me' as he said it. Do you have any idea what he meant?"

There was a deep sigh. "Just vaguely. The place he lived in basically was a hell that couldn't get much worse. He probably feels ashamed of what he did at some point or another, even though he didn't really have much choice about how he survived."

"Yes, he told me about what the brand meant and then about how nobles saw him as trash because of it. Well, all nobles except you I suppose."

"..."

"I think he sees you as a sort of role model."

That was when he passed his palm over his face. "Things always get so complicated. And here he was telling me how he could take care of himself just an hour ago, only for me to find out about this..."

"Look, I just want you to promise me you won't end up hurting him."

"I don't make promises," he rammed. "I don't know what the future holds, even though I predict a lot of possible outcomes. And aren't you being a bit too hypocritical with how you're trying to sound as though you care for him ever so deeply?"

That definitely caused anger to flash in her eyes momentarily. "And what was **that** supposed to mean?"

He slowly lift and pointed his index finger at her right hand. "You act as though you have feelings for him, and yet you still wear that ring."

Flinching, she instinctively stared at her hand, realizing that she was, indeed, still wearing Nelaros' ring. But that shouldn't matter, she was wearing it as a reminder of his sacrifice, not of anything else... Was she? And then, the dwarf's new blunt question gave her a whole set of doubts to sort through.

"Just which of us two has the greatest potential of hurting Faren exactly?"

The word pause got a whole new meaning.

"I..." she stuttered. She really didn't know what to say to that. She was still staring at that ring, no longer knowing what it meant to her, what anything meant.

Eventually, she realized that he had already started to walk off, and yet he stopped in his tracks beside her, not looking in her direction as he simply gave the answer to her original question. And the words she heard were not just surprising, but they were spoken in such a way as to relay the fact that the responsibility that had been thrust upon her was, perhaps, one greater than she should have asked for.

And he made sure to drive that feeling of responsibility as deep as it could get.

"By now, you'll know that what he needs to gain is self-reliance," he told her. "So you understand, yes? That you must never tell him what I just told you, unless you want to personally make it impossible for him to ever grow out of that low self esteem he keeps hidden so well. Use this choice, of telling him or not telling him, to answer your own question as to whether your feelings for him **are** true or not and whether you really do have his best interest at heart, or just your own."

And as he walked off, leaving her to ponder for herself, she realized that she should probably be grateful for not having received a lecture the likes of the one that lady Isolde had had to live through just hours before. All that remained was a single question.

Just how easy was it to mistake love for selfishness?

* * *

_And that review space is, of course, waiting!_


	26. Demon Arc 1: A Prince's Best Nightmare

**Chapter 25: A ****Prince's Best Nightmare**

"-. .-"

It was always a different flavor, but somehow it instilled the same degree of utmost thrill. This time it was accompanied by a hunger that he was usually only graced with on certain, special occasions, when prying eyes were occupied and voices unconcerned with what he was doing, and those moments were few and far between. That hunger always forced his adrenaline levels to skyrocket, since its immediate effect was that it made it more or less tricky to breathe properly. And yet the mild suffocation was totally worth it, as while it did have arguably unfortunate effects on his motor skills, it only magnified the feeling of ravishment and caused all of his muscles to awaken in ecstasy.

That woman really knew how to kiss.

He failed to keep his balance under her push, his own excitement being a contributing factor, so he ended up hitting his back against the wall as he staggered backwards, his arms instinctively wrapping around her as she threw her own around his neck. Their lips met again, and soon the kiss evolved into something far more alert, something that was as blissful as it was voracious. He found himself harmlessly yet thirstily biting on her lower lip as her fingers sunk into the skin on the back of his neck, his eyes shut so as to allow his attention to be exclusively focused on his senses of touch and taste. He knew his moustache was tickling her face, that his beard was brushing against her bust, and that she loved every second of it.

His arm went lower and pulled her closer by the waist, giving him the upper hand, so he twist his full weight, changing their roles and bringing her between him and the wall. His other hand found its way to the back of her head, fingers submerging themselves in her long, silky hair as her own fingertips almost buried themselves into his back. Fresh air continually failed to enter either of their chests as they simply lived off the breath of each other, fervor unyielding as they both refused to let themselves be outlasted by the other in their contest to see who was more driven.

That was how it always started. A fitting duel between warriors that usually ended up with both of them collapsing to the ground and reluctantly abandoning the literally breathtaking embrace so as to not die from lack of oxygen, only to start their assaults again, culminating in a night's worth of unabated passion...

...which usually had her as the winner almost every time because she was just that good...

...and he was usually exhausted already, after having carried out whatever soldierly or scouting duties he had had to perform during the 'day', leaving him unable to match her ferocity for more than a couple of hours, although even that much would be called more than enough by most.

That wasn't going to happen today, however. One reason was that he had had to perform no physically demanding tasks this once, since they had returned from the military expedition for some time, so he was more than ready to finally take his turn at showing her just how things were done. The other, regrettably more pressing reason, however, was that he was in no position to actually make that demonstration of sheer masculinity today, or any time soon for that matter.

Someone was heard clearing his throat from about a dozen paces away, cutting their momentum and causing both of them to slump in frustration and slowly turn their searing glares towards him.

Gorim, however, did not notice the glares because he was too embarrassed to even look in their direction as he stood there, at the end of the small space between the more or less concealed two buildings in the Commons that the secret lovers had decided to make out in. "Umm, my lord... We should, ah, probably return to the palace before anyone catches a whiff of this... tryst."

The golden-haired second son of King Endrin groaned and was so overcome by despodency that he failed to prevent his head from hanging forward, practically burying his face into the side of Leandra's neck. And that only led to his lips finding their own way to her skin not long after, partially guided by her own, fiercely encouraging bodily motions.

Gorim cleared his throat again. "Uh, my lord, you **did** instruct me to not let you reach the 'point of no return', as you called it..." Raonar deflated. Visibly. "... which was just about a few seconds away if your enviable chest and abdominal muscles, which have become pronounced enough to be seen even though your chainmail-patched silk garments, are any indication."

The prince was pushed away by his lover, only for the latter to look at his front with a raised eyebrow after which she passed her hands over his pectorals and sighed wistfully. "Somehow, it's kind of sad that Gorim was the first to notice this visual effect," she mused. "Makes you wonder..."

The dark blue-eyed dwarf gently took a hold of her by the chin. "It's your own fault for always tearing my clothes off before I even get started."

She met his gaze with that perfect smile of hers and adjusted the collar of his shirt. "I know the solution. You should just work out until these so-called enviable muscles naturally look like that all the time."

"You know I don't make promises," he said, pushing the hair that hung in front of her face back behind her ear. "And wouldn't that make it even harder for you to actually stand a chance against me in the Provings? You do want a rematch, no?"

She pulled him closer by his long, braided moustache for an extra kiss, after which she slyly argued with his assessment. "And who says I didn't let you win? Maybe I just did you a favor out of pity. After all, it would have been incredibly embarrassing for the King's son to lose to a woman."

With both arms locking around her hips, he effortlessly lift her off the ground. "If there's one thing I know, is when people are 'letting me win' or otherwise trying to con me. I am just really good at spotting falsehoods like that. And you, mistress of my heart, most definitely tried to beat me and failed."

"Barely. Yours was a lucky hit." That challenge was enforced by an action that consisted of her pinching his nose. "Actually, you really are very lucky. You even escaped without the trademark giant Aeducan nose that both your brothers ended up with, although I admit, the Bemots are even less favored by the Ancestors in that regard."

"Yes, I am just that adorable that even the Ancestors themselves were touched enough as to do me the favor of giving me unmatched looks and manliness," he deadpanned, once again letting her feet touch the ground. "Just like they made you more beautiful than any other woman in Orzammar."

"Flatterer, you know that pretty words aren't what warriors are most receptive to."

"That blush of yours says otherwise. And beauty is entirely subjective, so what I said is, technically, true, at least from my point of view."

Gorim outright coughed. "My lord... I **could** start imitating Tri- your elder brother in order to get you to finally move from that spot you know."

There was a deep sigh. "Alright, alright, I'm going, since that would undeniably ruin whatever mood is left," he finally conceded, giving Leandra the heart wrenching look. "Sorry, I just had to show you my puppy dog eyes. It's really cute how you pout every time I do it."

The lady warrior looked a bit confused. "Is that a surfacer saying? You've been reading too many surface texts."

"Actually, I didn't get that from any books..." he paused, looking away in lack of understanding. "Umm... Actually, how **do** I know that metaphor?"

"It won't matter if Trian and your father have your hide for being irresponsible," the loyal second flatly announced. "Especially if the whole city finds out about this before next week's vote."

"Right, I know, I know," the second son acknowledged with utter dejection. "It just seems to be taking so long, like time isn't really moving forward at all."

Making sure no one saw them, all three put their cloaks on and, once their faces were reasonably concealed under their cowls, parted ways. The prince could only hope Trian wouldn't fall back into the ass mode he was supposed to have gotten over and start berating him once he finally returned to the palace. He really didn't want his good mood to disappear that fast.

Hopefully Bhelen would be around.

When finally reaching the Royal Palace, the two were curtly welcomed by the guards and entered the grand halls, at which point the loyal second went to perform whatever duties he had to take care of, leaving his master to go meet up with his brothers.

He made his way to the meeting chamber they had had built for themselves, a sort of mix between a study and a living room, the walls carved directly out of black granite and thick enough to offer almost perfect sound isolation. He didn't hurry, though. His fingertips found themselves resting on his lips as he let himself revel in the lingering exhilaration that Leandra always managed to leave behind. Still, nothing lasted forever, so he eventually reached the polished stone door and entered.

The room was more or less square. On the right was a row of bookcases, each packed with various tomes on history and protocol. Of course, he and Bhelen had made a point of sneaking in as many detective, romance, suspense and other types of novels as possible, plus a healthy dose of copies of the "1001 ways to counter poison". That book was like the Holy Grail of their collection and Raonar was absolutely sure that the anonymous author would have been made a Paragon if he had been discovered. Granted, if he had revealed who he was (or she), he may have ended up killed by the noble families whose secret assassination methods he had disclosed.

Bhelen had, of course, joked about the fact that whoever wrote that was probably an assassin himself, most likely one that ended up employed by every major House at some point, otherwise he would not have possessed the knowledge required to actually write such a perfect guide to survival. The second son, of course, was well aware of that, which made the prospect of said assassin gaining Paragonhood both amusing and sad.

Straight ahead, across the room and on the opposite side of the door, was a finely-made show case, which exhibited various busts and paintings, those of their parents being two of them. Also, in the centre of the room was a round table, with several armchairs around it.

The wall on the left, at least the part closer to the back, next to the side entrance, was covered in mirrors. Then, closer to the main door was a chess table, with the necessary pair of armchairs, one of which Bhelen was already sitting in. No, sitting wasn't the right word. He looked to be half asleep and his head was just barely resting in his right palm, his elbow being more or less supported by the arm of his chair.

He woke up with a startled snort when his immediate older brother took a pawn and slammed it against the marble chess table, hard, filling the room with a loud noise of stone on stone. "Gah! **Must** you always do that?"

"**Must** you always doze off because you somehow get here too early?" asked the middle child of the King, mock-mimicking his little brother's aggravated tone.

Bhelen gave him the raised eyebrow look. "Right, and I suppose you failed to also show up as early as you planned because you were otherwise... preoccupied?"

Raonar took his seat at the chess table, the side with the dark set of pieces. "So, if you came here even more early than usual, it must mean that some nobles aren't exactly keen on cleaning up their act."

Bhelen moved two of his white pawns into position. "More or less."

His brother locked onto his gaze for a moment before mirroring his maneuver. "Is it serious enough that we should warn Trian and Father?"

Bhelen sighed and scratched his chin before moving his knight. "I don't think so. We should let those two focus on the actual negotiations while we make sure the field is secure. What about on your end?"

"The usual," he replied, moving his own piece into position. "Deshyrs trying to buy votes, blackmailing people into being against the motions set to be discussed next week, me having the compromising evidence intercepted and secured and having both Houses informed that House Aeducan is on to them." He smiled. "For some reason, they supposedly took that as House Aeducan blackmailing **both of** **them** even though it was never even suggested that such intentions existed."

"You never do suggest anything of the sort," Bhelen deadpanned, moving the game of chess along.

"I pinned it on you, by the way, the assumed blackmailing I mean."

Bhelen's jaw went stack. "You did WHAT?"

"Hey, you're the one with the reputation for this stuff, remember?" the dark blue-eyed one said defensively. "And you know that if it were up to me, I'd have that evidence made public and get both those 'nobles' exiled to the surface where they can't make any more problems. It **would** be the honorable and lawful thing to do after all, and the surface isn't really so bad."

"And how do you know how things are up there?"

"Personal experien- wait... actually, I'm not sure why I said that. Odd, I feel like I've been up there before." Bhelen just shrugged his shoulders, so he went on. "Of course, father and Trian think things like mass exile of corrupted worms would shake Orzammar a bit too strongly. So, I guess, you'll have to live with the framing thing for a while."

The youngest of Endrin's children leaned on the other arm of his chair and stared at the second eldest in annoyance. "You are a horrible, horrible person big brother. You know, this ability of mine to 'stay out of trouble', as you and Father called it, has its limits, especially since I also had to do something similar to houses Lantena and Gherlon just last month. And now you pin blackmail on me? How nice of you, really."

"You know I'll **always** use my legendary charm to protect you, little brother," Raonar said loyally. "And a little blackmail that was hardly even implied is not even remotely near to what you tried to pin on me." The last words were spoken in a lower, slower voice.

Bhelen's shoulders slumped and the facepalm that followed was noteworthy. "You're never going to let me live that down are you?"

The other looked thoughtful. "Well, double fratricide is pretty radical. So it might take me a few years to get over it-" a hand smacked him over the head, causing his face to assume a bored expression.

"Are you teasing our little brother again?" Trian asked somewhat disapprovingly, having somehow crept up from behind him. "For shame, brother, for shame," he added, failing in his attempt to hide a shade of a smile as he walked away from where they sat and approached the mirrors, so as to arrange his royal chainmail properly. He needed to look presentable at today's assembly session, which was going to deal with increased castles rights.

Raonar didn't even look at him, focusing on Bhelen instead as he moved the rook. "And lo! You kept my attention focused on you so I wouldn't notice Trian coming up from behind me. Clever, clever." The tone was remarkably flat.

Bhelen's response was whispered only to the one playing chess with him, so that Trian wouldn't hear. "I really don't get you. You knew he was coming up to smack you and you let him."

A smile met that sentence, then the reply was given in a similarly low voice. "Well, he's trying to figure out what being a big brother means, so I can live through a few of his behavioral blunders."

"By the way, Raonar," Trian spoke again from the other side of the room. "You **could** try and tone down your impassionate outings until father and I manage to get the Assembly to approve the most recent motion on marriage between castes."

"Don't forget to specifically mention 'raises the one with a lower status to the same caste as the higher-ranking individual regardless of sex'," Bhelen said, eliminating his opponent's black bishop from the chessboard. Then, he chuckled. "It'll be fun to see just how many so-called illicit relationships become public after this," he looked the second eldest in the eyes "or how scandalous some could become should the vote not pass."

The middle son scowled. "Right, well let me just say that, from now on, I shall respond to any of your insinuations about Leandra being beneath me by pointing out the fact that she could kick either of your asses," said the second son, retaliating by removing one of Bhelen's knights from the board.

"Ouch. I'll take that as a warning to never insult your lover again," the youngest uttered, while Trian just shrugged.

Meanwhile, the prince heir was having trouble with fastening the belts on the side of his armor. Apparently, he was too muscular and that impeded his ability to twist around properly and do it himself. "Oh, by the Stone, this is annoying!"

The middle child looked up at him impassively. "Shouldn't you have a second to help you with that? Or did you finally scare the poor guy away?"

Trian looked like he was about to bang his head against the wall, but refrained from doing it at the last second because the mirror that covered it would have shattered under his thick skull. "I... sent him on an errand..."

"Of **course** you did," Bhelen deadpanned. "Though I suppose it's our brother's fault for spoiling you by giving you Gorim for a whole year while he was out saving the world. Whoever is seconding you now, Trian... poor bastard, he'll never really meet your standards now."

The other brother just got up, walked up to the firstborn and offered him the assistance he so desperately required. "You know, Trian, if you wanted one of us to help out, all you had to do was ask."

"Especially since you know that without the two of us you'd be dead in a couple of weeks or so," Bhelen chimed, much to Trian's growing chagrin. "We'd hate to see our hard work go to waste because you failed to look presentable enough."

It fell to the middle brother to become the peacemaker. "Come on Bhelen, that's a bit harsh. I still think he'd manage for at least a month if he really tries." Or not be the peacemaker at all it seems.

Trian looked to be on the verge of shrieking in exasperation, but he decided to smirk instead. "Humph. Well then, I suppose I'm fortunate that I have the two of you looking after me now don't I?" He also elbowed his younger brother in the ribs, to which the latter responded by heaving on the last belt with all his might, putting instant pressure on the eldest's lungs and causing him to grunt unexpectedly.

"Ugh, easy! You're enjoying this aren't you?"

"Oh, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't," Raonar merrily confirmed. Then, he made to turn around, but his vision was draw to his own reflection in that full sized mirror. He looked at it for a while, and felt odd about his sensation that his hair and beard were supposed to look... different. That made him lose track of time until his little brother called out to him and snapped him out of it. "Hey! Your turn to move."

His walk back to the chess table was slow, his eyes narrowed somewhat as he sat back down into his chair and started to feel as though the pieces on that chess table had moved in a predetermined order, as though a memory was being replayed. He studied the arrangement, perceiving an underlying pattern, and all logic dictated that it was time to move his own knight.

He moved the Queen instead.

"Oh, what's this?" the third son of the king asked. "Changing tactics mid-way, big brother? Intriguing."

The game went on in silence for a while, both siblings trying to outmaneuver the other, until the one in control of the dark army cornered his "enemy's" king and sealed its fate.

"Ah, check mate! Congratulations, big brother!" Bhelen called out earnestly. "That was an exciting match!"

"Indeed?" the other one asked derisively, slowly getting up from his chair and walking around the table, until he was standing behind his little brother. "Not even close."

A snap was heard, and Bhelen fell over the chess table, causing it to topple and scatter all the chess pieces in a chaotic clatter as his lifeless body plummeted to the floor, neck broken, his killer looking down at him with an icy stare as he stretched his fingers.

There was a very, very long moment of shocked silence.

"What the! Have you gone insane?" Trian bellowed, striding forward only to end up stabbed in the abdomen with the dagger that the king's favorite child always carried. His voice broke when his throat was flooded with blood, but his horrified look was not noticed by the one that had stabbed him, as his eyes were closed.

Raonar pulled the blade out of his victim's gut and listened, eyes still shut, as he fell to the ground and reeled, struggling for a short time until his remaining life left him. Then, he stood there and waited for a while, until a voice he thought he'd never hear again, a voice he should never have, was supposed to never be in a position to again hear, came from the door.

"What have you done!"

That was the last straw.

Steps were heard approaching him quickly, and he set aside any and all hesitation, springing around and running his mother through, still refusing to open his eyes as he felt the woman lose control of her feet and letting her entire weight fall on him.

"How... How did you know?" a hoarse voice barely choked the words out.

The answer came after a pause, still with eyes kept shut. "You mean besides the fact that that Holy Grail anti-poison book is too good to be true? Or besides the fact that this whole life is too good to be true? The answer is that, even when he's pretending to let it happen, Bhelen never actually loses at Chess, because he hates losing so much that he never really learned how to do it. After all, he's still a child, regardless of how much he may try to deny it."

He side-stepped, pulling the dagger out of flesh, and the third family member he'd killed in less than a minute met the floor of the palace. And still he refused to open his eyes, so as to not allow his last memory of his mother to be replaced, to be tainted by that false image, this lie that demons employed to try and enslave his mind.

And finally, the illusion around him started to dissipate, and his awareness was completely his own again, all of his memories flooding back into place.

They had reached the Lake Calenhad docks a few hours earlier, and they left Morrigan at the Spoiled Princess, since the Templars and mages would have started to ask questions about her in the tower. She was, after all, an Apostate. Shale and the mabari hounds had been left to keep her company, regardless of whether she liked it or not. Granted, the other reason was that the Golem was too huge and heavy to be carried by boat and it would have taken too long to let it walk the bottom of the lake all the way to the tower, not to mention the rumors that implied monsters may be living under that water.

The witch had, of course, been a bit irked at being left behind, but did not fuss about it too much, saying that just being away from Alistair was enough to make up for most of the inconvenience.

Then they found out, upon reaching the tower, that it was overrun by abominations. The Warden Commander could still remember the exasperated look on Alim's face, though the latter covered it with both hands in astonishment at the fact that Irving had **actually** not managed to realize what Uldred was about until it was too late. Of course, Alistair noticed first that Uldred may have been in league with Loghain, though the commander and Gwen had already surmised that.

Then, they met up with an elderly mage called Wynne, who was protecting some children apprentices and whom the dwarves remembered from Ostagar (and Alim obviously knew already), and joined with her in saving the Circle from the mad Uldred who was turning all mages into abominations.

Some time later, they had systematically annihilated every abomination in almost every level of the tower, along with most blood mages that had attacked them as soon as they came into view. Alim was especially pissed off at them for destroying everyone's lives by so selfishly trying to enforce their own ideas, and for having made him be the one to have to kill everyone he knew as he grew up, now turned into mutated creatures. There was also the very troubling fact that all templars had been dominated or killed. Alim had to overuse his blood magic to counter the effects, managing to save a fair number of them, although the side effect was that they all ended up falling unconscious.

Wynne had only been made to shut up about Alim's blood magic once she finally managed to get the fact that he was using it to actually save people from the demons' control. All Wardens silently reached the conclusion that Chantry brainwashing was strong within her.

Of course, the Grey Warden blood mage's most interesting moment was when the group stumbled upon a very particular templar whom a desire demon had taken control of and given the illusion that she was both his wife and children. Theron pointed out how utterly disturbing that was, but Surana, the magical resistant Faren and Alistair the templar took the demon head-on, while the others (except Sten, who felt his intervention was unnecessary) immobilized the ensorcelled human through their combined effort, until they had him pinned to the ground. The real moment of tension, however, was when Alim actually succeeded in neutralizing the demon's mind control and breaking her hold on the unfortunate man without damaging his mind.

Needless to say, the elf was far more relaxed after blowing off most of his stress (he had even allowed himself to mercilessly tear that demon apart into many tiny shreds through sheer, telekinetic force of will), although the others were sure of just one thing, namely that it was wise to never, ever, **ever** get on Alim's bad side.

Ironically, however, that display left the mage weakened enough that he could not do anything against the other demon that actually had the gall to somehow force slumber upon them all and, apparently, trap them in dreams of some kind.

The end of this recollection was accompanied by a change in feeling, and the dwarf finally opened his eyes, only to receive his confirmation that he was in the Fade. **Again!** And pulled in by a Sloth Demon no less, an experience similar to the one back in the Deep Roads. Two things went through the dwarf noble's mind. One, that he would have to point out just how incredibly unoriginal that demon was, or demons were in general, when they inevitably clashed. And two, the fact that Honor would have to work overtime to prevent him from having horrible nightmares because of the realization that he had probably made out with a desire demon instead of Leandra.

And that completely transcended the definition of disgusting.

By a massive margin.

A very, very massive margin in fact.

Enough that he dropped his dagger and actually toppled over, emptying the contents of his stomach, ethereal though it was, all over the so called ground. He wondered briefly if he would end up needing counseling after such a disturbing event, or if he'd be better off just getting a memory wipe, if that was even possible.

After he finally got back to his feet, he registered that he was standing in the middle of a mostly bland, although somewhat oddly-shaped floating island. The air, if it could even be called that, felt as though it were charged with a sort of alien presence. The feeling was not much different from the one he got when in Honor's own dream realm, albeit more alert.

The sky was a shade of sickly green and other twisted islands floated on all sides, while the Black City was clearly visible in the distance, a large, distorted thing that seemed to be only barely visible, like a looming terror that never changed.

And then, some flapping was heard, followed by a magical sound and someone walking up to him from behind.

A moment was all it took for him to snatch his dagger from the ground and spin around into battle position, only for his vision to meet that of Alim Surana himself, looking taken aback at the short one's reaction, or perhaps just surprised at the fact that he was dressed in nobles' clothing and had only a dagger to protect himself. "Whoa there! Stab bad!"

"... And how do I know you're not just some other demon in disguise?" the currently blond warrior asked, still wary for any tricks.

Alim turned into a griffon.

Then turned back into himself.

And there was only silence... and a dwarf with dark blue eyes, blond hair and a very raised eyebrow.

"Is that reassuring enough for you?" the mage finally asked.

The prince straightened up but did not seem to relax. "Oddly no, considering that if you really are you, you are already scarier than every demon I ever encountered."

The elf scratched the side of his neck. "I can't be **that** bad..."

"Alright then," the bearded one trailed off and seemed to lose his balance, but extended one hand forward, so as to halt Alim's advance, while he used his other one to cradle his headache. "No... It's fine, just... give me a while, I... just need a few minutes to deal with some posttraumatic stress."

Without another word, he stepped away from where he had thrown up and let himself sit down, fall in fact, after which he let his forehead rest on his knees and started shivering, while the new arrival could just look upon that sight with a very worried look.

"What kind of-" he suddenly stopped. "Actually, I have a feeling that asking you what kind of dream you were imprisoned in might make this worse."

"Oh, it's nothing that new," the trembling voice replied weakly, head still hanging forward and resting on his knees as his arms just hung on both sides as he waited for his body to get over the shock and finally catch up to his mind, which had long since realized it had all been just a dream. "Just the usual, me having to kill part or all of my family, in this case my two brothers **and** mother in order to escape that illusion."

The elf retained his composure admirably, although he wanted to go on a demon-slaying rampage of doom. Again. "Unbelievable... So, you went though that kind of experience **again**? These demons must really have a thing for you."

Raonar tensed. "... again? I don't rememb- oh, wait, I see." His voice became deeper and more controlled. "Honor told you what kind of dream that Sloth Demon put me in last time, didn't he?"

"Found me out again... Sorry I... don't really know what to do in a situation like this one."

The exile took a deep breath and his trembling seemed to finally slow down. "Couldn't have been any worse than your own dream, I'm sure."

The blood mage fidgeted somewhat as he gave an unexpected answer. "Actually... I didn't get trapped inside a dream."

The dwarf's shivering came to a sudden halt and his head jerked upwards, eyes slowly turning towards the dark-haired spellcaster. "Oh? And that was because..."

"Well, the demon did try to trap me, but I managed to overpower his influence, since he was also diverting a lot of power into yours and everyone else's nightmares. So I ended up trapped in the Fade, but not sealed in a dream, so I turned into a griffon and came looking for you. And before you ask, yes, the ability to track you in the Fade is one that Honor gave me as part of our deal."

"I **wasn't** going to ask," the exile dryly let out as he got back to his feet. Then, he looked at Alim, who was wearing a scarlet robe with golden embroidery and had a twin-headed dragon-shaped staff on his back, made out of what looked like volcanic aurum. "That equipment of yours is so not what you are wearing in real life."

"Ah, you noticed?" Alim asked with glee as he took his staff in his right hand. "I can will things into being here in the Fade, so I thought: why not be strong and cool at the same time?"

"Ah, I see. Well then, can you will some stuff into being for me too?"

"I suppose so. What do you have in mind?"

Five minutes of oddly precise and detailed description followed. Then, after ten **more** minutes, the dwarf noble was clad in a perfect set of white steel massive dwarven armor and had a fine curved blade and shield made of the same substance. Well, as far as white steel could actually be real in the Fade.

"So, do we set out to find the others now?" inquired the magus.

"Not yet."

The Warden Commander placed his left foot well in front of the other and, after setting his weapon and shield on the ground, extended both arms forward, the index and middle fingers of each hand pointing up and down, respectively, while the three remaining ones on each pressed against the middle of the palm. Soon enough, light started to come out of those hands, light which the dwarf used to draw a white circle in mid-air. "Alright, this should work," the stout man said as he began to draw what looked like a six-pointed star inside that circle of light whose diameter had become about half a meter in length. Then, said star practically opened a rift in the Fade itself, not unlike those portals that were ever so abundant in that realm, through which began to trickle in strands of immaculate brightness.

Then, the thousand-in-one voice made itself heard from the other side. "Ah, so you really did need to use this it seems."

The dwarf prince crossed his arms as his eyebrows came together in a frown. "And why, Honor, might I ask did you not interfere in any way when that demon pulled us all into this annoying section of the Fade?"

A hand of light materialized instantly from beyond the small portal, or whatever it was, and the cane it was holding simply gave the dwarf a good smack over the head before he could react. The response was a very, very annoyed glare.

"Perhaps you misunderstood," said the spirit as its arm retreated. "I can only provide you with the flow of magic on my end of the tear in the Veil. **You** are the one that has to learn how to make use of it. Granted, I did meddle directly several times, but each time there was a risk of your soul being torn out of your body or inadvertently debilitated."

The short one was rubbing his head. "You could have just settled for "it's too dangerous" you know."

"It is too dangerous," dryly echoed the spirit from the other side of the conduit.

The exile groaned. "Fine, be that way. Now, is there **any** way you can actually help us out here?"

"Oh? And what did you have in mind?" Honor inquired.

"You know, I was thinking of something along the lines of teleporting in here and thrashing this whole place, along with whatever demon is responsible," Raonar answered with a bright smile.

There was a pause.

"I am afraid that is not going to happen," the fade dweller said bluntly.

Alim coughed, earning a bored glance from the Warden Commander, who decided not to ask the obvious. "Figured as much."

But his spiritual patron decided to explain anyway. "I cannot leave my realm unless I wish to let it collapse in on itself. You know this already. And should some serious instability occur here, your body may end up overloaded with raw magic and, in the worst case scenario, getting torn apart."

That struck a cord. "You make it sound like I'm some sort of reason for you being stuck in that realm as if it were a prison."

The light coming from the conduit seemed to shift. "Ah, this feeling is... responsibility, yes?" The tone of what still sounded like a thousand voices seemed to immediately become more lighthearted. "You needn't worry old friend, keeping my domain linked to you is my own decision, and one that I have not yet come to regret. And since I find our association quite worthwhile, since your world is quite intriguing as seen through a mortal's eyes, I suppose I can at least allay some of your fears."

Part of honor's being practically poured through that conduit, the white light changing its form several times, condensing quite a bit as the 'portal' faded out of existence. Then, it floated over to the stout warrior's shoulder and turned into a small creature that both Raonar and Alim were well acquainted with.

The dwarf proceeded to picking him up by the 'skin' on the back of his head and holding him suspended in front of his eyes. "A **mouse,** Honor? Seriously?"

The small creature wriggled its whiskers a few times and whipped the air with its tail. "This is just a small extension of me." His voice sounded lower and was far less penetrating that before, but no squeaks were heard (something that the dwarf noble was especially disappointed in because he would have hoped for hilarity to ensue).

"I'm not sure whether to call that cute or worrisome," said the blood mage.

The other one just placed the white mouse back on his shoulder but still eyed him for a final question. "And if you somehow get squished, what then?"

The rodent poked at his ear with his tail. "**Just** an extension of me, remember? Now stop asking questions and find that pedestal that will get you off this island."

"Actually," Alim broke in, grinning evilly. "We **could** go about this a different way."

The Grey Warden leader slowly turned to face him. "That's... exactly what you said before you went all judgmental on that blood mage woman earlier and made her cry and beg for her life. I was actually concerned I might have to step in, but you let her try her chances at escaping. And you also said that same line just before completely obliterating that desire demon that had bewitched that templar even more recently."

The former circle mage decided to ignore that summary and summoned all his attention to create what looked like a very elaborate yet practical harness, although it didn't seem to be alike one that would one used on horses. Then, he grinned at the other person present and disappeared in a flash of light, leaving only a very large and imposing griffon behind.

"Now then," the shapeshifted one almost bellowed. "Since I finally figured out how to 'talk' in this form, you put that harness on me and we'll tackle this whole mess as real Grey Wardens should: From the sky, on the beating of wings!"

The exile turned to face him properly and mirrored his earlier smile. "You always wanted to say that, didn't you?"

"You have no idea," the grey-feathered one replied, shaking his head and flicking his wing-like ears while his tail cut through the air.

"But you know what's funny?"

"To you, you mean?"

The bearded one picked up the harness and threw it over the griffon's head. "Of the two of us, **I'm **the one that gets to live the dream of riding a Griffon into battle. Although, technically, this is a dream in itself, so I guess it hasn't exactly come true. Ah well, details."

* * *

_The review space is eager to be filled as always!_


	27. Demon Arc 2: A Duster's Worst Nightmare

**Chapter 26: A Duster's Worst Nightmare**

"-. .-"

Even though it was supposed to be a lazy bum, Sloth had apparently designed that realm of his in the weirdest and most meticulous of ways, or maybe it was his five lackeys that did most of the work, since they seemed to rule over the five islands that surrounded the central one, or so it seemed. Dreamers were supposed to be stuck in their illusions, on separate islands, while demons, and those that unfortunately 'awakened', could teleport between them through use of strange pedestals.

There were mazes, tests of strength, all the things that one would expect to find in a needlessly complicated puzzle game and each Demon could only be reached by passing through some sort of tests or whatnot. The poor souls trying to escape would be lured through some carefully arranged path, with minimal obstacles meant only to wear them out, leaving the pleasure of the kill, which was likely going to be slow and painful (among other, more disturbing things if desire demons were involved), to the one at the end of the so-called obstacle course. There was only one way for dreamers to get there, and a lot of things to warn of their coming, which meant that the owners of each 'island' would always be ready for them.

Which was why the apparent desire demonness Yevena, supreme and undisputed holder of the Raw Fade, but slave to Sloth (even though Sloth Demons were, technically, supposed to be beneath desire demons on the hierarchy), didn't even have time to figure out where that flapping of wings was coming from before Alim the Griffon nonchalantly stomped on her with his talon-decorated forepaw, killing her instantly.

His rider Raonar Aeducan, currently known as the Silver Warden for the sake of immodesty, (if this was a dream, he could afford to at least have a badass title in it, and silver **was** just a very bright shade of grey anyway) looked down at the undignified splotch as his flying mount stepped aside. "Hmm... Somehow, I wish I could have taken her myself," he mused, "I have this nagging feeling that she may have been the twisted 'damsel' that impersonated Leandra and..." he decided to stop there, although the winged creature-transformed mage chuckled awkwardly (as far as the Fade allowed griffons to actually produce human sounds at least).

The dwarf noble had grasped the basics of griffon-riding fairly easily, mostly because he had done some bronto riding in the past, though such a thing was hardly practiced among dwarves as a sport. It was more like a very horrible version of rodeo and had served him well during the Kal Hirol rediscovery effort. And just now, while practicing, he had only fallen into the empty void seventeen times, Alim catching him in his talons each time, before he finally got the gist of it.

They stumbled upon Niall too, or his soul at least. After he got over the awe at seeing a Griffon and a Griffon Rider (which took a pretty long while), he told them that the Litany of Adralla, a scroll that could protect against mind control of all kinds, was on his body in the mortal world. He refused to do anything except just stand there, however, and Alim didn't really feel like carrying two people at once so they just went on their way, saving the hide of a mouse-shaped dreamer while they were at it. Alim even learned how to turn into one.

The air swoop trick didn't work in the island with the mages, since that dream was shaped like the twisted insides of the circle tower, so flying was out of the question. It looked like they were supposed to travel through various mouse holes and portals to reach this Slavren fellow. Setting aside the fact that only Alim could turn into a mouse, after having saved that poor dreamer in the Raw Fade by accident, they just couldn't be bothered. There was also the fact that, the longer it took to finish this whole deal, the more life force Sloth could drain them of in the mortal world.

So Alim the elf decided to just telekinetically hurl floor stone slabs into walls, creating their own path until they got where they needed to get, taking advantage of the conveniently placed lyrium veins to restore his energy on the way. Demons really did like lyrium, just like the dwarf noble's experience in Zazikel's lair suggested, so they had made a point of willing raw veins into being here and there. When they finally reached him (after Raonar slaughtered most minions almost singlehandedly), Slavren was a bit tricky, but the Warden Commander eventually cut him in half.

The two self-proclaimed emulators of the heroes of legend would have done the air swop trick in the darkspawn invasion dream too, on Uthkiel the Crusher (a stupid rage demon with an equally stupid name that had decided to look like an Ogre. Seriously, do demons even know that Grey Wardens kill things like this for a living? Granted, it's never really easy to accomplish, but it would have been smarter to assume the form of a steel golem). He wasn't too much of a hassle, even though both Wardens did, under slightly different circumstances, get thrown to the ground at least once. Until Raonar used his own recently gained transformations. He first became an arcane horror that froze that monster, after which he turned into a golem and quaintly punched it into pieces.

They didn't come out unscathed, however. At least Alim's healing magic seemed to work properly on the dwarf in this realm, since the tear in the Veil was anchored in his body, not his soul, so the latter's dislocated shoulder was just a temporary, albeit annoying inconvenience.

Vereveel in the Templar's Nightmare was also located behind a mouse hole, so Alim went in alone, with Honor the Mouse trailing him. They returned a worrisomely long amount of time later, only from the same way they had reached the room that the demon was in before she turned into a weird small thing and ran through said mouse hole. Apparently, there had been no return mouse hole and the mage was forced to use a pedestal to teleport to a different island, then come back to this one the same way as before.

Rhagos the fire demon proved to be the most dangerous, mostly because he was in a place shaped like a building on fire and there were even a few trap rooms that almost burned both Wardens alive. The last one almost claimed their lives.

Alim had, fortunately, been granted the ability to turn into a burning man (somehow, there seemed to be a dreamer for every ability needed to escape these dreams, which was oddly convenient. Perhaps this was a part of a sort of intuitive self-defense mechanism that all humans had, to create such things as so-called convenient coincidences). Granted, to be fair, the ability needed to deal with one realm was usually held by a dreamer trapped in another.

Regardless, Alim used magic to practically lift the dwarf in the air and throw him through the door ahead before the growing flames consumed him, while he himself turned into the burning man form and felt nothing. On the downside, the exile crashed in the middle of what looked like a room populated by crazed chantry sisters and templars, and was almost killed because of his temporary daze. He managed to roll around in time... mostly, while his very tough armor shrugged off the cheap knives those specters were using.

The Aeducan's misfortune did not stop there, however. Even as the two (three counting the white, shining mouse) individuals reached and bested Rhagos, the ordeal did leave the dwarf quite scorched, his beard and hair most of all. He was quite glad of the fact that the weird Fade breach anomaly made them fireproof in the real world.

Of course, Alim regenerated them, once he managed to get some rest. Considering that that beard was all that his companion had to remember his long-dead lover by, whose memory had just been besmirched by demons, it was the least he could do.

And the calm smile on Raonar's face was the dwarf's way of saying 'thanks for the thought'.

Then, the time came to finally go and free their companions. Chances were that maybe they should just go and kill the main perpetrator, but everything hinted at the fact that he was very powerful and, thus, they would likely need the help of all the others to overcome him. This **was** his domain, after all.

"-. .-"

The first they stumbled upon was Wynne. This elderly mage had joined them in the hopes of saving First Enchanter Irving and supposedly had a special affinity to the Fade. Which made the fact that she could not realize that this was the Fade even in the slightest seem quite ironic. The dwarf noble looked at her as she muttered to herself, apparently grieving the losses of the supposed apprentices that lay all around her.

He glanced over to the elf mage and would have expected him to have some blunt remark of how supposedly demeaning it was that Wynne could not notice that this was a dream. Instead, he found him inspecting the scene with a frown, mixed with a sort of savant-like curiosity.

"Hmm, quite peculiar," said the Grey Warden mage. "I'll have to talk to her, later, about how she failed to see through this illusion. Maybe she was more seriously hurt in her fight with that demon that Petra mentioned than she let on. People have a tendency to be more easily fooled by illusions like this when they are already in low health. I wonder if there are any lingering effects she may not have spoken to us of."

It took just a short while for the Grey Warden elf to snap Wynne out of her senses, after which all the 'corpses' got to their feet and attacked, refusing to relinquish the elderly woman. They didn't last very long, but neither did the joy at having freed the old woman, since she was spirited away immediately afterwards.

"-. .-"

The second island they teleported to was Sten's, who was, apparently, fully aware of the fact that he was dreaming. He was in the company of two other qunari that called him The Sten, which the giant explained was because Sten was, in fact, a title and not a name. He had chosen to just stay in that dream because it was a pleasant distraction.

The dwarf noble gave a short yet passionate speech about duty and the Arishok, and about Asala, and about Sten's pledge to stop the Blight (read: nagged Sten into compliance), at which point the huge man agreed to leave the dream. Of course, as before, this meant that his 'friends' turned on him, which just meant they died all the sooner. After that, he was also spirited away, despite his outraged protests.

Sten had spoken, on the road to Kinloch Hold, of what duty means to the Qunari people, though succinctly, and that it basically defines everyone in the Qun. That was why this glimpse into his mind left a sour taste in the Commander's mouth.

Because Sten's deepest desire was to no longer be burdened by his duty and, because of his indoctrination, chances were that he was never going to realize it.

"-. .-"

The third dream was Theron's and it was definitely not what either of the Fade wanderers, plus Honor the mouse, would have expected. Judging by what little Theron had disclosed about himself, they would have expected to see a version of his earlier life, him traveling a forest of some sort and with that Tamlen fellow as the likeliest specter.

Instead, the Dalish hunter was lying on his back and staring at the sky, which likely appeared the same as the regular Thedas sky to him. He was just lying on the ground in the middle of what looked to be shaped similar to a fortress of some kind, just resting.

And as the two newcomers, plus the inconspicuous mouse that was one the dwarf's right shoulder, approached, he just weakly waved in their direction.

"Andaran atish'an," he welcomed them, turning his head in their direction without even lifting it from the ground. "Were you bored with your own little fantasies that you came to see mine?"

Alim and Raonar shared a look.

Then they just stared at the tattooed elf as he lay there, with both hands under his head and with his eyes closed. So the hunter pushed himself half-way up until he was on his side and leaning on his elbow. "What?"

"So... you can tell this is a dream," the other elf enunciated rhetorically. "And why, then, have you not left yet?"

Theron gave him the raised eyebrow look. "Well, I tried to find an exit but I somehow always end up back around here in the middle of this Weisshaupt fortress that I somehow imagined without ever having visited."

"Weisshaupt?" the currently so-called Silver Warden echoed. "And why do you think this is Weisshaupt Fortress?"

"Well..." the Dalish man pointed in the direction of what looked like a higher level, where several humanoid shapes could be seen. "Duncan, or whatever it is that is impersonating him, told me so."

"Ah," the dwarf uttered.

"You speak so nonchalantly about this," the mage observed, tilting his head to the left. "I'm rather amazed you could even tell this was a dream."

Theron smirked. "Well, the first thing that gave it all away was the fact that this supposed headquarters of the Grey Wardens is populated by **only** Duncan and two or three shems, even though it should be bristling with Wardens. The other thing was the incredibly unlikely statement that darkspawn no longer exist. And, of course, the fact that the real Duncan is dead, although I only remembered this a bit later as if I was... waking up from a dream. And yes, the pun was completely intended."

"So... you just waited around for someone to solve this whole mess for you?" the mage could scarcely believe it.

"Well, it's not like I have that much a motivation to actually go out of my way to kill those doppelgangers," the hunter said with a dismissive shrug. "It's a bit too troublesome."

The dwarf assumed a thinker's posture not unlike Alim's, and both wardens were now standing there, with their right arms horizontally raised in front of their chests and the elbow of the left one resting on it, the hand hovering in front of the mouth. Then, the former spoke. "So... you just stayed here... because doing anything about it was too troublesome."

There was a pause.

"Well, that was the plan, at least until I got bored enough to finally kill those impostors and be on my way to seeing just what this Beyond is all about. So, the answer to that is... yes, more or less," he admitted. "I welcomed a reprieve from that whole darkspawn debacle. After all, I am doing this whole Grey Warden business because I was forced into it-"

"-by your own rashness that made you get infected with taint from that mirror," the other knife-eared one finished his sentence in his stead.

It looked like the follower of the Creators couldn't be bothered to acknowledge that remark so he just went on as if Alim had not said anything. "Although I admit, if I saw them kick a puppy or doing other such nonsense, I would have killed them quite readily."

"They more or less tortured a mouse with fire," the warrior stepped in. "And it could **talk**."

There was a moment of silence.

After that, the hunter quaintly got up, went over to the supposed Duncan and his two goons all friendly like, killed them, returned and stretched as if he had just woken up. Again. "Well then, shall we g-"

And he was gone in a glittering poof.

Alim and Raonar shared a look.

"Perhaps we should..."

"... Forget this ever happened. Yeah."

"-. .-"

The fourth dream was Alistair's. he seemed to be caught in an illusion of... living with his sister and her children? Someone definitely dropped the ball on that one because Alistair had never even mentioned having living family members. The woman was supposedly called Goldanna and had supposedly almost finished preparing dinner.

The almost templar jokingly begged the dwarf and the blood mage to join them at the table that seemed to be located in the larger room of the modest shack they found themselves in when they walked through that portal.

"This is your sister?" Alim asked in obvious disbelief.

"Yes, this is my sister Goldanna," the human confirmed with a degree of cheerfulness that was outright disturbing.

"You never told us you had a sister," said the other newly arrived Warden.

"I know, I know," Alistair acknowledged, almost unconcerned. "Fact was that I was always planning to come visit her because I wanted to see her at least once before this while Blight thing escalated."

The emulators of the heroes of legend coughed into their fists in unison at the realization that what this Goldanna looked like was probably not what she really looked like at all. After all, that man had yet to set eyes on her even once.

Before Alim could start to make fun of the poor human, the dwarf began to talk him through recent events, until he finally remembered the Circle Tower, and the Demon and how he was suddenly in this situation.

Alistair sighed. "Oh... I feel really stupid right now."

Of course, when they saw that the jig was up, those demons that impersonated Alistair's family attacked. The bad part was that they retained their forms, which meat that, essentially, the three were supposed to actually slaughter a woman and several children. And since Alistair was closest to them, he was going to be the first to have to do it.

He hesitated, even in spite of his templar discipline.

Which made it all the more fortunate that all specters started writhing in pain at the same time, until they collapsed to the ground (no longer a floor, since the illusionary shack had dispelled). Both warrior looked back at the mage, only to notice that his eyes were shining a sort of light blue. Clearly he had no reservations when it came to using Blood Wound on demons.

"That true seeing spell..." Alistair remembered. "You used it to see them for what they really were."

"True seeing spell?" the commander spoke up, slightly surprised as this was the first time he had heard of it. "Does it do what it sounds like?"

Alistair was going to answer but the same odd light started swirling around him so he groaned before being spirited away himself.

The spellcaster exhaled. "Yes, it does what it sounds like... more or less."

"-. .-"

The fifth dream was Leliana's, and she managed to be the most surprising by not even recognizing the two that came before her. She was caught in a lie that she was still with the Chantry, even being in the process of praying to the Maker.

It took a while to convince her to focus, at which point Alim asked her if she remembered why she left the cloister. Then, the so-called 'revered mother' questioned her beliefs, which was supposedly what gave her away as an impostor. According to Leliana, her revered mother knew of her so-called vision and of why she had left the Chantry.

The battle with the ensuing demons lasted little, after which a shocked Leliana was also spirited away.

"Most interesting," a voice was heard, reminding the dwarf noble that he still had a white, shining, talking mouse on his shoulder.

"What is?" the mage asked before he had the chance to.

"I believe I have almost uncovered the means by which this "spiriting away" as you called it can be prevented," the extension of the mighty Fade Spirit answered.

The elf's and dwarf's gazes met once again as they gave the same answer. "Good to know."

"-. .-"

Up until this point, the dreams of their companions hadn't exactly been all that horrible.

This had finally changed, as the first thing that they heard upon teleporting to this new dream were the sounds of battle. And that was all they needed for adrenaline to start pumping in their systems, as far as it was even possible in the spirit world at least. And finally, they could look around to see what kind of dream it was, and realized that they were inside a keep of some sort, a keep that was definitely not in its best shape.

They were currently on what looked like a 'street' (bordered by very tall and apparently thick granite walls on both sides), one that had shoddy, improvised barricades here and there, most of them on fire, and there was a general sensation of chaos in the air. The crackle of the flames would mix with the sounds of hurried steps, from the softer ones of lightly armored soldiers to those of metal boots stomping the stone slabs beneath them.

A reciprocated glance was all the accord required for the two new intruders in this dream to immediately run after what they spotted as soldiers headed towards a certain destination, cutting through dust and smoke alike. The duo ran for a few minutes, taking several turns until the men they were pursuing barged through one of the wooden doors on the left. That was when the dwarf and elf slowed down and approached more warily, considering that it may very well be a trap.

That hypothesis crumbled when they heard the sound of blade sinking into flesh, as well as one, then two men screaming, only for their yelps to be silenced by what could be heard as a swing of a sword, at least as was allowed by the short rousing battle cry that a woman's voice gave out at the very same moment of the kill.

After a second, the two Wardens approached the door and set themselves on either side of it, already suspecting what they may very well find inside. That was when they heard what sounded like an armored person falling on one knee and the distinct bang of a blade's tip striking against the stone floor. Heavy breathing was the last hint they needed to realize that whoever had slain those 'attackers' was more than a little tired.

The dwarf noble peered inside, only to draw his head back out of the door opening as fast as he could before a chair crushed into the side of the door, breaking into pieces with a loud smash because of the sheer force of the impact.

"More of you come!" Gwen's voice was distinctly heard from inside, the shiver in her tone betraying her fatigue. "Show yourselves, cowards! I will kill every last one of you that comes in here!"

The exile raised his round targe in front of him in the shield wall stance and barged into the room, ducking his head behind said shield just in time to avoid the worst of the collision between him and a footstool. He was sent staggering backwards and his arm quaked in pain from the might of the impact, even in spite of the thick white steel armor he was wearing.

He heard Gwenith push herself to her feet, still tired, so he lowered his shield slightly so as to look over it and at her. Her dark brown hair was arranged in a single braid that went behind her left ear and hung in front of her, over her shoulder, but even so there were a few loose strands hanging in front of her eyes, some even stuck to her sweat-covered brow. The woman took her own stance, gripping her greatsword's hilt tight, ferocity blazing inside her brown eyes.

Her silverite heavy chain mail was dented all over and some small cuts seemed to bleed even through her armor. A bruise was visible on the side of her neck, but it looked as though the worst of it was concealed beneath her pauldron.

Several men, soldiers apparently, with shields bearing a bear as the crest were lying dead across that chamber, the kitchen apparently. The room was quite spacious too, and whatever furniture was in it had long since been either smashed, pushed or toppled over, leaving most of the room clear enough for the woman to swing her large weapon without a handicap.

At last the elf mage also stepped inside, slowly and with his staff at the ready, his spell, force field in this case, just a gesture away from activating.

"Always you dogs of Arl Howe come in groups," the woman spat in disgust. "How shameful, to jump a lady so."

"Gwen, stop this. This is a dr-"

"No!" the currently golden-haired dwarf commanded, raising his curved blade as a sort of placating barrier in front of him. "This is actually an... excellent opportunity," he whispered.

The mage kept his eyes pinned on her as he moved behind the Warden Commander. "That sounds a bit ominous."

The exile immediately assumed his chosen role, remembering every allusion and every detail he knew about the young woman. She was the daughter of Teryrn Bryce and Teryna Eleanor Cousland, her family ranking second only to the king. She had been conscripted by Duncan while escaping her home castle. The lady had not actually spoken of it much, but he heard enough from the others to know that her family had remained behind in that castle, at the 'mercy', or lack thereof, of whoever betrayed them, this Arl Howe she mentioned most likely.

"Are you done mumbling? Or are you scared of one woman?" she taunted, bending forward just an inch, ready to lunge in at any second.

"Oh, my but you seem driven," the short warrior shot back with narrowed eyes. "I wonder why that is. Perhaps you're trying to protect something?"

Gwenith failed to hide her sudden gust of fear for a moment and instinctively placed herself between the door to that larder and her assumed enemy. "I'll kill you before you even take a step, scum!"

A weak voice was heard coming from behind her, that of a man, and the two newcomers noticed that two people were there, beyond that door. A man that had a deep wound in his abdomen, bleeding profusely, as well as a woman past her middle years, hair already grey, though she was wearing armor more or less similar to Gwen's and seemed quite fit for her age, betraying a warrior's lifestyle.

"Pup..." the dying man let out.

"Bryce, hold on!" the woman pleaded, almost frantically as she seemed to put pressure on the wound.

_Damned demons_, both 'intruders' thought, _to go as far as to violate such memories._

But the former prince did not abate in his act. "Ah, so that's what you are so fiercely protecting," he said in an almost excited voice. "You really think what you're doing here will actually make a difference? You should have just fled when you had the chance, little girl."

"Be careful darling!" the woman called out. Apparently, that was supposed to be her mother.

"You'll die before you even take a step!" Gwen yelled as she charged.

"Alim, stay out of this," said the other warrior, and the battle was joined.

The elf wisely retreated behind the entrance, giving them the whole room to do whatever they were going to do.

Gwen was tired, breathing heavily, and the fluctuating strength behind her blows betrayed her fatigue and hidden injuries that had already begun to take their toll on her prowess. And yet she fought so relentlessly that she actually had her opponent on the defensive, her ferocity unabated as she let herself be driven by her instinct to protect her home and her family.

The two fighters' blades crossed several times, until the woman managed to strike at him particularly hard. He blocked it with his shield, barely, but the force pushed him back several steps and his arm almost went numb. Almost being the key word. He managed to raise the targe up in time to absorb the impact as Gwen kicked at another, already broken, chair, hurling it straight at him.

Of course it was just a feint, for she tried to skewer him through the chest the same instant he had thrown the piece of furniture away. The blow did get past the shield, but the dwarf made half a step to the side and twisted his body half-way. The tip of the blade met his breastplate, and the silverite edge slid to the side, leaving a scratch mark across the white steel armor with a screeching sound. So the exile stepped in close, spun on his heel and practically bashed his shield into her back as his arm came in a circle up behind her.

She was pushed to the ground, the side of her face hitting the stone floor and leaving her dazed, until her hearing started to again become clear and she could hear her enemy's metal boots as he seemed to put distance between her and him.

No, he was going for the larder.

"Hmm, now whatever shall we do?" said the short warrior as he kept staring her down while she forced herself back to her feet. "I am so close to this so-called larder, I wonder what I could do once I go in there..."

With an outright scream of rage, the human lady charged in again, once more drawing on her inner reserves. In fact, much to Raonar's surprise, she was fighting even more violently now, to the point where she began to push him back and even made a horizontal swipe strong enough to almost throw him through the air once it collided with his round shield. He recovered mid-way, and rolled across the ground of his own volition.

Again Gwenith was in front of the door to the larder, gasping for breath, while the Warden Commander, whom she still did not recognize if the vengeful wrath in her stare was any indication, got back up and ignored the ache in his right shoulder and entire left arm.

He then grinned menacingly at her, his voice carrying what seemed like utter mockery. "Poor girl, caught up in a fantasy, thinking she could actually make a difference by protecting that door. Well, perhaps it's time you learned a lesson!"

This time it was his own turn to charge. She lifted her greatsword at an angle, so as to intercept his ascending swing, but he quickly stepped closer and brought his shield's edge in a similar fashion from the other direction., until it hit not her body, but her weapon stark in the middle of the blade. The power behind that strike sent a tremor from her palm all the way to her shoulder, even through her gauntlet, and the sword flew out of her grasp, sliding across the floor until it reached the wall.

What was left was for the Warden Commander to spin his own sword in his grasp, until it was the pommel, not the pointy end, that faced forward. It was that pommel that buried itself deep in the woman's abdomen, the collision strong enough to send a tremor straight to her insides even though her armor.

The dwarf quickly backed away a couple of steps, giving Gwen more than enough room to topple over and fall on her face, defeated and helpless, her lungs almost hyperventilating.

All she could now do was barely manage to twist her head and try to look up at her enemy as he brought the tip of his sword to her throat, one inch away from her skin.

The dwarf noble stared down at her, an implacable, blank expression visibly confounding the lady warrior as she lay there. And then, he got his confirmation to the hypothesis that he tested out by acting as one of her assailants when she closed her eyes in resignation and calmly awaited her death.

Fool girl.

He drew his sword away and stooped low right in front of her. "Did you really think it would end so quickly?"

The shudder was clearly visible, even to the elf who had finally gathered enough courage to step inside, although he still kept a safe distance. Gwen's visible eye, the right one as her head lay on the side, snapped open and looked up at the one who had bested her, as well as it could manage at least.

Then, the eyes of the Commander of the Grey hardened, and so did his voice, until every word he uttered drilled deep into her mind. "**This** is your greatest wish? You wish you had stayed behind with your parents and defended them to the death? Do you honestly think that's what would have happened? That you would keep fighting and killing until you fell and someone just came along and ended your life and, thus, allowed you to perform your duty to your family and whatever else is going on through your mind right now?"

Confusion passed over the woman, partly because she did not understand why he was speaking in past tense.

But he continued, voice as hard as before. "Do you want to know what would have really happened if you hadn't fled? Well let me give you a hint. When the willing underlings of a murderer gang up in order to corner a woman, especially one as beautiful as you, and one that can get any man's adrenaline pumping as madly as you did to me during this duel just now, what do you think is the next logical outcome?"

The way her battered shell shook just then made her previous shudder seem insignificant and her eyes widened in horror.

"And not just that," the implacable voice continued. "Your mother may be more or less past her prime, but her physique is not exactly aged just yet. And your father there looks pretty banged up, but he could still live for an hour or so, or more with assistance, enough for him to see some last things, some last... memories... to take along with him to his grave."

Gwen gave up on trying to meet the speaker's gaze and just stared blankly ahead while the blood mage kept silent, almost motionless, realizing how delicate the situation was getting and what the former prince was trying to do.

"So what do you think this Arl Howe would have done? What do you think he would have had his men do? What do you think he would have **allowed** his men to do?"

There was no visible or audible response.

"Yes, you do realize now, don't you? They would have abused you, raped you, over and over, soldiers taking turns at you while your parents would be forced to watch helplessly, being able to only beg them to stop hurting their precious daughter. Yes, they would have given up all dignity even for the sake of the vainest of hope that maybe your suffering would be eased even in the slightest. And those fiends would just cackle madly at the agony they would be inflicting. And then, after you would be all but spent, you would be killed right in front of their eyes, maybe after you were made to see your mother suffer a similar fate as yours. And that would have been only if a certain someone didn't decide to just keep your imprisoned... **for later."**

Alim Surana subtly created a sound-blocking but just as physically impenetrable forcefield in the doorway to the larder just before Gwen's supposed mother tried to call out something. He knew it was not exactly necessary, but he couldn't just sit by and watch, so he could at least prevent any other sort of interference.

And the exile followed up with more. "Is that what you would have wanted?"

Only silence greeted that question.

"Is that what your parents would have wanted?"

Silence again.

"I asked you something."

Still nothing.

"Is it what they would have wanted? Is it what **you** would have wanted for yourself?"

"... no..." the response was barely audible.

And the Warden Commander just could not have such a half-hearted response. "I can't hear you."

"No."

"What was that?"

"No!"

And the vice came like an explosion. "**Is that what you would have really wanted?"**

** "No, dammit!" **Those words came out in a flash of anger and, before she knew it, Gwen had pushed herself up by both arms and was staring the dwarf right in the face as he stood crouched in front of her, the latter not blinking even once. And, somehow, her arms held fast and she did not collapse again, so the one lecturing her slowly stood up, until he was again staring her down.

"So then, now that we know that staying behind is not what you or they would have wanted, we can find out why that is so and what you truly want."

She blinked. And then she drew back and ended up positioned in what could be seen as half-way between kneeling and sitting. And her back was turned to the door to the larder, which meant that the dwarf noble had her undivided attention.

"So let us analyze what happened. They let Duncan conscript you into the Grey Wardens and had you flee without them. Now, push all illusion aside and search your mind. What did your parents say. What did they entrust you with? What kind of greater purpose did they give you?"

Gwen was staring up in the direction of his eyes but her gaze wasn't focused on them. it wasn't focused on anything.

So he decided to help her along. "What were their last words?"

She searched.

And she found the answer

"See that justice is done..." her mouth spoke on her own.

And the stout warrior smiled down at her. "Yes, not vengeance and not just mere survival. They were fine parents, for they sent you away to save you and gave you a purpose higher than yourself in order for you to have something to keep you going even when things grow darkest. But still, in the end, what you do is your decision, so I ask you now: What do you choose?"

Her eyes grew slightly more narrow as she sorted through her mind, until she repeated another part of her parent's last wishes. "The Couslands always do their duty."

"And what is that duty of yours? And answer carefully, for you are no longer just a Cousland. You are a Grey Warden as well."

A silence fell again, until the lady's eyes became unflinching and she met the dwarf's hard gaze once more. "To stand against the Blight and to bring Arl Rendon Howe to justice." _Because even my dying father enforced Duncan's words when he said that Grey Wardens face the darkspawn above all else. _

And the short one looked surprised. "In that order? I am impressed. Very well, perhaps now your mind will have cleared and you will have fully remembered. But just in case I am wrong, I will make it clear for you." He extended his hand, an offer to help her up. "I am your commanding officer and I **order** you to get up and start doing that duty. Show me what a true Cousland is."

And she did. She accepted his assistance and got to her feet. And that left just one last thing she had to do, now that her mind was her own and she recognized this as the illusion it was. She was going to take her sword and personally deal with that which had dishonored her parents' faces.

She went over and picked up her sword, despite the exhaustion and pain, and made for the larder...

... only to realize that it was empty. So she twisted around and finally noticed that Alim was also in the room. "Where...? Where did those... things go?"

Alim chuckled awkwardly as he rubbed the back of his neck. "I, uh, had already crushed them into nothingness with my contracting spherical forcefield by the time you had gotten to the "No, dammit!" part."

Gwen practically shrieked in exasperation, and that was the last they saw or heard from her before she, like the others, teleported to some other place.

Raonar and Alim gave Honor the Mouse, who was still on the former's shoulder, questioning looks.

"Before you ask, yes, I will be able to prevent the next of your friends from being spirited away like that."

"Okay then," the leader concluded. "That leaves just Faren and Kallian."

"-. .-"

Raonar barely even noticed that Alim was waving his hand in front of his face. "Hey, are you still there? Come one man, don't you shut down too."

The response came as the dwarf noble grabbed him by the wrist. "Alim... could you please... go back the way we came?" The voice was level but slow.

And while the elf would have protested, he well knew that there was hardly any way he could help in this situation. This so-called dream was just... too extreme, to put it mildly. "Be careful." And with a swirl of light, he had teleported to one of the inner islands, leaving the exile and Honor's mouse-shaped extension alone.

There are two main things that define a person.

And these aren't trivial things like the color of one's hair, or the shape of one's face, or his genealogy or the place he grew up in, or anything of the sort. These are all just conditions that can only act as opportunities for development. What truly stays at the basis of one's self are two things.

A person's actions.

And a person's reactions.

Semantic debates about both concepts being two sides of the same coin, or two parts of a whole, or other metaphors really no longer mattered at this point. The fact was that it was these two things that were, ultimately, the essence of one's personality. These two things were a direct consequence of just one trait that sentient beings had in common, that stemmed from and, at the same time, granted self-awareness.

The ability to choose.

This ability that was, normally, not something that could be taken away. A person did not spend any length of time without making a kind of choice. Each day, each hour, each minute, each second, each moment was a choice. Each action was a choice. Basic things, such as breathing, walking, running, speaking, listening, even thinking, were the result of a choice of some kind, regardless of whether it was biologically, reflexively, emotionally or intellectually prompted. The basic functions of a body could be seen as one's soul's choice to keep them going. Complex actions, such as solving an unusual problem or performing large-scale manipulation, were also splendid examples of the ability to choose, and one could also choose not to perform them, or try to do so.

People could choose what to do.

People could choose how to do it.

And, of course, people could choose between doing said thing or not doing it at all, which, in itself, was the choice to perform the action known as not performing the action that one was considering performing.

In any other situation, the dwarf noble would have been at least mildly amused at what was going on in his head.

This once, however, amusement either did not exist or did not show itself in case the consequence turned out to be its total and permanent banishment from the prince's psyche forever.

When he teleported into that dream, he was faced with what looked like carnage. That would not have exactly phased him much, since he had come to see death on a regular basis. What took him aback was who those corpses were supposed to be, and how they looked to have been murdered.

There were five of them.

One of them was the dwarf known as Leske. He was lying on the ground, face-down, in a pool of blood.

Another one was the girl Rica, lying on her back with eyes wide open and with a deep and wide wound in her stomach, bloody and messy, as though it had been made by a thick, blunt object only minutes before.

The third body was also dwarven, a red-haired middle-aged woman dressed in rags and sprawled over the ground, a bottle of mosswine still stuck in her dead hand's grip. Faren's... Faren's mother.

But to the exile, the two remaining corpses were the most shocking. One of them was Kallian, facing up and with her chest also decorated with a veritable hole, gory and red. The prince may have even jumped to conclusions and assumed that was the real Kallian, if not for the final corpse.

That fifth corpse was his own.

He was staring at himself, fallen dead on his back and with his throat mangled and shred by something he could not even start to guess.

He stared in shock at the scene. And there, in the middle of it all, was Faren himself, with his back turned and his hands apparently raised in front of him. He wasn't moving. At all. It was like he was just a statue, part of a twisted static nature.

That demon was definitely going to learn the meaning of the word punishment.

Setting all confusion aside, Raonar strode towards him as quickly as he could without causing too much noise. It was unnecessary, because the castless rogue didn't even budge, as if he was not even aware he was coming. As if he couldn't hear him.

So the noble carefully walked over to Faren's front, only to finally figure out what had supposedly killed those 'people.'

Which was no weapon.

Faren was standing there, his head bent forward and his eyes staring blankly in the direction of his hands. He may have been staring at them specifically at some point, and at the very thick layer of fresh blood that covered them from the tip of his fingers all the way to his elbows. But not anymore. He wasn't even staring, his eyes weren't blinking, his irises themselves were dead.

"Faren..."

No response.

The newcomer tried to reach for him, but his arms drew back on their own, for fear that he may cause something irreversible just by touching him. So he had to force himself to slowly place a hand on his shoulder. "Faren."

Still no answer, so he shook him lightly. Then a bit more strongly, and a bit more, until he took him by both shoulders and shook him as hard as he could. "Faren. Faren! Dammit brand, snap out of it!"

Drip.

The only response was a drop of the fresh blood dripping off the rogue's elbow.

How had it come to this?

This kind of dream didn't just happen.

Demons were manipulative monsters, and they either preyed on one's deepest desires or darkest fears in order to keep them trapped in these dreams. And this essentially meant that this dream itself was the depiction of Faren's worst possible nightmare.

The dwarf noble found himself covering his mouth with his hand in what bordered on horror and what this must have meant.

Faren murdered someone in the past.

Multiple people at once.

With his bare hands.

And so his greatest fear was that he could end up murdering the five people that had come to mean anything to him. And because those people were the only ones who meant anything to him, they were, automatically, the ones that meant **everything** in the world to him.

So what would happen when the whole meaning in one's life was suddenly taken away?

Death by heart attack or outright suicide.

Unless the mind of the person that had suffered through something like that did a last desperate act of self-preservation and shut itself down because of the shock.

_"You are incredibly strong. I almost went into shock from killing just __**one**__ person I cared about."_

There was the sound of a sword being drawn. Then, exactly one minute and 26 seconds later, the demons acting as the fake corpses on the ground had been destroyed.

And then, with unrestrained motions, the exile threw away his weapon and shield and began taking off all the pieces of his armor, one by one joining the pile that the blade and targe had started. Honor, still in mouse form, decided to wait there as well.

Oh yes, that demon was definitely going to see a whole new definition of the word punishment.

Instantly, the prince's memory flashed back to when Faren had decided to not kill that guard in the carta dungeon. Then, the noble remembered him showing up to help him out with his mad scheme, by his own initiative. Then he showed up again and saved his life in the Deep Roads, after he was exiled. After that, there was his performance during the battle of Ostagar, when he almost stopped thinking and was going to go and try to save a bunch of people that had been paralyzed by enemy magic. And his sister was very proud of him too.

And now, it was revealed that Faren had likely murdered someone, or more than one someone, at some point or another.

It made no sense.

Raonar's hand was still covering his mouth as he stared at the unmoving dwarf. His gaze was totally dead, even though his body seemed to function, or at least breathe. It was like the lights were on... but no one was home.

_By the Stone, Faren, what kind of hell did you actually live in? What have we so-called upper castes been doing to you all this time?_

Raonar knew why Alim had complied to his request to handle this dream alone so easily. He well knew that the mage likely understood his reasoning, despite the obvious fact that the elf was not as emotionally invested as he was in this contemplation. Violating the main underlying trait of sentient beings was something the elf abhorred and had learned blood magic with the specific purpose of preventing or countering. What's more, he showed little pity to those that ruthlessly abused such power, as was shown when he obliterated that templar-bewitching desire demon in one of the most gruesome ways one could think of (tearing her apart inch by inch with just the power of his mind, without even flinching, although Kallian would probably have nightmares just because of how that apparently female demoness had screamed). And even more recently he showed that mercilessness, when he silently dispatched Gwen's tormenters.

Mind control was seen as the ultimate manifestation of blood magic, as it could practically override one's free will. And yet, even then, one could still resist, if one had enough awareness to recognize the intrusion, and enough willpower and mental discipline to stay in control, though it came at the cost of great pain, or even death. The choice between succumbing to the control or not doing it still existed.

Which was why what this Sloth had done to the one standing in front of the dwarf noble right now was something that prompted, no, **demanded** the most extreme and decisive response on the latter's part. The most extreme form of choice that he could come up with, the ultimate manifestation of retribution.

Because what the demon had done was completely shut down that ability to choose, and that was just one very small step away from completely destroying the person in question. And it was not the result of blood control. It was the result of the most twisted, the most brutal, the most revolting and the most psychologically-scarring form of emotional torture.

Faren had just been convinced that he had done the worst thing possible, and his mind was actively rejecting any sort of choice, because Faren was convinced it would be a wrong one. So his mind had completely turned off.

And what most got to the exile was that it now fell to him to try and remedy that fact, and he knew that, depending on how he handled it, he could do anything from nothing, to completely changing that person in the most fundamental of ways or, worst case scenario, totally shattering the last thing holding that person's mind together, if it was even intact anymore.

That demon had violated what made life sacred, and had placed him, the Commander of the Grey, in a position where he could very well do the same thing.

And now came the time when he would finally snap Faren back into awareness and he knew well that there would be a moment, one single moment when, upon reactivation, his mind would be totally vulnerable. In that instant, whatever Raonar happened to say, whatever he decided to tell him, he would automatically take for granted. he would automatically obey.

Self-serving manipulators would probably abuse this chance and say something that would forever bind his fate to theirs, perhaps even make him into a servant.

Raonar didn't want that.

But the other problem was that, if he **didn't** say anything, Faren's mind would probably just break apart and he would go insane.

And so he decided that there was only one way he could think of that could push both the above risks to their minimum. He would assume that whatever murder Faren committed in the past had mitigating circumstances and hope that this assumption actually did stem from logic and not his personal bias.

The prince's left hand rose and went over to his right side, stretching outward in preparation as he prepared the best words he could come up with. And he did all he could to cram as much meaning, as much feeling and as much conviction into them as he could muster.

_Whatever happened in the past, it was in the past, and you can outgrow it. You can surpass it, become more than the person you were back then, until those actions no longer define you. If there were mitigating circumstances to what you did back then, notice them, acknowledge them and use them to forgive yourself. And if you can see none, look outward, look ahead, look to more recent times and __**know**__ that you have atoned for it._

_ And most of all, know that this is all an illusion._

_ You are not a murderer._

A moment of stillness followed, as well as a deep breath, after which the back of Raonar's left hand collided violently with the other dwarf's right cheek, shaking him to the core and almost sending him toppling backwards.

But the Warden Commander would just not accept that. Before that second had passed, he had already grabbed the castless man by both shoulders and stared into his eyes.

The pupils shrunk.

His mind was coming back.

And so the former Aeducan finally released the deep breath he had been holding in a loud an direct shout that, rather than trying to persuade someone into believing the words, sounded more like it was simply enunciating an immutable reality.

"**There is no blood on your hands!"**

That yell cause the redhead to shudder even more sharply than the actual hit had and, as he heard those words, the blood on his arms practically vaporized.

He blinked several times before his mouth opened, and like a panicked child started to look around, at the ground where his victims were, only to see it clear of everything. And then he finally saw who was in front of him, at last realizing that he wasn't really dead.

But he was not alright. As the effects of the trauma he had just suffered were only now starting to take effect, and as he saw who was holding him, his face crumpled and, instead of relief or anything of the sort, he started hyperventilating.

And before long he was crying, breaking into a fit of sobs as his eyes shut in what the Warden Commander could interpret only as a vain effort to keep those painful tears from gushing out. And in the same way that Faren did not realize the futility of his effort to prevent himself from falling apart, he only later noticed that the other dwarf had put his arms around him and drawn him as close as he could manage.

And the duster stammered as tears flowed down his face. "I... Leske he... and mom they..."

These sobs spoke to the upper castman of more than just this one shock, and he decided to accept that pain into himself, to the point where it could be heard in his own voice even as his arm started to rub the poor man across the back. "No, it's alright, it was just a dream." _I'm sorry, Faren. First it was Connor and now you. What the sodding Ancestors is wrong with this world?_

"Rica, she... And you... and then I just..."

"No," even his own voice had become pained now, and yet that "no" still sounded like the utter expression of reality. "No, it's alright. It was just a dream. It was all a bad dream. I'm the only thing that's real. Ignore everything else." _I'm sorry Faren, I'm so sorry. Whatever you went through in the past, whatever left you with this horrible scar, whatever caused you to snap, I'm so sorry. You have such a gentle soul and it's been marred so horribly. I'm so sorry._

If the gushing sobs from before actually had some sort of emotional restraint, the way the young lad was crying now was downright painful, to the point where he was clinging onto his rescuer with everything he had, as if he were his lifeline, the final thing that could hold his sanity together. And the sharp sobs started to wear on his chest, until it actually hurt him to even breathe, and that only made him cry more, until he wasn't just crying about one or two things, but for everything he had gone through ever since he had been born. Big or small, it didn't matter, everything was coming out.

And there was not even a moment when the other one would even think of letting go. That young guy was crying in his arms, and there was no chance in hell or heaven, whatever those concepts meant, that he would ever be the first to let go. No one he ever knew had ever cried like that, as though all they had been trying to outrun had crashed upon them all at once. So he would just stay and hold him like that, let him cry, encourage him to cry until all the pain had finally come out. There was no need for words, no need for any sort of explanation.

The river of tears that had soaked the back of his shirt was all he needed to know that he would do anything to protect this person.

That river of tears was all the reason he needed to make sure that demon got his due.

That demon was going to pay.

He would face him, defeat him.

The demon would come to be at his mercy.

And then he would decide his fate, in a completely objective way.

No sadism.

No malice.

No hatred.

No pleasure.

No vengeance.

No emotional response at all.

There would be only punishment.

* * *

_And the review space is still waiting!_


	28. Demon Arc 3: A Demon's Endless Nightmare

**Chapter 27: A Demon's Unending Nightmare**

"-. .-"

Something inside him was screaming as he felt his hand tear through Raonar's throat, sending blood and flesh splattering, even as his eyes stared in horror at what he'd just done. His final victim fell to the ground, eyes rolled to the back of his head. And as he stared in shock at that lifeless corpse collapsing, his eyes fell upon his other victims, drilling the reality of what he'd just done straight into his brain.

He'd just killed them with his bare hands.

All five of them. All five of those people that had come even remotely close to signifying anything were lying dead around him.

He couldn't even begin to understand what sort of madness it was that drove him to so viciously tear through their insides or throats, but he could remember the feeling. It was the same as back then, back when those beasts that wore the faces of men had come for them. Back when the shock and horror took control of him and left naught but merciless slaughter in his wake, merciless slaughter seasoned with unholy exhilaration. All he remembered of that time was his vision blurring and his body moving of its own volition, even as it felt almost excited by the blood that splattered across his face.

A beast. For all his subtlety and stealth, when he came into the light, he would show his true colors. He was a **thing** that had just done what had been stupid enough to hope he could avoid. He was less than an animal. He was... something, something that had actually had the gall to think it could ever amount to anything more than scum. Something that dared consider that maybe the trust that had been placed in him was at least remotely deserved.

Something that had just slaughtered those that had shown him that trust. A thing that had just murdered those that only now, after their murders, realized what kind of trash they had shown kindness to. Only now had their dead eyes filled with what they would have been full of all along had they known the truth about the lowlife they saw as trustworthy.

They were filled with disgust.

Leske, sprawled on the ground, had his head twisted to the side, and his visible eye was locked on him, disgust more than apparent.

His mother's gaze was invisible as she lay on her face, yet the way she still clung to her mosswine made it clear that even that liquor, that poison was preferable over him, he who she always regretted having borne into the world.

Rica was on her back, a large, bloody hole in her stomach, the look on her face expressing outrage and regret at having ever decided to not let him die as an infant.

Kallian, with a hole in her chest, had her eyes open wide, filled with revulsion.

And the last person he'd just killed was staring at him with just as much contempt.

Those eyes, screaming at him.

_I curse the day I met you!_

_ I should have killed you at birth!_

_ I should have let you die in that gutter!_

_ You should have just died in the Joining!_

_ I should have just let you rot in that prison!_

And his arms were covered in blood now, a thick layer that went from his fingertips all the way to his elbows. And as one single drop of that blood fell, the world grew dark and, suddenly, all of the ideas he had been stupid enough to believe finally crumbled, letting the truth of what he really was seep through, justifying what his victims' eyes were spitting at him. He lost track of how much time passed as he kept staring at that blood, of how much time passed as he saw what he really was.

Scum.

Trash.

Lowlife.

**Murderer.**

His eyes remained affixed on those bloodied arms, on that blood that was all the proof needed to show just what kind of worthlessness he embodied. The kind of worthlessness that the whole world would have been better off without.

But then his gaze was violently thrown aside as something collided with the side of his face with such force that it almost sent him tumbling. His whole vision swirled and blurred, the darkness around him almost shattering as he lost his balance, almost falling over as his brain was jolted back into function, yet not fast enough to actually understand what was happening. And then, he felt something take a hold of him by both shoulders and a strong, loud voice shouting something in his face.

** "There is no blood on your hands!"**

A shiver, like lightning, went through his whole body as the enormity of that statement rammed into him. That voice was not trying to persuade him of anything, it was more like what it said was the ultimate expression of reality, as though the fact his hands weren't bloody was just the way things were. And, even with despair and disgust still gnawing at him from the inside, his vision once again fell upon his hands, only to see that there really was no blood on them.

And then he felt everything start to fall apart again as the shock of what he'd done was finally starting to make itself felt, his brain not having managed to actually acknowledge the fact that there were no dead bodies on the ground. Then, finally, his eyes noticed the one that had snapped him back to his senses, and he didn't really recognize the face. A bearded yet relatively young dwarf with golden hair and a pair of eyes the color of deepest blue that relayed only sympathy, enough so that he felt something well up in his chest.

And even before he could actually realize that he was having a panic attack, his own eyes spilled over and his breathing shot up, until it broke into a river of sobs that were so painful and intense that even he didn't know what he was crying for. He hunched forward and his legs grew weak under the strain, until his erratic emotions renounced all form of coherence and started gushing out.

Then, a pair of arms wrapped around him as he actually started weeping, and still he didn't know what was actually going on. Someone simply embraced him, tight, tight enough that it looked as though the cracks in his soul were being healed one by one. And as that comfort came over him, all form of resistance was swept away and he just cried.

This wasn't right. He was scum, he didn't deserve to be comforted after what he'd just done, after who he'd just killed. Being shown sympathy after something like that hurt more than being told the truth of how low he was compared even to trash. He'd just killed them. Even though the bodies were supposedly gone, the memory of his wretched fingers shredding their flesh was fresh in his mind. He didn't deserve mercy, not now. He'd just...

"I... Leske he... and mom they..." _I just want it to end. The world will be better off if I just die. I know that release is more than I deserve but please, Ancestors, Paragons, anyone, just let me die..._

And then a word was heard, one that completely and utterly shattered that thought, one that held a finality that went through him like a sword through air. "No." A total refutal of everything he believed, that was what that 'no' meant. Where he believed he should just die, that word slew that belief where it stood. And that left behind only tears, tears that flowed down his face as the familiar voice continued speaking. "It's alright, it was just a dream."

A dream, What was a dream? Dwarves didn't dream, or if they did, they never remembered it. Dwarves sleep like the stone. But then his awareness began to catch up to everything, to the feeling of an arm rubbing his back, slowly, sending warmth into him, trying to get him to calm down. And, finally, he recognized that voice and understood who it was that had actually embraced him just now.

And it made no sense. "Rica, she... And you... and then I just..." _I just killed you. How can you be here when I know I just killed you?_

"No." Again that word was heard, and again it slew that conviction where it stood. The voice was even, strong, and yet carried a tint of pain now, as though that person was siphoning his suffering, drawing it into himself to the point where the weight on Faren's own mind and chest was lifted just enough for every restraint he had to give out. "It's alright. It was just a dream. It was all a bad dream." A dream? A lie? An illusion? Was it really an illusion? How could it have been just an illusion when he...

"I'm the only thing that's real. Ignore everything else." And those arms drew him even closer, tighter, until he could feel another heartbeat right next to his own pounding chest.

His lungs started hurting under the strain, the way he was crying having gone beyond anything he had ever done, becoming more and more painful as his mind kept stumbling in its efforts to actually realize that it should start to feel relief. But before he had a chance to reach that stage, he inexplicably started to remember all the things he'd gone through as far back as he could remember.

And, finally, his own arms rose around the one that had embraced him, until he clung to him with everything he had, until all sort of emotional and mental blocks were rendered nonexistent and he found himself crying for everything that had happened over those many years. Until all that remained was the remnant of his conviction that he was the sort of scum that more than deserved all those horrible things.

But that remnant was finally destroyed when he tried to pull away, only for the hold on him to tighten even further and for that voice to make itself heard, soft and warm, and yet strong enough to eclipse his sobs. "No, it's alright. You don't need to pull away. That pain, let it out. Let it all out."

And, against all reason, he actually gave up on trying to feel relief at the fact that he hadn't actually killed this person. Instead, he did as he was told, and let that pitiable avalanche of tears gush out, stream out of his eyes and down his face.

He cried for his earliest memory, of lying on the floor, bloodied, in the middle of a sea of glass shards, glass that once made up bottles of mosswine which had met their end as they flew and shattered against the wall just behind him. The clatter of broken glass still rung in his ears, the same way it makes him shudder every time he hears it, even now, so many years later.

He remembered hiding under the bed and hearing his parents scream at each other, hurling insults at one another, or barely hearing them, as his fingers were buried in his ears, trying to block out the sounds. His memory had his sister, Rica, barricading the door and pushing against it, desperate in her effort to stop that fight from flowing into their small refuge as well.

He remembered how things somehow didn't get any more quiet after his father left for the surface, his mother always yelling at them, blaming all of her misfortune on the two of them.

He remembered all the bruises, each and every punch, each and every kick he suffered whenever he made off with a piece of bread. He cried now because he had refused to do so in the past, when he was beaten down, by merchants, guards or just other brands as he grew up, nearly each time, save for the most fortunate occasions, ending with him spending hours curled up in some gutter or some dark, filthy back alley after others made off with whatever crumbs he had been stupid enough to think he could get away with.

The memory of the first nug he caught in the Deep Roads would have been an almost happy one, if the deep stalkers that attacked him, and which he barely managed to kill with his bare hands, hadn't left him weakened enough to be pummeled senseless by the first gang of thugs that happened across him and made off with said animal, cheering and boasting while he was left unconscious in the dirt.

And finally, he cried for that memory, that one memory, five years in the past, when Dust Town really showed what it was like. When he returned from his latest nug hunt to find that horrible sight as he entered that hole, that derelict building they had for a home. And the pain didn't so much come from what had happened, but from what he'd done, from the way he'd given himself up to insanity and killed those people.

And as he remembered that, the disgust he felt with himself resurfaced, and he was sure that the one holding him now would no doubt shun him if he knew what kind of scum he really was. And so he tried to back off again. He didn't deserve this charity, just as the other one didn't deserve to be taken advantage of in such a manner, to be lied to in such a manner. But again he was not allowed to pull away.

And that voice once more spoke to him as one of the arms holding him rose, until the hand set itself on his head. "I said let it all out. Don't stop mid-way. No one's here to see, no one's here to listen, so don't be afraid."

And Faren cursed himself for being so selfish as to keep crying, to surrender and show his emotions so blatantly. And his words sounded all the more tearful in his half-hearted attempt to shield his rescuer from his depravity. "But I... You don't know what I... I don't deserve your... You didn't do anything to... I just..."

"It's alright." Yes, again he started saying it was alright, as though he was sure things would be alright if he said it enough times. "Don't tell me about it yet. For now, just cry to your heart's content."

"But I don't-"

"**Yes** you do deserve affection. Mine and everyone else's. And before you start stuttering again, let me just say that I'm not going to let you escape this hug until you've gotten everything off your chest. So stop whining and let me be here for you."

It was finally there, the true confirmation that it really was him. That lighthearted attitude, that manner he had, how he always knew what and how to say it. He really hadn't killed him, he was really there, even though he looked different, it was really him. And, finally, the poor duster's mind caught up to his feelings and began to experience the relief at how everything he had just done had been just an illusion, and the sensation was so overwhelming that he didn't even think of laughing at what Raonar had just said.

And so he cried again, and kept crying, for Stone knows how long, until reality finally managed to sink in and made him realize that those people were still alive, that he hadn't destroyed everything, that he wasn't all alone.

And his relief turned to wonder and gratitude towards this other person, he who was supposed to be part of those upper castes that forced hell upon him and his kin, this so-called noble that had personally come to his rescue and had been there for him ever since. This person that had come for him even here, in his worst nightmare, to get him out of it. To save him again. To be there for him, almost as well, if not just as or better than his sister had managed over the years.

All that Faren had ever wished to get from his father, or from his mother, or from his sister, and never dared ask for out loud because he either feared to do so or felt he didn't deserve to, Raonar had shown him, given him, with absolutely no restraint. Acknowledgment, encouragement, guidance, praise, protection, even at his own expense, he had provided it all. From the first time they met, he'd always been there, one way or another, even as he made sure his own troubles never showed on the surface.

Faren could only wonder if this was what having an older brother was supposed to be like.

And that voice came again, calmer, warmer. "Poor kid. There we go, you're finally calming down."

And he realized that he really was. Where he had been crying frantically, his lungs had almost settled down, soft sobs only coming out from time to time, and he found that he was no longer hopelessly clinging to him. He was now content to just receive the warmth he was being given, a sort of mirth that came to fill the void that hopelessness had left behind once it was slain by the exile's arrival, by the way he shattered the illusion along with the duster's feeling of worthlessness.

The last of his tears trickled out of his closed eyes and he felt relieved at finally being able to actually take a deep breath and find some semblance of peace in this embrace, until it was he that no longer wanted to pull away. And the other one did nothing but hold him like that, until it was absolutely clear that he would keep his arms around him for as long as he let him. And he did, until the redhead was a long last able to actually speak properly.

The duster at last drew back half a step and sniffed. "I... I still don't understand anything... You look different. And where are we anyway?"

The dwarf noble smiled back and Faren, strangely enough, had nothing against letting him wipe the tears off his face. But the noble didn't answer right away. "Are you really alright now?"

"Yeah... Yeah, I think so." He paused and looked to the side, knowing that this wasn't going to be easy to say. But he also knew that this person deserved better, deserved the truth. "Look man, about all this... A few years back-"

"No." The thumb of the noble's right hand removed the last remnants of his cries from under his eyes. "Don't tell me, there's no need. Take your time to consider it and when you've managed to put things in order in your mind, then you can decide whether what happened in the past is still relevant. When you do, then you can tell me all about it if you want to."

"But I..."

"Don't worry, I won't judge you for it. Now sit down and get a little rest while I put my armor on, alright?"

The duster was content with just a nod and he did as he was told, realizing that it would, in fact, be a good idea to rest his legs a bit, at least until he stopped shivering. And as he finally did sit down, the other dwarf turned away but seemed to remember something.

"Ah, right! To answer your question, this is the Fade. We were pulled here by a demon who trapped us in illusions and is soon going to get a taste of his own medicine."

There was a pause.

And the castless dwarf finally seemed to remember their arrival at the Circle Tower, the ordeal as they ascended every level and, finally, their encounter with that abomination that caused them all to fall asleep. "Wait so, this is the place where that spirit guardian of yours lives?"

"His **guardian** is not exactly what I would call myself."

It took a few moments for Faren's mind to register three things. One, that voice did not belong to the other dwarf. Second, that voice sounded like a thousand voices in one. And three, the source of that echoing voice was worrisomely close to his right ear.

Two seconds later, Faren could hear Raonar's distinctive laughter at the fact that, within that time, the redhead had turned his face to the right, seen the weird, bright, mouse-like creature that was sitting on his shoulder and proceeded to scream rather loudly as he practically dragged himself away from that thing as fast as he could. It had somehow climbed on his shoulder in the small time after he had sat down.

Then, he felt a tug, as though something was pulling him away from that place, and the sensation dispersed only when said mouse jumped on him once more, on his chest this time, somehow pushing him to the ground even though it was just one small animal, white and bright though it was.

"Calm yourself," it said "or you will be spirited away like everyone else."

That seemed to give the dwarf pause, even though he still looked at that 'animal' with an odd look on his face. "Uuh... You're a rat?"

Had Raonar not been too busy losing a hold of his boot as he bent over, laughing his heart out at that query, he may have been able to turn around and notice that spirit flicking his whiskers in slight impatience. Of course, Faren was not one to miss such a display, especially considering that said rodent was just inches away from his face.

"This **form** is that of a mouse." For some reason, the spirit felt it proper to bring the tip of its tail near Faren's nose bridge.

The duster really couldn't tell the difference very well, however. "So...uuh, you're a smaller type of rat?"

The 'rat' flicked his whiskers again and actually seemed to sigh. "Just call me Honor, regardless of whether or not you think I am a rat or a mouse, will you? If we are going to be stuck together for a time, I would prefer it if you did not speak too much innocent nonsense."

The castless dwarf slowly got back to a normal sitting position and Honor once again took his place on his shoulder, where he seemed to 'stick' quite nonchalantly. Faren decided not to ask him why it wasn't the really awesome creature that Alim had talked about.

Meanwhile, the other dwarf had finished putting his armor on, which the rogue had finally had a chance to examine and judge as quite fitting, though he still let his curiosity get the better of him. "What's with that armor? And how does this Fade work anyway?"

The mouse decided to weird him out even more by explaining that himself. "The Fade is the world of us Spirits.. and demons... and is ruled by will alone. The one known as Alim Surana created that armor through such an act of will some time ago, though one should be able to modify practically anything provided they have the imagination and willpower to do so, even their own ethereal bodies and attributes if they have the intuitive capability for it."

"Ah..." Faren's attention was still mostly drawn to how quaintly the mouse flicked its nose and whiskers as though it were assessing something. Unfortunately for him, Honor was quite perceptive.

"The way you stare is disturbing."

Needless to say, the rogue's head did a 180 instantly, though he still managed to catch something of what that spirit said. "Wait so, Alim's in this... Fade too?"

"Oh yeah," said the former Aeducan as he walked up to him, rustle of plates and all, though he had a cheerful grin on his face. "Pretty much everyone in our group was pulled into the Fade. Kallian's the only one Alim and I haven't found yet. Which means we should pretty much hurry up."

The other one bowed his head in something akin to shame, realizing just how much time his crying must have taken. He was kind of embarrassed in fact, even though he had to admit the experience felt... liberating to say the least. "Sorry, I guess my antics really wasted time-"

"None of that!"

The redhead took a moment to realize that both Honor and Raonar had cut him off at the exact same time and with the exact same words and intonation. Then, he took another moment to notice how the two of them were more or less equally amazed at how that had happened.

The mouse decided to continue once the bearded one gave a slight bow. "It is, in fact, quite fortunate that he found you. You were particularly far submerged into the illusion and, since your presence here was more or less unnatural, being a dwarf, there was the high chance that you would have not returned to your body if the master of this plane were defeated and the domain destroyed along with him while you were still chained to it."

Faren paled.

"-. .-"

Alim Surana was not one to easily fall prey to any sort of unproductive emotions, especially not in situations where it helped to have as high a level of attention as possible. Such self-control that rivaled Templar mental discipline had been earned over long years of exerting dominion over the elements and even the realm of mind and spirit. But now, the elf could honestly say that he was worried. Very, very, **very** worried.

It wasn't because of how that demon had trapped them all in this section of the Fade. Granted, it was more than a bit troublesome that, despite having managed to avoid getting trapped in an illusion, he had failed to actually escape the Fade altogether. No, being trapped in the Fade wasn't exactly a new experience, and he had even taken the time to draw on those areas in the Fade where magic was particularly pure and concentrated on a certain aspect of existence.

The mage could truly say he had managed to boost his magical aptitude and even vitality by a few notches during the wonderings he and the Warden Commander had done while searching for those demon lords. In fact, as far as he could tell, Raonar had also managed to siphon some of those energies and will likely end up stronger and faster once they finally get to break out of this ethereal prison.

And yet, for all these so-called benefits, the blood mage was faced with a situation that could be anything from nothing important to potentially serious or very, very serious. And regardless of how long he'd scry and push the translocation magic in the pedestal to its maximum, he could find nothing to hint that that final place he was searching for actually existed.

In fact, he had given up on this exercise in futility about ten minutes ago and was now simply soaring high above that whole section of the Fade, in griffon form, wondering if that last place he was searching for was made invisible like Honor's realm was.

He would have to give up on that effort as well, however, now that it seemed like the two dwarves, along with Honor's mouse avatar had finally decided to show up.

The shapeshifted mage flew lower and landed in front of them, even titling his beaked, feathery head to the side, studying Faren's marveled expression and realizing that he was the first person to witness that form of his besides the dwarf noble. So he decided to lighten the mood at least a bit before breaking the bad news to them.

He flapped his wings a couple of times, almost causing the castless rogue to take a step back, though the mouse on his shoulder had to dig its claws deep into the leather strappings in order to avoid being blown away. Everyone agreed that hearing that powerful being actually squeak was most amusing.

Still, humor could only help so much, so Alim reverted to his regular form.

Faren was, of course, predictably astounded. "Wow... That's so awesome! I never thought I'd actually see a griffon."

Alim looked at him for a while, and noticed the lingering signs of tears, though he could also distinguish some measure of genuine mirth in those eyes of his. No doubt Raonar did something, though the mage could not help but feel amazed at how he had apparently managed to bring that young guy out of a literal pit of despair in little over 20 minutes. And that only made him feel guilty at the way he was going to become the bearer of bad news.

"Right, sorry to cut this short but... we have a problem."

Both short men tensed, though it was the currently blond one that spoke first. "I suppose I should have expected this. What did that demon do? Raise barriers? Summon more minions?"

Alim scratched the side of his neck. "I'm afraid it may have little directly to do with the demon..."

The white, shining mouse seemed to actually have an idea. "Hmm, I assume this has something to do with the lack of an extra destination when activating these pedestals of translocation?"

The prince's eyes narrowed in realization at that, but Faren finally cut in when he saw he wasn't keen on saying anything. "What are you talking about? I don't really understand any of this but you two... well, three, are starting to creep me out."

The elf took a deep breath. "I'm afraid that, for some reason that I have yet to gauge... Kallian Tabris... is not in this part of the Fade."

If there was a person wondering if the idea of hearing a pin fall was just a hyperbole, he would have seen that it was not just that had he been there immediately after those words were spoken.

"**What**?"

The white mouse was almost knocked off the rogue's shoulder when the latter shouted that word. But what Faren uttered next required swift action of the other dwarf's part. "Wait, so... Back then... Did I really..."

"No! That Kallian was just a demon in disguise. Really Faren, you have to stop assuming the worst."

"Well sorry but I guess I picked up that bad habit from you," he cheerlessly shot back, warranting a nearly imperceptible wince on the bearded one's part. "But, what do we do now? If she's not here, where is she?"

The mage looked thoughtful for a moment. "Well, since there still is some partial coordination between the Fade and our world, and she isn't anywhere in this place, I can only assume that, for some reason or another, she was not pulled into the Fade along with the rest of us."

But of course, the brand saw through Alim's hesitation. "Either that, or she's already dead right?"

"Let's not assume anything," Raonar suggested.

But the other one was stubborn. "Dammit, man! What else could it have been? If she wasn't drawn in, and we're still in this weird place, it's obvious she definitely didn't kill that... abomination or whatever that trapped us here!"

"Or perhaps this Sloth is holding her hostage?" the third voice, well, set of voices suggested.

Three heads turned towards the white rodent who was, by now, blinking in a very odd way. At least his suggestion had the desired effect of calming Faren down somewhat. On the other hand, no one could not notice the fact that his fists paled as he clenched them.

"Alim, I'll need some weapons, preferably the same as the ones I have in the real world."

The elf did not speak until the Commander gave him an approbative nod. "... Very well, I shall create replicas of your equipment and then we'll just have to go and see what this demon lord has in store for us."

Regardless of the sort of tension that now permeated their vicinity, the blood mage could not help but notice the grim expression that set itself on the exile's face. And, strangely enough, he began to wonder whether or not he should start feeling pity for what was going to happen to Sloth, although he had no idea what the dwarf had in mind.

Either way, the odd feeling coming from Honor's mouse avatar was definitely not a warm and merciful one.

"-. .-"

The moment they entered the central 'island', Alim felt all of his ethereal body tense as an unseen pressure made itself felt. The island was not exactly sophisticated. it was, for the most part, a fairly wide space with just several slopes and a few 'peaks' that were, in fact, merely ten meters tall at most. There were also a few suspended pathways that led to that central area, one of which the three awakened dreamers were now situated on.

The newcomers took a moment to adjust their senses to the alien pressure until the silence was broken by a voice that belonged to neither of them.

"Well, fancy meeting you three here!"

Not far from them, sitting on top of a spire and staring ahead was Theron, complete with his bow, arrows and Dar'Misaan. There seemed to be some sort of breeze blowing at that height and his unruly dark hair fluttered slightly as he looked ahead.

"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes," joked the dwarf noble.

"How did you get here exactly? You even beat us here," the mage remarked.

The Dailsh hunter threw them a passing glance. "I am a hunter. I always track down my prey."

"Ah. Alright, I won't ask then."

"Well, what are you waiting around there for?" Faren voiced, knowing that they all wanted to know just as much as he did.

Theron titled his head as he fingered the hilt of his blade. "Obviously, I do not believe I am capable of destroying that demon on my own so I was merely waiting for others to arrive. Especially considering that this Sloth looks like he is expecting us."

There was a pause before the branded one gathered the courage to speak. "Is... Does he have Kallian there?"

The Dalish elf's head suddenly turned in their direction, showing that he was frowning. "What? What do you mean by that question? Wasn't she trapped in a dream like I was?"

"We didn't find any other nightmare after we found Faren and everyone else," replied the other elf, turning his gaze towards said dwarf and noticing that his eyes were shut and his hands were trembling.

Until the Warden Commander put his hand on his shoulder and spoke to him. "Look, this may not mean anything, but regardless, you have to keep your cool or it'll be worse for all of us. Right now, we have to kill this thing and then we'll see what happened to her. But you have to stay with us, can you do that?"

Faren relaxed his hands, then clenched them again, then repeated the maneuver until the anger subsided and he let go of a breath he didn't know he was holding. "Alright, I'll... do my best I guess."

"We'll just have to hope it's enough then. Now, to the second order of business."

On cue, the mouse jumped off of the rogue's shoulder, but before it started to fall, its shape started to twist and swirl, until it coalesced into what seemed to have the semblance of a humanoid with absolutely no shadows on its surface. The light it was made of kept humming and vibrating while strands of power blended and broke off of what looked like a sleeveless trench coat (though robes may have come closer to what that attire looked like) with a tall collar. Said collar was not done up, which meant that there was nothing to obscure the face, which was fortunate considering that the collar itself reached as high as the eyes, which were really just two brighter spots on said 'face'.

The Spirit examined one of its brilliant hands before its thousands-in-one voice spoke. "Hmm, this may prove somewhat complicated."

Theron finally decided to jump down from that high place he was sitting on and approached the newcomers, though it was the leader that he addressed. "I assume this is the... person... responsible for your unusual abilities in our world?"

The spirit decided to answer that question himself. "This is just a small fraction of me. I myself am still in my domain."

"Ah..."

"Alright, so you think you can do it?" Alim asked. "Can you summon the others here?"

Honor paused for a moment. "I believe so. Their souls are, in a way, bound to this central section of this demon's realm and I should be able to lock onto them and bring them here. But... This will probably exhaust all the energy that this avatar of mine possesses."

Raonar frowned, though only Alim noticed. Fortunately, the blood mage had predicted such a situation. "What if I provide you with part of the power instead?"

"Hmm... Perhaps that could be a solution, provided you believe you have enough will."

"And that would leave you with enough power for what I have in mind," the dwarf noble added in little more than a whisper.

Everyone backed away several steps, leaving the mage and the spirit to perform whatever magical feat they had going. Before long, they were surrounded in light that kept shifting from blue to gold to silver to pure white then gold again, until it became a vortex that eventually formed into a sphere, all the while sending pulses of energy in every direction. Eventually, said vortex condensed into a small globe that burst with just a huffed humming sound, after which the scenery seemed to shift in several places.

That was when multiple breaches appeared for just an instant before all of the other Wardens, plus Leliana, Wynne and Sten, were translocated to that place from wherever they were, each with their respective differing degrees of confusion showing on their faces. Kallian Tabris, unfortunately, still failed to make an appearance.

The next five to ten minutes were spent on the general effort of figuring out what the heck was going on. Leliana couldn't help but complain about a splitting headache, as did Gwen, although she was also dealing with a general discomfort after having been beaten up quite thoroughly. She gracefully decided not to mention the Commander's 'solution' to her nightmare, however. Alistair seemed a bit stand offish, likely hoping that no one would find out how easily he had been fooled, in his opinion, even though he was among those to awaken most easily. Wynne was most determined to see the demon meet justice, of course, while Sten was dutifully awaiting the confrontation.

But there was someone else who was pulled there, namely Niall. He looked disoriented but at least managed to give them some useful information, albeit it came as even more bad news. Apparently, Sloth had become quite powerful after draining them all of a fair chunk of life force, and had also mostly taken all of Niall's own, which meant that, considering this was the demon's own turf, they could very well expect to face a might on about the same level as that of a Pride Demon.

After everyone expressed their concern or aggravation in their own ways, Alim finished explaining what else was happening, how Kallian was missing and may or may not be dead and how they had basically no idea what they could expect once they engaged that thing. Then, save for Niall, they all made their way towards the actual 'island', in the centre of which awaited Sloth himself. He looked like what books described as arcane horrors, a sort of vaguely humanoid creature that was closer to a corpse in appearance than anything else. It wore what looked like a brown and yellow robe and had an overall very thin build, the arms being quite scrawny, as were the legs, though they were barely visible beneath the robe. What was more interesting was how the pressure in the air seemed to enhance as they drew near and how that demon actually seemed to be floating.

With Honor's mouse avatar now on his own shoulder, the Commander of the Grey and Alim Surana, who could very well be seen as his second in command at this point, took a few steps forward while the others made a point of spreading out in what could more or less be seen as a circle. Theron hung further back, as did Leliana, while Alistair and Gwenith ended up on opposite sides of their enemy. Sten had already drawn Asala and was making his way around Sloth, his face as straight as ever, while Faren was cautious to stay within a few feet of the other dwarf at all times, although he had already taken a hold of both of his daggers, chained to each other and waiting to strike. Wynne was just a few feet away as well, staff in hand and preparing to activate her aura of healing should things escalate to violence, which was, by now, more than certain.

But what was most worrisome was that the demon himself did nothing to even acknowledge them as they got ready to engage its power, as though they were just an annoyance. Or perhaps it was too lazy to bother being concerned.

It was the blood mage that spoke first. "Well, now that we pretty much killed all your minions and gathered here, you may as well do the smart thing and send us back, unless you really want to see what retribution means of course."

The air was filled with an eerie chuckle. "You speak out of turn. Why would you want to go back to your troubles? I can offer you the peace you so crave, or make your greatest wishes come true. Why would you want to return to that life of hardship?"

"That's a pretty weak argument after you more or less trapped some of us in our worst nightmares," the exile countered with a raised eyebrow.

"Ah, so then let me try again. I can do better, even make it all like the real world if that's what you want."

"Hmm, that definitely sounds like an interesting proposition," said the dwarf noble. "Tell you what, I'll agree to consider it if you tell us where Kallian is."

There was a pause, as though that thing did not know what to say. "I have no time for word games or riddles, you all would do best to return to your dreams now-" his mouth stopped moving as a chained dagger sunk deep in between his teeth and came out through the back of his neck.

"Sorry, I have no time for bullshit," said an annoyed Brosca.

And, before he knew it, Sloth had also been impaled by Gwen and Sten's greatswords, Alistair's own blade (Duncan's Sword that is), plus two arrows, courtesy of Theron and Leliana, all of which had taken Faren's surprise attack as a signal.

Unfortunately, the only ones that noticed that something was wrong were Alim, Wynne and, thanks to Honor's assistance, the Warden Commander himself.

"Get away from there!" Alim shouted, but it was too late and all he could do was raise an ethereal shield to protect himself and those nearest to him from the worst of a magical shockwave that left the demon's frame just one instant later. With a loud exploding sound and a flash of light, Sloth's so-called body exploded, throwing everyone close to him a fair distance away. Gwen collided with what looked like an oversized stalagmite and gasped for breath as she fell to the ground, while Alistair's heavy armor managed to absorb most of the damage as he struck the 'dirt' and ended up rolling on the ground several times before settling in an unconscious heap about ten meters away.

Sten was the only one who didn't fall unconscious immediately, but he was worse off, as he was flung towards a so-called stalagmite of his own, only it had a pointy lyrium vein on it. Even the qunari could not help but let out a grunt of pain as that vein came out through his front, after impaling him in the right side of his abdomen from behind. All he could do was use the last of his strength to pull himself forward and finally fall to his knees. But instead of ending up sprawled on the ground like the other two, he pinned Asala to the ground and used it as a last ditch support.

But even through that noise and blinding light, a strong voice could still be heard. "Wynne! Get over there and heal Sten! Now! After that, see to Alistair and Gwen as well!"

The woman snapped out of her daze and ran to do as she was told as the distinct sound of a sword being drawn broke through the chaotic noise of erratic magic. No one noticed Honor turning into a bird and making for the 'sky', so as to keep an eye on how things developed.

"Theron, Leliana! You two find safe spots where you can shoot at that thing, preferably without shooting us as well!"

Alim already knew what he had to do, his magic already gathering at the tip of his twin-headed dragon staff, so the Warden Commander could spare a moment to try and best assess the situation now that their surprise assault had proven just how dangerous that demon actually was. He still scowled at Faren, however, a frown which the latter noticed.

"Look man, in my defense, I at least kept a safe distance..." said the red-haired dwarf as he pulled his dagger back into his grasp.

"Just focus on what's happening. We don't know what that thing's turning into."

The answer to that dilemma was given as they heard the sound of dirt and stone crumbling, as well as what sounded worrisomely similar to Shale's stomping. Alim's eyes widened in horror, but it was Raonar that managed to respond in time. "Scramble!" he shouted as he rammed his full weight into the mage, breaking his concentration but managing to push him out of the way before a huge, flying boulder slammed into him. Faren was able to evade in time, but that giant rock still hit the ground with quite a bit of force, creating something of a crater and sending rubble flying everywhere, grazing the dwarves and the elf, though only slightly.

As the light faded, Sloth was revealed to have turned into a large, iron golem and its metallic voice was now chuckling evilly as it stomped forth, not even paying attention to the arrows that bounced off its surface.

Then it charged, and the duster only barely succeeded in jumping away in time, before a giant fist left a small crater as it struck the ground. "Dammit, my daggers sure as sod won't do anything to this thing now!"

But the demon's rampage was thrown off track as Alim, after getting to his feet, pushed the lower end of his staff into the ground, his magic cracking it. After that, he managed to overpower the enemy's resistance and froze him in place. Then, he telekinetically lift a boulder of his own and sent that stone missile straight at the demon. The rock hit its head full force, and Sloth staggered quite visibly, ending up dazed but, unfortunately, not shattering as the elf was hoping.

On the other hand, the iron golem turned its attention towards him and began to charge in his direction, determined to do naught but crush him, not even getting concerned when the dwarf noble jumped in front of the mage.

With seemingly nothing to stop his advance, Sloth raised his fist and prepared to crush the dwarf. But in one second, said dwarf was engulfed in a golden light of his own, and the steel golem's fist was stopped by the right palm of a stone golem just as large as his own was. The moment of surprise was all said stone golem needed to push him back and slam into him with his full weight, shoulder first.

But the steel golem was stronger and was not thrown away, and he tried to punch his new opponent again, the same way the latter attempted to do the same thing. The result was a deadlock, both constructs having had their attacks stopped by the other's opposite hand, until they were locked in a battle of pure strength.

The way they crushed into each other had sent a shockwave in all directions, powerful enough to throw Alim away a few feet. Fortunately, he was not seriously hurt so he could take command of the fight now that the leader was preoccupied and slowly getting overpowered. Looking around, he saw Theron and Leliana looking frustrated at being mostly useless against such a monster. Faren, strangely enough, was nowhere to be seen. So the elf let his eyes search for Wynne, finding that she had managed to get Sten out of immediate danger and was now trying to rouse Alistair.

"Wynne! Use some of your magic to give him a boost!" he ordered, pointing his staff towards their golem-turned leader.

The woman cast several empowering spells that seemed to have the desired effect, until the deadlock between those two golems was perfectly matched in strength on both sides.

"Why do you struggle so?" the steel demon asked, feigning an innocent tone, as if it was convinced that what it wanted to do was actually in everyone's best interest.

"Well, you're not exactly the most reasonable of 'people'," the stone golem replied, the voice sounding like a deeper and raspier version of Raonar's real tone.

"But I offered you peace. Happiness. Isn't that what all mortals crave for?"

The battle of strength did not look like it was ready to swing in any direction as the transformed Warden Commander gave his reply. "You don't offer peace or happiness, just twisted lies."

"But does the difference really matter? If you don't know it is a lie, it is just as good as the real thing, no?"

"You don't offer peace or anything of the sort, jut a way to avoid the problem instead of solving it."

But the demon was not convinced. "You don't sound so sure of that. In fact, the mere fact that you are trying to fight my logic with words is proof of your doubt," it said, triumphantly.

That was when the stone golem gave out a short smirk of his own, regardless of the fact that it had no movable facial parts to speak of. "Actually, I was just keeping your attention focused on me so you wouldn't notice Alim freezing your legs."

The steel golem actually flinched as both of Faren's dagger sunk deep into the back of his knees, now frozen solid. His legs practically shattered, and Sloth was pushed to the ground just after the rogue jumped away, only to begin being pummeled, again and again, by the other golem, which was now standing over him and throwing punches down upon it. Each punch was strong, each one crushed the metal into a heap as loud crashing noises and sparks flew with each impact.

Slam, slam, slam, crush, slam, the punches came and came, raising dust and sand until only the vague silhouette of a relentless stone golem could be seen throwing punches down inside that large cloud of dust.

Fortunately, instead of staring in awe, Wynne took advantage of this reprieve to properly work on Alistair, finally managing to rouse him and establish that he had no broken bones, as far as those bodies were even real in the Fade at least. Then, even fighting to shrug off the sweat drops that had formed on her brow, she ran over to where Gwenith was lying unconscious and once again focused on the spell of revival.

But the concentration of everyone was thrown off track when a new magical explosion occurred in the very middle of that cloud of dust, dispersing it and showing that the Warden Commander, still in stone golem form, had been immobilized by what looked like chains. Then, the smoke cleared to reveal Sloth's new form, that of a fiery rage demon, only more focused and intense, the heat it gave off being enough to burn even those in close proximity to it.

"You have destroyed my most resilient form!" it bellowed, its new voice sounding like a molten volcano. "So now I will show you true pain!"

A pair of arrows struck him, only to harmlessly turn to cinders without that thing even paying them the smallest bit of attention. Indeed, the entirety of its attention was focused on gathering its magic and spraying it in a wave of unending flame straight at Raonar, who resolved to retain his golem form, knowing that stone would last longer and hoping it would be long enough.

Alim tried to cast winter's grasp, but the amount of frost in that spell, even with spell might active, was not enough to even graze him. He noticed Faren trying to get near a few times, only to be driven away by the sheer heat that engulfed that demon and its immediate vicinity. Fortunately, Sten was more adept at dealing with harsh environments, as he brought Asala down upon that fire creature in one fell swoop that practically cut him in half vertically.

Unfortunately, the two halves merged back together, though Surana was glad to sense that at least a third of the power inherent in that avatar had been cleaved away. Sten backed off, still holding his blank stare, and rolled to the side when Sloth unleashed a barrage of flames that Alistair intercepted with his shield, hiding his face behind it as he practically turned into a wall of metal long enough for that spray of fire to stop.

The demon was raving in anger now, mostly because it noticed that the stone golem was no longer there. While it had been distracted, the Commander of the Grey had surrendered that form, thus freeing himself from the bindings, and almost lost consciousness before the other dwarf jumped in and carried him off to where Alim was once again focusing his magic.

Then, the mage released said magic to create an aura of elemental protection around the qunari, enough for him to jump forward and again cleave away part of Sloth's power by lunging Asala into him horizontally. The demon managed to coalesce back into its full form again, but his power was diminished further, and its outraged cry was cut off by Gwenith, who had come from behind, Wynne having finally managed to heal her, and driven her own sword through that thing now that its aura of fire had died down.

Only for it to once again explode, in a wave of fire this time, a wave strong enough to knock both humans and the qunari away as it once again changed shapes.

And what it turned into was quite troublesome to say the least. It became a shade, a dark, twisted thing, hunched forward and with its lower end engulfed in black mist. All three warriors tried to cut at it, but their blades met no resistance as they tried to attack it, the new form being practically immaterial. And yet, when it swopped down upon the templar, its arm went through his guard and sunk into his chest.

"Yes," a dark, terrible voice growled. "I shall drain you of your very life!"

Alistair looked paralyzed, until his eyes rolled to the back of his head and he looked like he was about to die, and he probably would have. Alim was drained and was wobbling towards a lyrium vein, hoping it would be able to restore some of his energy, while Faren was still trying to help Raonar stand up. Theron and Leliana were again outraged at being useless, while Wynne was breathing heavily, having overexerted herself in healing Gwen so soon after doing the same to Alistair.

The one who saved the templar's life was Sten, who practically grabbed him by his collar and threw him away with all the force he could muster. The human ended up sliding on the dirt to a halt, while the qunary and Gwenith were warily walking away, swords still drawn, despite how they both knew they were useless against that thing.

The shade's next target was Sten, and its immaterial arm went straight into his head. Anyone witnessing that scene would have felt the same shudder of fear at the exhilarated laughter that the dark creature gave out as it wrenched his life force, bit by bit. But that laughter suddenly turned into a piercing scream of confusion when magical power formed into a globe around it and began contracting.

The Warden Commander had summoned his inner reserves and assumed the second shape he had gained, that of an Arcane Horror, and had used whatever power he had left to create a crushing prison around that dark specter, betting on its magical nature to making it vulnerable to this spell.

And as the shade began to be crushed inside it, he again failed to maintain his form, and turned into himself again, using both arms to hold his body up and prevent it from collapsing face-down.

"Wynne? Alim! Someone get him some help!" Faren called out as he tried to hold him up.

Wynne managed to get there first and began to use a rejuvenating spell on him, spell that worked since the tear in the veil did not apply to him right now. Meanwhile, the blood mage had run over to where Alistair was lying on the ground, finally breathing a sigh of relief when he found he was just unconscious from exhaustion.

Then, the shade bellowed again and the crushing prison dispersed as magic spun out of control, or seemed to do so as a new cloud of dust took being, Sloth once again changing forms. A thump was heard, then another, even closer to the human lady warrior that was nearest, and a giant ogre charged her, ramming its huge horns straight into her chest and sending her flying. Her blade left her grasp and landed harmlessly some distance away, and it was only Alim's last minute levitation spell that prevented her from falling wrong and breaking her neck.

Sten managed to get a good cut in, on the darkspawn's leg, but the ogre grabbed him in one of its huge arms and was getting ready to pummel him with the other one when Leliana's arrow struck it through the shoulder. Then, another arrow, Theron's, went through his other wrist, immediately causing the hold on the giant man to be released. Sten was dazed however, and the only thing that prevented that ogre's fist from crushing him from above was a force field that Wynne managed to create around him at the last second.

The demon was getting more and more angry and roared from the bottom of its lungs. What was ironic was that Faren took advantage of that display to jump straight onto its exposed front and practically crawl up with his daggers. The roar degenerated into an outright scream of pain and horror as those knives cleaved through flesh, until the dwarf was about to drive one of his blades through where the heart of that thing was supposed to be.

But Sloth somehow managed to smack him away, but the blow was apparently weak enough that Faren did not lose hold of his daggers and even managed to land on his arms, performing a back flip and landing in a crouched position just a few meters away. That was when the Dalish hunter managed to time his shot properly from where he stood, away from the battle itself, and unleashed an arrow that flew and went straight through the ogre's left eye.

For a moment, everyone thought the ordeal was finally over, which would have been more than fortunate considering that Raonar was almost exhausted and, save for Sten, Faren was the only person that actually stood a chance in close combat. But the stunned ogre seemed to turn to stone, after which he began to crack, strange light seeping out through each breach in its 'skin' as magic once again began to act according to the demon's will.

"This is bad! It's transforming again!" Alim realized.

Sten, even exhausted and beaten up, moved into position at what may or may not have been a safe distance, while the duster clenched his chained daggers tight.

Then the ogre exploded, and what looked like a veritable vortex came into being.

Alim's eyes widened in horror at what his senses picked up, a veritable fountain of raw energy that was consolidating into what could only be the demon's ultimate form. "This is bad! Someone destroy that thing! Don't let it finish the transformation or we're finished!"

With Sten unable to move very quickly, Faren's body instantly darted forward, almost by its own volition, and he jumped in the air, higher than he should have been able to, after which he descended upon the swirling tornado of that creature, aiming to sink his two knives through what remained of that creature's skull.

But an explosion larger than all the other before it blinded everyone still conscious, and their blurring vision recovered in time to see a veritable tornado of unruly energy slowly being drawn in. The dwarf rogue was nowhere to be seen for a time, until his body was seen flying out of that vortex and crashing into one of the 'natural walls'. And this was only after both of his knives, still bound by their chain, were thrown with such force that they ended up falling well beyond the edge of that suspended sanctum.

That left only Alim, Sten, Wynne, Raonar, Theron and Leliana to look upon that expression of dominion over this part of the Fade, Alistair and Gwen being already knocked out. And what they saw was definitely not something they expected.

As the last of the magical energy receded, they eyes took in the sight of what looked like a black werewolf. It stood about two meters in height, just about as tall as Sten was, even hunched forward as it was. It 'face' was elongated with canine-like features, complete with sharp fangs, while its hair looked more like a mane that extended over his back, hair unruly and spiky, and black, just like the rest of its fur was.

It had long arms, each with five fingers that would have been mistaken for human hands if not for the fur and the long claws that each finger ended in. The legs looked more like those of a wolf than a human's, and had the same sort of claws. And, finally, the creature even had a long tail, not unlike the one that Theron's alpha male companion proudly displayed whenever it felt like it.

But only Alim Surana and perhaps Wynne could truly gauge the might of that form as their senses picked up the unbelievable concentration of magic that it was made of. The elf instantly realized that all of them together would have likely been able to defeat that form had it been the first one they faced. But now, with only Sten and an exhausted Raonar, as well as a pair of archers that may or may not be able to time their shots properly, being what was left of their force, they stood little actual chance.

"This is my most powerful form," he boasted as he licked one of his claws.

The blood mage glanced up at Honor, who was still flying above them in bird form, and knew that that avatar hardly had enough power to make a difference.

Sloth was gone.

Wait... what?

Before he knew it, that thing had somehow grown a talon as long as its forearm form the back of its wrist, a talon that was now coming out through the already exhausted Sten's back.

"These claws and talons could cut through even that steel shell I had while I was a golem." Just as fast as the first time, the werewolf blurred out of vision again.

"It seems that... even the Sten can fall," Sten said as he fell to his knees, then finally collapsed outright.

Immediately afterwards, the elf flinched when he heard both Theron and Leliana cry out in pain as something hit both of them at the same time. And when he spun around to see it, he saw that that werewolf had somehow reached their position at blinding speed in just a few seconds. Leliana was bent forward, the demon's hand having struck her in the stomach, While Theron was a few paces away and clutching at his middle, having managed to evade most of the blow.

The tattooed elf then drew his Dar'misaan and tried to face the creature, but that werewolf seemed to blur out of vision and appeared right in front of him, grabbing him by the throat and holding him high above the ground.

Then, Alim barely managed to cast another force field on the elf, just before Sloth had a chance to break his neck. And the response to that was the demon turning his eyes upon him and blurring out of vision again.

The next glimpse he caught of the werewolf was as he appeared a few meters in front of him and lunged forward, both arms spread out, showing that the aim was to cut his throat in one blow. But just as he was about to finally be killed off, he saw something approaching from the corner of his eye.

The edge of a round shield slammed into the side of Sloth's head, having been thrown like a flying disk by the Warden Commander with perfect timing. Sloth saw spinning stars as he was thrown to the ground and went rolling.

But before anyone had a chance to do anything else, it got to all fours and dashed straight for the dwarf noble, who raised his blade to meet his caws at the very last second. The sword was knocked out of his hands and he was thrown to his back, left at that thing's mercy. But the demon was disoriented, enough so that it missed in its attempts to drive its claws through his neck, striking at his chest plate instead.

The white steel held, apparently being stronger than even those claws. And, somehow, Alim was able to hit the demon in the back with a lightning bolt that caused him to actually scream.

But that scream only served to enrage him. **"ENOUGH!"**

It was over, Alim thought. It had to be if he actually felt paralyzed. Now, in this last moment, his body gave up on trying to move and all of his awareness went to his vision, his eyes working at their fullest so as to see exactly how that demon looked at him with enraged eyes. It jumped straight for him, arm drawn back, ready to be driven through his battered shell.

The elf took a last instant to study the so-called battlefield. Sten and Gwen were lying unconscious on the ground, the former in a pool of blood. Alistair was also out of the picture, while Wynne looked mostly bereft of magical energy as she lay kneeling on the ground not far from where the dazed Warden Commander also lay, trying to get his bearings. Theron was trying to aim a bowshot, having been released by that force field, while the bard from Orlais was spread on the ground.

But if he was to die, the mage was definitely not going to make it easy. At the very least, he could at take that monster down with him. After all, he was not a blood mage for nothing.

His attention at its peak, the blood mage began to draw on the power of his own life force, charging himself with raw energy, more and more. With each fraction of a second that that monster came towards him, his own eyes lit up from emerald to crimson as he drew on more and more of his remaining power, preparing to send it all into Sloth once he ran him through.

Yes, if he could at least ensure that the others live to see another day, if he could see them freed, he had no problems with dying like this. After all, no one will really weep at the passing of a malefikar.

Well, no one except maybe these two dwarves that had grown on him over the past couple of months.

Smiling, he threw a last, slow motion glance in his commander's direction, one that the latter seemed to understand if the shocked look on his face was any indication. Then, Alim took advantage of this time dilation sensation and looked in the direction where Faren had been thrown earlier.

Wait a minute, he was right there! Where did he go?

There was no time to find an answer, because time sped up and Sloth had come within a meter of him, preparing to drive his claws into his chest.

What happened next was shocking for everyone still looking, but for the demon most of all. Because as he was ready to deliver the killing blow, someone else blurred into vision between him and his victim, right in front of him. The figure was in the air, in the middle of a flying roundhouse kick.

A veritable shockwave left Faren's foot as it collided with the demon's jaw, and Sloth was sent flying through the air. Then, the redhead blurred out of vision again, even before he touched the ground, and appeared exactly behind that still flying monster within a split second, only slightly above him and with his right leg stretched upwards, more than prepared to come down upon his enemy like an executioner's axe.

And it happened.

The kick slammed hard into the werewolf's face, crushing that long snout and exploding in a cloud of dust and sand as Sloth made a veritable crater when he impacted the ground. The roar of the crumbling earth was almost music to everyone else's ears.

Alim was too busy being absolutely shocked so he did not immediately notice that everyone else still conscious was staring with their mouths open at what had just happened.

Ten meters away from him, a certain dwarf noble was absolutely sure he had set a new record at how high one could raise one's eyebrows.

"Wha... What just happened?"

"Kinesthetic learning."

Raonar had to first get over his astonishment before he realized that that answer was given by Honor, who had, at some point, landed on his shoulder and once again turned from a bird into a mouse. "Wait, what? What does that have to do with this?"

"You remember when I explained that one could will himself to be more powerful if one had enough intuitive capability? Wait, before you answer," the mouse turned to Wynne's direction, the woman being apparently entranced with the prospect of a talking mouse. "Instead of being shocked, you may want to draw on the power of those lyrium veins and save the lives of your fallen comrades."

The aged woman seemed to finally snap out of her revelry and quickly scurried off to do just that. In the meantime, the exile got to his feet and went over to where Alim was standing. Whatever Honor had to say, he was going to have to hear it. And, of course, none of their eyes turned away from the cloud of dust for even a second, despite the fact they still couldn't really make out what was going on in there.

"Okay so," the blood mage began as he did his best to disperse the exploding charge he had almost turned his body into. "What just happened?"

"I have no idea really, but Honor here says he knows."

"Quite," the mouse on Raonar's shoulder began, flicking his whiskers in a contemplative fashion. "This friend of your seems to be a kinesthetic learner, as in, he learns by doing. I believe he may have tapped into this demon's power when he attacked, back when this Sloth fellow was going through his last transformation. I did not sense any sort of power theft, however, which means that, basically, this Faren fellow caught a glimpse of how this demon operates and how his power works in his own realm, and somehow... upgraded himself through pure instinct based on that model."

There was a pause.

"Wow..." was all Alim could utter.

But the dwarf noble seemed to be less shocked, though just barely, as he pouted and made a face. "I want to be able to do that too..."

Shock was too fresh on everyone's minds to notice how a hand of light materialized and the cane it held smacked the dwarf noble over the head. Hard.

The cloud of dust began to settle, and two shapes could finally be seen inside it. One was of a dwarf, standing upright, while the other one was of a fallen werewolf that was pushing himself back to his feet. The next instant, Sloth bellowed in anger and a magical outburst dispersed whatever floating dust was left.

And they clashed again, colliding in a full, head-on hand-to hand duel, first slowly, then faster, and faster, until their moves became blurry and they began to even disappear from sight. When the beast tried to claw at Faren's throat, he just bent backwards or snacked the arm aside. When the demon tried to send a kick to his ribs, he side-stepped or countered it with a kick of his own.

And when things got serious, they just started to appear and disappear, until it was unclear whether they were actually moving at high speed or outright teleporting.

Sloth lunged forward, snarling as his claws managed to leave a cut on the dwarf's face as he bent his head to the side an instant too late. Its triumphant grin was short-lived however, because the dwarf grabbed onto his wrist and struck his elbow with his knee. The werewolf jolted in pain, but overcame it through rage and slammed his foot against the duster's gut, sending him rolling a couple of times.

Unfortunately for him, the rogue recovered instantly and blurred out of vision, appearing in mid-air behind it, once again sending a flying roundhouse kick to his head. He didn't even have enough time to recover properly because, just as he landed in a lame position, the dwarf repeated the maneuver and appeared in front of him in a flash, striking with his foot against the demon's chest, hard.

Had Alim possessed a spell that could immortalize images for posterity, he would have definitely used it to record this memory, of a powerful demon being sent tumbling while a dwarf stood on one foot while holding the other one bent in front of him, the knee about as high as his chin. But what was most interesting about the duster were his eyes. His irises were no longer a dull hazel, but outright gold-yellow that seemed to shine, complemented by the smirk he wore on his face.

No one seemed to pay attention to how Wynne had already managed to bring Sten, Gwen and the others back from the brink of death.

Then, Sloth charged again, rage seething and making his movements become even more erratic. "How! How is this possible? How can a mere mortal be so powerful?"

The arms bearing the talon that had defeated Sten was slapped to the side and it looked like the brand was going to punch the demon in the chest. But as the latter lunged his arm forward, his hand bent backwards, until it made a 90 degree angle with his wrist, and it was his palm that struck the werewolf's chest.

For a long moment, both stood still.

Sloth had a disbelieving look on his face.

Faren, on the other hand, just smirked as his opponent choked out blood and weakly backed away a couple of steps, clutching at his chest which had now been left with a hole after a hidden wrist blade had punctured it. And the dwarf just stood there, in that battle stance, his wrist blade still out, blood dripping off of it.

"You know," the redhead finally spoke. "I **could** say I'm doing this because I don't plan on letting those important to me die." He smiled at Raonar and Alim as he said that, though he kept his guard up as his hidden blade retreated to its concealed holster. "I **could** say it's because I'm in a hurry to get out of this Fade thing and find out what happened to Kallian." His eyes hardened. "I **could** say it's because I had a sort of revelation that ever so epically opened my eyes to a sort of higher calling. And I could also start a long, pointless monologue about true strength and a heap of other stuff, during which, truth be told, I may not even know what I'd be talking about half the time."

Somehow, Sloth was too busy wondering what in the name of the creator that small thing was talking about because he didn't notice his near imperceptible change in footing.

"I could babble for hours," He disappeared. "about nonsense," he appeared right in front of that demon and sent a kick to his belly, causing him to bend over and gasp for breath. He then blurred out of sight again and appeared to the demon's right, just in time to slam his heel into that already broken face that the battered werewolf now had.

"But the truth is that, right now, I am simply kicking your ass..." Sloth ended up rolling yet again, barely managing to cross his forearms in front of his face in order to stem another descending kick. But his guard was broken, and his attacker brought both hands down and caught his throat between both his wrist blades. "... because I just don't like you."

And with a flourish, Faren swung both arms to the side and behind him, cutting that thing's neck all the way to his spine like a scissors.

What was left after he flash stepped away was the unmoving body of a beaten up lycanthrope whose head was hanging backwards by just the spine and a patch of skin.

Faren appeared right in front of the main two members of his audience. Well, three members if that mouse even counted. "So uuh... I don't suppose there's a chance I'll actually be able to do this stuff in the real world too?" he asked hopefully.

"The word of **mortals**," Honor corrected. "And no, I'm afraid not."

"That..." the exile was finally able to speak as he stared at that guy in wonder. "That was so incredibly **awesome**!"

"Well that's an understatement," the mage remarked, still blinking in stupefaction.

After a minute or so, the others managed to convene in that same place, with Theron being the only one to have also witnessed that display. Well, except Wynne, in some measure.

"Uh, my head hurts," Alistair whined, though nobody seemed to care, not even Gwen, who had her own broken arm to worry about. Wynne hadn't managed to patch them up properly because she was too exhausted.

"Uh, I thought I was gone for a moment there," said Leliana as she held her hand instinctively over where she had been struck.

Sten just shrugged, so Gwen decided to ask the question. "What happened after we were, you know...?"

"Struck down?" the qunary helpfully suggested, his tone as flat as always.

"Well," the Warden Commander began. "Faren here... pretty much beat the crap out of that demon by himself. And with his bare hands... Almost."

Everyone stared at the rogue who was now rubbing the back of his head, feeling rather small under those many gazes.

But their excitement was doomed to be short lived as the entire island they were on began to shake, as if it were suffering an earthquake. Then, a voice cut through those tremors, outrage more than noticeable. "Fools! You will never win!" The Sloth demon had somehow reverted to his original form, of an Arcane Horror, and was ascending towards the 'skies' as his domain began to crumble around the Wardens and their allies. "You will never escape! You will fall into oblivion along with this entire realm, and then I will create one anew!"

"Shit!" Faren let out as he struggled to hold his balance in that earthquake. In fact, he, Alim and the other dwarf, plus Theron, were the only ones who did manage to stay on their feet. A spire crumbled behind them and part of the island broke off and began to disintegrate.

And, in that chaos, one voice was heard, one semblance of order managed to make itself noticed over the noise. "Alim, bring that thing down."

Before anyone knew it, the mage had turned into a griffon and taken off toward the skies, even as everyone who was now seeing this for the first time could only watch, mouth agape. The griffon soared, its wings cutting through the air, the flapping audible even over the rumble of the so-called ground, while the demon could only scream hopelessly as the beast rammed into it and drove the talons of its forepaws through its chest.

And, with no mercy or quarter, that demon would once again crush into the ground of its own sanctum, a large, magnificent griffon towering above it. The tremors ceased.

That was when the Commander of the Grey finally made his move and slowly walked up to that Fade dweller, even as the mouse on his shoulder started shining brighter and brighter. The mage reverted to his elven form and stepped away.

And the dwarf noble spoke. "I admit I was kind of disappointed when I thought you had seen your end, since that would have meant that you escaped the true nature of retribution. But now I can introduce you to the real meaning of ultimate punishment."

Honor shone brighter than ever before as his voice was heard louder than any of his previous words. "Fusion?"

And the exile, of course, confirmed. "Yes."

For a while, no one could tell what was happening, because the two were engulfed in a very bright light that seemed to even pulse from time to time. But it was what met everyone's eyes once that light receded that truly gave them pause, almost as much as Faren's unexpected prowess.

They had become a single being, those two. While the figure still held the overall semblance of Raonar, he was entirely cloaked in the same while light that Honor was made of. He even seemed to be partially transparent and there were a myriad of white tendrils and floating strands all around him, breaking off and merging with his form in an oddly random yet, at the same time, orderly fashion. He was no longer wearing any sort of armor. Instead, he was clad in thin robes, partially similar to a trench coat that lacked sleeves, much like what Honor looked like when he summoned the wardens to that central island earlier.

Said robes were not buttoned up in the front. Instead, they were held in place by a single lace around the chest, and the collar reached as high as his ears, though it was not done up, so his face was not covered. And, underneath that robe that looked like a mix between a cape and a coat, he wore a loose-fitting shirt and trousers, plus what looked like intricate boots. Regardless, nothing could clearly be made out because the light which came out of him left no room for shadows of any kind.

And as he stopped his approach to the demon's battered shape, what looked like a band or energy shot out from around his shoulder and wrapped around Sloth's neck like a tentacle, slowly lifting him off the ground until his face was at the same level as that of his judge.

And he began to speak, a loud, echoing voice, like a thousand words in one but with such a frosty tone that one could not help but shudder at each syllable. "You presumed to play God with people's lives. You had the gall to trap us in lies, to play on our fears as you fed off our life force. You had us kill our loved ones. You had us see illusions that served to only cheapen and ruin us. And after all that, you still think it fit to act as though you were in the right. As though you were doing us a **favor**."

The creature tried to speak, no doubt hoping it could spit out some final slur, but the binding around its neck tightened before it managed to choke anything out.

"It was not a question. I am not here to hear more of your lies. I am here to decide your fate. Yes, a lowly mortal is going to decide your fate."

Sloth was practically struggling now that it at last understood that that small thing had something different in store than just slaying it.

"I cannot be sure that just slaying this form of yours will be enough to completely destroy you. And I admit, just ending you would not be enough of a punishment. So I'm afraid you'll have to go through something much, much worse. It is, after all, only fair. You **did** take advantage of us and Stone knows how many others."

And, with another flash of light, both Raonar and Sloth were gone from that place.

And that only left everyone there to stare at each other since none of them had any inkling of what had just occurred. In fact, the two mages, Alim Surana and Wynne that is, were the only ones to even suspect what that whole thing may have meant. But before ether of them could actually gather their wits enough to speak again, a third flash of light drew their attention.

The Commander of the Grey was himself again, standing where he was before and facing the side with his eyes closed. Then, he slowly opened them and grinned at the dumbstruck onlookers.

"What in the Maker's name did you just do?" Alistair asked for everyone else.

The exile began to stroke his beard in satisfaction as he gave his answer, a gesture that everyone would soon come to associate with the birth of yet another insidious scheme. "Well, I can't exactly do anything to demons on my own, especially since I don't live here. But Honor is one of the most powerful dwellers of the Fade and has... connections. So I decided to just take my responsibility to bring that fiend to justice for everything he'd done and... delegate it to someone in a better position to choose and enforce an appropriate sentence."

There was silence.

And Alim broke it. "And, who exactly did you, as you said, delegate that responsibility to?"

Raonar settled for just a small smirk. "Justice, who else?"

* * *

_That review space is, as always, waiting!_


	29. Demon Arc 4: The Calling

**Chapter 28: The Calling**

"-. .-"

And he thought that battle with that demon had been confusing as hell.

Alistair would have expected things to start off... differently once he woke up from that dream trap. One thing was that he had been fooled quite easily by that illusion, or so he believed. he was supposed to be a templar, one with nearly unparalleled mental discipline. He was supposed to be able to mentally resist any intrusion or manipulation. And yet he had been so easily entranced and held inside that dream until Raonar and Alim of all people showed up to talk some sense into him.

This wasn't about the fact that he didn't really trust either of them completely yet. His weariness of Alim was logical, at least in his view, since he was a blood mage completely exempt from the Chantry's authority, being a Grey Warden. Alistair did, of course, have to admit that the elf hadn't done anything to suggest he wasn't trustworthy yet. Also, considering how mages were held under the heel of the templars, he supposed that Alim's behavior towards him was actually acceptable. After all, he definitely wasn't as obnoxious as Morrigan. There was also the fact that he and the so-called leader seemed to get along surprisingly well and, by extension, work well together.

As was being proven that very moment.

Alistair could honestly say that the very recent events were more or less a haze, since he hadn't yet gotten his bearings. He vaguely remembered them all exchanging some words with Niall before he felt a tug and fell through some sort of abyss, just before waking up. Now, he knew he would probably be massaging his neck, since it had been in a very uncomfortable position form the way he had fallen on his side when he was pulled into the Fade.

Of course, that's what **would** have happened if life hadn't been so hell bent on getting even more complicated.

Alistair had to shake his head and blink a few times before his vision stopped spinning and he could finally look around and see what was happening. They were all once again inside that large, central room on the level of the Circle Tower just below the Harrowing Chamber. That abomination that Sloth had possessed was now lying lifeless on the floor, while the walls and ceiling were partially covered in what looked like flesh. Niall's corpse was also spread across the ground some way to the right. As for everyone else, they were either up or in the process of getting up.

Once Alistair was aware enough to notice a throbbing pain at the back of his head, his eyes finally fell upon the others.

While Sten and Leliana had yet to get up, everyone else had apparently convened some way ahead, though Alim and that dwarf prince were kneeling next to someone.

"She seem to be still alive," said the mage.

Faren let himself sit down with a thud and gave a long sigh of relief. It was that noise that finally gave the almost-templar something to focus his attention on while his blurry vision cleared.

Alim's eyes were shining a sort of blue-ish white and his right hand was hovering above Kallian's face. That was when Alistair at last remembered that that city elf had not been in the Fade and everyone was worried she may have died. The new problem was, however, that neither the mage nor the dwarf noble, who had also knelt next to Kallian, on the opposite side, didn't seem at all relieved.

If anything, they looked even more worried than they were in the Fade.

With some effort, the human got up and dragged his feet up to where that scene was unfolding. Much to his chagrin, however, he found that none of what was happening would bring a smile to his face any time soon.

By the time he walked over and stood beside Theron, Wynne had knelt next to Alim, apparently deciding she could ignore his being a blood mage for long enough to examine the young elven lass. Now, the Dalish hunter, Gwen, Alistair himself and Faren (who was sitting down with his head bowed low) were lined up next to each other while those three tried to tend to Kallian.

"What's going on?" Alistair murmured as he watched the dwarf noble and the two mages work. The Warden Commander had his right hand over the young woman's eyes while Alim seemed to push magic through her entire body as his hand, swirling with gold and silver light, hung above her torso.

"It would appear that the da'asha, that means young woman if you're curious, is unable to awaken," the tattooed elf replied as he stood next to Alistair, with both arms crossed and his eyes narrowed in what looked like slight concern.

The human let himself indulge in a moment of confusion. "Do you have any idea what or why this happened?"

"I am afraid not," the other one replied flatly, though he glanced over to the red-haired dwarf who was worriedly looking at what was happening, having managed to push himself back to a standing position in the meantime.

While Gwen went to rouse the Qunari and the chantry sister, Wynne stopped what she was doing and shook her head. "I'm afraid there is little I can do. Physically, she seems to be fine."

Alistair noticed how Alim and Raonar exchanged a long look as the elderly mage got up and stepped away. And considering how both the blood mage and the dwarf had entered their 'glowing eyes' mode and somehow still managed to look completely worried definitely drove home the message that something was very, very wrong.

As for the city elf herself, she seemed to be struggling, as though she was definitely having a sort of nightmare of her own.

Then, Alim finally spoke, though he looked rather thoughtful as his eyes returned to their normal green color. "Well, if she's not and was not in the Fade, which more or less leaves out the possibility of demon possession, and we can't seem to wake her up, I dare say this is one type of situation that I haven't come across before."

"Let me try something then," the other one asked. At that, Alim looked at him with a raised eyebrow, but drew back his hands and let the exile take Kallian's head in both hands. In a moment, his hands began to give out subtle rays of light, the same white and intensity as the one coming out of his eyes. For a moment, the young woman seemed to lay still. Only a moment, however, because the very next one she started to struggle and her eyes shot open. Raonar almost drew back but kept his hold over her firm, though everyone else was startled at seeing that her eyes had become blank, as though her irises were gone, just like during the Joining.

"Maker's Breath!" Alistair couldn't prevent himself from blurting. He only later realize that Theron had murmured "By the creators!" around the same time.

"Dammit man, do you have any idea what's happening?" Faren asked, his hands already fidgeting.

The exiled prince seemed to be having trouble because he was frowning in a way that suggested almost his entire will was channeled towards something. Restraining a gasp, he barely succeeded in speaking coherently. "Guh... Nightmare... The Archdemon... It's the Archdemon. Alim we have to repeat what we did during the... What we did last time."

Gasps were heard, and Wynne narrowed her eyes, having taken her place next to an increasingly agitated Faren. She looked quite intently at how Alim drove the sharp nails of his right hand's middle and ring fingers through his own palm as he clenched his fist, letting out blood. "She might die this time. **You** might die this time."

The dwarf's concentration became even more focused and the cloak of energies from beyond the veil had grown strong enough to shine through his whole body. "No, I'll be fine. I don't have that... problem I had last time. But she'll die anyway if you don't hurry."

Alim nodded and placed his palms one over the other on Kallian's chest. His eyes began to shine crimson as his magic once again coursed though the young woman's body. "I see... She's succumbing too quickly... Dammit, I didn't sense anything wrong after the Joining."

"There wasn't anything... wrong... I think... something that Demon did or... tried to do to her may have misfired."

Alim frowned as realization dawned on him. "Maybe when I escaped his assault I broke his hold over her as well. But she still shouldn't have fallen into an Archdemon-induced nightmare like this."

"Focus for now," the commander urged. "I'm going to try and drive out the Archdemon's psychic assault but I'll need you to somehow restore the balance in her blood."

"Can you really do that?" the other dwarf asked. "I mean, without almost dying like last time?"

"I'm sorry," Wynne intervened. "But I don't understand what's happening. What are they doing?"

"Quiet back there," Alim ordered, promptly cutting them off. "Okay, here we go."

No one could do anything but stare as magic began to gush out of both the mage and the dwarf. White light seemed to come out of the Warden Commander in waves, while the elf was shrouded in a sort of red. Those two sources of light became stronger and stronger, forcing the onlookers to take some steps back and shield their vision with their hands. They could also practically feel the push of those magical energies.

Well, all the onlookers drew back except for the castless rogue, who just brought his left hand in front of his eyes but did not even notice when the others stepped away. In a moment of insight, Alistair reached out with his templar awareness and sensed that that incessant stream of magic seemed to bounce away from Faren as though something were preventing it from approaching. This did not come as too great a surprise, considering the inherent magical resistance of dwarves in general. Still, the feeling that the human got from that scene was a bit more unusual than that, so he filed that observation for later study.

Alistair also found out that forcing his sixth sense like that while such powerful magic bombarded him left him with something of a splitting headache.

Finally, the light began to waver, subside, yet still pulse sporadically, until the vague silhouettes if those three involved began to once again be seen. Then, all light suddenly dispersed and Kallian jerked upwards with a sharp gasp, Alim just barely managing to grab her by the shoulders as she leaned forward. The exile, however, was pushed aside quite violently and ended up falling on his back, exhausted and barely able to even move his head before he fell unconscious.

Fortunately, the blood mage was still very much alive and well. "Wynne, check on him, will you?" he nodded in the commander's direction. Then, he turned back to the city elf who had just woken up and looked like her eyes were about to come out of her sockets. She was even trembling, which made it clear just how bad her nightmare had been.

Since they were quite close to the outer wall, Alim helped Kalian drag herself close to it and lean against it. "Are you more or less okay?"

After a deep breath, she gave a nod of confirmation, so the former Circle Mage slowly let go of her and made for where the Warden Commander was lying on the ground, though he stopped mid-way, next to Faren, who looked completely paralyzed. As he watched that scene unfold, Alistair realized that he likely didn't know which of the two to go check up on first. "Raonar's mostly fine, but I think **she'll** need some emotional support," he heard the mage tell him.

Had this been any less serious of a situation, Alistair, who was now close enough to hear, would have likely chuckled at how the tattooed dwarf flinched at those words.

"What... What am I supposed to do?" Faren's voice sounded so torn that the templar felt a knot form inside his stomach.

"Just go to her, you'll figure it out," was all that the mage said as he hurried over to where the white-haired one was being checked on by Wynne.

Clenching his fists in nervousness, he turned around and made sure Raonar really was alive before finally walking over to where Kallian was, her eyes shut and her arms wrapped around her own shoulders, trying to get her trembling to stop. He then sat beside her and looked incredibly lost for a moment before he brought himself to place a hand on her shoulder. Then, whatever reluctance he was feeling was seemingly swept away when she just leaned against him and grabbed at the front of his leather armor. He instinctively had both his arms draw her close.

Looking around, Alistair noticed that Leliana seemed particularly entranced by how Faren was now holding that lass, enough so that she seemed oblivious to the fact that the situation was quite grim. One hand held her as the side of her head pressed against his chest, while the other one went around her shoulders, supporting her as she leaned sideways, her own arms almost wrapped around his neck. She wasn't crying, but she was very pale and shivering visibly. Alistair knew how bad Grey Warden nightmares could get, but they shouldn't be able to leave such a strong emotional distress behind.

"Oh, how adorable," the bard chimed as she found her way next to the senior Grey Warden. She now stood there with her hands clasped together in front of her, staring in a disturbingly wistful manner.

_Trust Leliana to see the aftermath of a potentially emotionally-scarring event as adorable._ "Adorable. She pretty much almost died, and you find that adorable..."

"Ah, but that is how truly wonderful tales go, no? The damsel goes through a harrowing experience at the hands of the antagonist, only for the hero to charge in and make everything well before they share a passionate embrace, and then go on to-"

"Whoa whoa!" Alistair was even waving his hands nervously. "This is hardly the time or place for this... And how can you speak so jovially about this so soon after you complained that this flesh on the wall was going to make you sick and give you nightmares of your own?"

One of Leliana's eyebrows rose. Slowly. Very Slowly. "Spoil sport! You just had to ruin the mood no?"

"Ahem!" Whatever the two were going to say further was cut off by Faren clearing his throat and glaring in their direction with an intensity so fierce that they both turned they gazes away, by a 180 degrees angle in fact, instantly.

Only to face a different type of glare. A very... grandmotherly glare of chastisement that Wynne was sending them both as she stood there, right in front of them, her arms crossed in front of her. She was even tapping her foot against the stone floor. "Perhaps you two would be more mindful of other people's feelings, especially in a situation such as this one."

It wasn't a suggestion, so Alistair and Leliana just nodded before walking off to find something to do.

The man soon found himself checking up on Alim and the so-called fearless leader, who seemed to finally be stirring, though he was still lying on his back and was pressing his palms against both eyes. At least he wasn't glowing anymore. Alistair had yet to learn just how exactly that guy was able to do some of the more unusual things he could do.

Granted, the only real display of his unusual power, besides **this** one and some occasions when his eyes glowed like night stars, was when he kicked that massive wooden door out of its hinges at Castle Redcliffe.

"What just happened? Was that one of those Grey Warden dreams?" the human asked as he crouched next to the dwarf and elf. "I've never seen someone fall into one and not be able to wake up."

Raonar groaned in a way that suggested he wasn't up for talking just yet, so Alim tried to explain. "I think it was more than just that. You remember what happened during the joining?"

The almost templar frowned and rubbed the side of his neck. "I remember you two did something to help her survive. You're saying this has something to do with it?"

"It might..."

"That wasn't just a dream," the dwarf noble finally spoke as he just let both arms, steel armor plates and all, fall to the ground on both of his sides. "It was... Half of it was made up by her own worst fears, most likely an effect from what Sloth tried to do to her before he failed to pull her into the Fade. The second half of the 'dream' was influence from the Archdemon... A really... strong influence..."

"You saw it?" Alim asked, his eyes widening in worry.

That worry was just magnified by the weird look Raonar gave him just then, though he still refused to even get up in the slightest. That or he didn't want to. "Somehow she managed to resist the worst... barely... until I broke in... Do you have some sort of spell to erase memories?"

The elf drew back. "I... No... Such magic is not unheard of though. I suppose I could use some of the tomes in this tower to research it... Why are you asking? Was... Oh man, how bad was it?"

Both Alim and Alistair were shocked to actually catch that particular dwarf in a moment where he seemed totally at a loss. "She didn't seem to realize just what those darkspawn were intent on doing as they kept charging her, which is a damned miracle actually. When i broke in, I could **feel **the actual intention. She didn't seem to realize. She just kept killing them. I... I'm not sure I should say more... Just... try to see if you can create a spell like that, just in case, alright?"

Alim nodded, though he let out a deep breath before saying one last line. "I don't like it when you say 'just in case'." He was noticeably more troubled, or so it seemed to Alistair.

The latter decided to move things along. "Can you get up?"

"No."

There was a pause.

Raonar's words were barely heard as his head slumped to the side. "I'll need a while... I think I'll... Just... sleep for a bit ok..?"

And he was unconscious again.

"This is bad," the mage declared in a whisper as both he and Alistair got up. Whatever animosity they usually had was completely absent for some reason. "If it took all of his willpower to push out the Archdemon's influence, I can only assume Kallian became far more susceptible to the... Calling because of what that Demon did. The fact that she also needed help to go through the joining may have contributed but this whole situation is just so unnatural that it may very well have happened even without that factor."

"The Calling? What, you mean she's somehow succumbing to the taint faster?" Alistair was positively horrified.

"I don't know... But I think I'll go see about that memory wipe spell just in case. Now I'm sounding like him. Anyway, whatever secret stash of tomes these blood mages had should have spilled over in all the abomination chaos."

"-. .-"

Apparently, Raonar and Kallian weren't the only ones that could to with some rest. That demon had had enough time to drain them all of a very large portion of their energy, so everyone was eagerly eating whatever rations they had on them and/or resting. Faren was still holding onto Kallian (whose eyes seemed to be staring blankly), even now, about an hour after that whole dream sequence had finished, while Theron had gone, along with Sten, to accompany Alim in his crusade to acquire whatever books unsanctioned by the Chantry may be found in the vast libraries of the circle.

Wynne, of course, was pacing about frantically, since she was very worried about the other mages and was more than eager to push forward. Gwen and Alistair were very impressed at how lively she was and were already wondering if maybe she had some sort of extra set of batteries to give her all that energy.

Leliana figured it was time to give Alistair and Gwen a bit of time alone so she got up from where she was sitting and casually walked by the Warden Commander, who was still lying on his back and sleeping like the dead more or less in the middle of that huge circular chamber (everyone wisely refrained from noting how ridiculous he looked, mostly because he was, to be frank, absolutely exhausted and none of them wanted to risk getting any sort of 'The Reason You Suck' lecture once he woke up), up to the elderly mage and immediately got into a conversation with her. Something about a Lady Cecilie.

Privacy was, apparently, what Gwen was looking forward to. "Um... Alistair?"

The heavily armored man was leaning his back against the wall right next to her and his left forearm was resting on his knee. He looked in her direction with that smile of his but was surprised to see her a bit nervous. Gwenith Cousland, of all people, was nervous when talking to him. Well that was a first. "Hmm? I'm all ears."

To Alistair, Gwen looked better than what she ended up looking like in the Fade. She wasn't as tired and covered in sweat and her silverite heavy chain mail armor was not scratched overmuch. Her hair also looked more or less alright, all gathered in a single braid on the left side of her head, a braid that hung in front of her as she sat there, both knees brought close to her chest as her back rested against the wall behind her.

She eyed him sideways and seemed to put some effort into her words. "I uh..." She sighed deeply and her head suddenly hung very, very low.

And that only served to amuse the man. "I admit, seeing you nervous is actually kind of adorable."

Gwen's head jerked upwards instantly and she actually glared at him under her frown and with her lips pursed.

The other one, however, was not exactly put off by that. "You know, that scowl of yours is also kind of cute," Alistair added with a grin. "Well, when you're not, you know, killing things... Then it's downright scary," he added, unable to suppress a shudder.

Gwen let the back of her head touch the wall with perhaps a bit too much force because it recoiled and ended up with her almost growling. She settled for just a very annoyed look on her face and her mouth slowly closing after an almost inaudible gasp.

Meanwhile, the other human had become puzzled. "Uh... Gwen, are you alright?"

"Yes..."

The templar could well see he would have to pull the words out of her. "You know, you refused to speak to me ever since that whole me being a royal bastard thing and now you're all nervous. It's actually kind of cute."

The woman tilted her head as she stared at him from the corner of her eye. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about actually..."

Alistair gave a long sigh of his own at that. "Look, I know it was kind of a big secret, and I know you told me all about your family and Howe when I asked you, and I should have told you sooner, and I know it will probably be important now that all this has happened, and yes, I admit, it was really stupid and-"

"I'm sorry."

The silence that followed would have been akin to that of a graveyard if Leliana and Wynne weren't still chatting some way off.

"... 'and I'm sorry', was what **I** was going to say." Alistair finished his long sentence, though he had now locked his eyes on Gwen as she stared into the bowels of the earth. The man did his best not to get distracted by the how the light coming through the strained-glass windows broke upon her hair and face. "You're sorry..."

"Yes." Gwen took a deep breath but failed to meet his gaze. "I'm sorry for snapping at you like that. It was unfair and really... It was really unfair and I should have understood why it wasn't something you were keen on talking about to people, especially from how you had previously mentioned about sleeping in the stables and all that. So I realize now it wasn't the kind of life you would have been comfortable talking about. So, I'm sorry, I... I was a real bitch these past few days haven't I?"

A few seconds passed before Alistair realized that he was staring at Gwen with his mouth open. His jaw snapped shut with more noise than was comfortable but he, thankfully, did not lose his train of thought. "Gwen, are you alright?"

Her dumbfounded expression was a very peculiar answer on her part, so it seemed to the senior warden. Her voice was somewhat rough though. "What, so you're saying I was right to shout at you like some spoiled princess would yell at her servants?" Gwen appeared to realize that she was almost shouting again. "... Sorry. Yes, I'm alright and I said I'm sorry. Will you accept my apologies?"

Alistair had to look at her with a raised eyebrow, though he didn't know why himself. Not really. "Sure... Apology accepted, you know I can never really stay mad at you."

That made her smile and she looked away, but not in time to hide her blush. "Maybe I should learn to be incapable of staying mad at you too."

The templar's chuckle was very adept at dispersing lingering tension. "You seem to be getting it down fairly well, actually."

Gwen scoffed in an almost unlady-like fashion and stood silent for a time. Things wouldn't last, however, because she started fidgeting and tapping with her fingertips against the stone floor.

And she kept tapping, until Alistair couldn't take it anymore and gently took her hand in his. And when she curiously peered at him, he just grinned sheepishly and was going to pull his hand away, only to notice that it was hers that would not let go of his fingers now.

The rest of the routine came almost by itself. Both of them relaxed, and Gwen eventually laid her head on his shoulder, finally falling into a short period of slumber of her own.

"-. .-"

Alim could only stare in awe. Apparently, in his absence, odd things had happened.

Faren embracing Kallian was something he'd personally arranged, so it wasn't surprising.

Gwen sleeping with her head on Alistair's shoulder, and the latter resting his own head on the top of hers, was also not quite as big a surprise.

What was a surprise was the scene unfolding near the middle of that room. Alim stopped dead in his tracks. He had a couple of tomes under his left arm and a staff in his right hand, one he had found in Irving's office (along with a very particular tome with a dead tree on the leather cover) and which was made of silverite, though it didn't really have a very special shape. Still, it would do the job until he got a better one.

The elf began tapping his foot against the floor, finally making himself noticed as Theron, who came behind him, snickered and walked off, doing his best (and almost failing) to suppress his laughter. The long strand of black hair that was not tied up in Alim's long ponytail, and which shrouded a small part on the left side of his face, cast a strange shadow over his emerald green eyes. Alim would have also noticed that Sten, of all people, actually rose an eyebrow at what was happening and kept it up.

At last Wynne heard the other one's foot tapping, so she got up from where she was kneeling beside the still unconscious Warden Commander and turned around. She actually looked a bit spent and massaged her eyes as she approached the blood mage. "Hmm, I think I may have been overexerting myself."

The Grey Warden mage examined her critically. "And **what**, may I ask, were you doing?**"**

The elderly mage was even more dismissive than Alim remembered, though she was still a bit puzzled. "Oh, nothing too serious, I was simply... trying to restore some of his energy but I can't seem to get my spells to work on him for some reason... I even set the sleeve of my robes on fire once, good grief."

There was a pause before the elf broke the silence. "And what, you decided to strip him of his armor and clothes?" Alim emphasized by pointing in the direction of Raonar, who was now lying in a prone position and had no armor (or clothing for that matter) on his entire upper body, as well as his arms.

"Only on his upper half," the woman shot back with her lips puckered. "I thought there was some sort of hidden enchantment on his armor that prevented ay healing or restorative magic from working. I thought direct contact would... ease the process."

There was a long, long exhalation. Then, Alim pressed the issue. "Say I believe you... That still doesn't explain why Leliana is giving him a back rub."

"Hush now," the red-haired chantry sister uttered. "It's just a massage meant to invigorate him. I learned it long ago, in Orlais, when I was still a sp-... before I came to live in the Chantry."

The magus was not convinced so he shook his head in dejection. Objectively, the elf understood the sort of appeal that the dwarf noble's solid mass of muscles could have on a woman. Fade knows he was kept awake many nights by the giggling of this or that female apprentice as they fantasized about 'doing it' with this or that templar. Inevitably, the warriors' well built frames came into discussion when they thought no one was listening. That said, Leliana seemed to be enjoying the act of "massaging" those solid muscles a bit too much. "Life in the Chantry must have been hard. I think I understand Lily a bit better now. You do realize that what you're doing is, technically, sexual harassment, right?"

The bard stopped like a statue for an instant, before slowly drawing her arms away and letting her hands rest on her lap. She did her best to ignore the Dalish hunter's increasingly intense smirking. Of course, the fact that he was leaning against the column behind her made it difficult not to hear, and that only seemed to annoy her until a different side of Leliana surfaced. Her blue eyes seemed to twinkle. "You are jealous, perhaps? Do you, per chance, wish I administered a similar treatment to you as well? I imagine all that submerging your head in books must have left you with a measure of discomfort at the back of your neck, no?"

Unequally raised eyebrows were the only sort of emotional response that was seen on the blood mage's face just then. "Hardly."

"If that technique will more swiftly help the Commander recover, I suggest she be allowed to continue," Sten suggested in his ever, flat tone.

"Let me guess," Alim endeavored. "Because it would best serve our cause to finish this task as efficiently as possible so that we may go back to the dealing with the Blight, am I right?"

"Indeed."

The only Grey Warden mage in Ferelden rubbed his forehead and heaved a sigh. And as he made his way to where Theron was, intent on pursuing what books he had found, he barely heard Wynne's questions about why her magic wasn't working and just absently registered Leliana eagerly resuming her task.

All that remained was to make sure that Raonar wouldn't toss him out the window for letting that awkward situation come to pass. Now then, how could he pin the blame on Alistair?

"-. .-"

After a period of time that no one bothered to measure, Kallian finally got over her emotional upheaval and looked up to see that Faren had dozed off too. He was resting his head against the wall but his arms had somehow retained their secure hold on her.

She now realized that she hadn't been completely aware of what was happening when that horrible nightmare ended. One second she was fighting for her life against an endless horde of hurlocks and genlocks, the Archdemon looming in the background, and the next she was in Faren's arms while she was holding onto him as tight as she could. But what was most interesting was that the first instinct was not to pull away, but to just relax and let him hold her.

She very carefully pulled away, but her movements broke his slumber anyway and his eyes snapped open and locked onto her, his entire expression relaying pure concern, enough that she couldn't help but feel something warm well up inside. Somehow, her fingers ended up on his mouth before he could say anything.

"Shhh, don't say anything," she whispered, nodding her head in the direction of the center of the room.

Faren looked and saw the most peculiar sight made up of a very amused Dalish hunter, who was standing with his back propped against a stone column, a very talkative and elderly Circle mage and a very annoyed Alim Surana who looked like he was on the verge of breaking into a fit of screams because of Wynne's incessant questions. The fact that the elf was trying to read a book was not helping.

The fact that Wynne was asking a former apprentice to explain something to her must also have been driving her mad.

Alistair and Gwen were still apparently sleeping, resting against each other and the wall behind them, to Faren's left, on the other side of the double door. Sten was sitting on what looked like a bench some way off, closer to the room they would go through once they all got their bearings.

Still, the really interesting part was how the so-called exiled dwarven prince was lying on his belly exactly where he had collapsed. He had absolutely no clothing on from the waist up and Leliana was massaging his back.

What happened next would go down in history as one of the most embarrassing things Leliana ever went through in her entire life.

Raonar shifted slightly. "Urhmm... A bit higher, my shoulders still feel a little stiff."

Without realizing it, the bard actually switched from his lower back to his shoulders before her hand motions came to an abrupt stop and she was just dumbstruck. "You... You're awake?"

By now, Alim's head had shot up and he was grinning like mad, much in the same way as the rest of the conscious audience.

But the exile was more put out, at least that's what his groan suggested. "Aww... she stopped. And she even seemed to know what she was doing."

Leliana instantly drew back her hands. "You... You're having me on! How long have you been awake?"

By now, Theron was laughing loud enough to actually cause Alistair and Gwen to stir, and so was Alim, though Wynne seemed to be at a loss. The same could not be said about Faren and Kallian, however.

The stout warrior pushed himself to lie on his side so that he could grin at the Orlesian bard. "I've been awake for a while now."

The blue-eyed cloistered sister instantly jumped to her feet. "How... How inappropriate!"

And she stormed off.

Well, at least as far as the room let her. She ended up taking just a few steps and turning her back on everyone, frowning and crossing both arms in front of her.

Of course, she was still in ear shot of Theron, who was quick to jab at the human woman. "So, you strip him of his clothes and start massaging his back in his sleep, but he's the one who's being inappropriate."

"Granted, Wynne helped with the stripping, but the sentiment is still the same," Alim added.

That easily made Wynne also jump to her feet with a "Hmph!" and also turn her back on everyone.

The Warden Commander was now sitting more or less upright and rubbing his eyes with his knuckles. "Hmm... I was stripped of my armor and clothes, in my **sleep**, by a nun and an old woman, both of which are of a different race than I am. So... am I supposed to end up in any way emotionally scarred for life after this?"

Strangely enough, even Kallian started laughing at that.

It was the elven mage that replied, however. "I'm sure Leliana won't mind as long as your skin remains perfectly unblemished."

"You know I'm right here!" the woman in question protested, though she dared not turn around. "How rude!"

Raonar's shoulder slumped. "Right, you say we're the rude ones, but** I'm** the one that has to put his armor back on... by himself. So thanks for that."

"Come on," Faren intervened as he got up and walked over. "I'll help you so you can let that poor girl blush in peace."

The other one accepted his helping hand to get back up. "Thanks man, you're a real life saver."

It was then that Gwen and Alistair, having at last gotten their bearings, finally joined the conversation. Well, Gwen spoke for both of them. "Uh, we seem to have missed what happened. Can you guys fill us in? I understand it was amusing."

Theron seemed especially eager to amuse himself, even if it was by humoring the curiosity of two shems, mostly because he would get to make fun of two **other** shems, so the deal evened itself out. "After our fearless leader passed out, Well, it goes like this. Wynne and Leliana-"

"I am not listening to this!" the bard gave out, her Orlesian accent conveying her frustration in a very unusual way as she practically strode out the two double doors through which they had come in.

And Wynne shook her head and followed after her, presumably in order to comfort her, though the others suspected she had more selfish reasons to not want to be near that conversation.

"-. .-"

When they all burst in the room prior to the Harrowing chamber, the ten newcomers stumbled upon a very peculiar sight. Trapped inside a cylindrical forcefield, which was a sort of purple-pink in color for some twisted reason, was a lone Templar. He was kneeling in prayer and mumbling something incessantly.

It should probably be noted that the party afforded to barge into the room because Alim sensed no hostiles in there, at least no sort of demonic presence.

And yet, it was the mage himself that was a bit surprised at who his eyes were seeing.

"Cullen?"

The man's head jerked upwards and he stared at the elf for a while before again starting to ramble, something about seeing illusions and demons trying to possess him.

"This man is exhausted," Wynne remarked. "He's been up here for Maker knows how long."

"We can't just leave him here," Leliana agreed.

"Indeed, I imagine you are eager to give him a back rub as soon as possible," Theron deadpanned, much to the woman's chagrin.

"Honestly, that's getting rather old," she shot back, though she failed to conceal her annoyance.

The Warden Commander used common sense and completely ignored the exchange behind him, addressing Alim instead. "You know him?"

The blood mage nodded. "He was one of the novice templars when I was recruited. I also seem to remember he was infatuated with Daria Amell, one of the newest mages. I seem to recall she had her Harrowing just a few night before me."

"Oh, she's dead by now," Cullen moaned. "Or soon will be. No, what am I doing, back demon! I will not give in! Leave me be, foul creatures!"

There was a pause.

"It didn't work, you're still here. But that always works, am I breaking? What kind of demons are yo-"

Before he had a chance to say anything else, Cullen fell unconscious. Everyone present stared at Alim as he shook his hand, so as to get rid of whatever magical energy was left after casting that particularly potent sleep spell on him.

"I hardly think that was necessary!" Wynne let out, remarkably oblivious at how easily Alim bypassed that barrier.

"Hey, you said he was exhausted, so I put him to sleep," the other one shot back with boredom. "Besides, if he makes too much noise, Uldred and whatever goons he has left might hear it and they'd prepare for us."

"Alright," the leader cut in. "On that note, we should get ready. We have the Litany of Adralla, right?"

"Check," Alim confirmed, taking out a piece of parchment and handing it to Wynne. "Since you like to talk a lot, you can handle the mind rape prevention."

"Language!" the elderly woman almost shouted, though she accepted the scroll.

Then, the dwarf noble turned to face his unusual contingent. "From what I understand after discussing with Alim, Uldred will likely be a sort of abomination by now. There will probably be a whole bunch of other, gooey guys like the ones we encountered before too. Now, on a related note, Gwen will be able to confirm that this Uldred was at Ostagar and we have since learned that he was in league with Loghain Mac Tir. Alistair, you can start adding that to your "List of reasons I hate Loghain" later. Anyway, my point is that that mage seemed to have a stick up his rear even then, before the battle, so he'll probably want to enter some stupid villain's monologue. Now, if this were a story, we'd probably end up fighting him and whatever demon he consorted, plus a few mind-controlled mages if anyone screws up reading the Litany.

"But, most importantly, the demon will probably have more power that Sloth."

Everyone visibly tensed, but Alim decided to take the word in order to allay their fears. "Now, calm down. While Sloth was very powerful in the Fade, it was because that place works differently from this world and he was in his own realm, where demons are always at their strongest. Sloth could do little besides trap us in dreams and handle us from there. Now, whatever Demon Uldred flirted with will likely be stronger overall, probably a pride demon. He will be dangerous, but if I were to guess, I'd say the actual fight should be easier than the one in the Fade."

"Which is good because we're tired and running low on poultices," Alistair remarked.

"Now, if worst comes to worst, we'll likely fight a really... big thing. About three to four meters in height that is," said the white-haired warrior. Then he grinned wickedly and began to stroke his beard. "I am, however, planning to not even let it come to that."

"You have something specific in mind?" Kallian asked.

"Oh yes, I **definitely** do."

Drawing Maric's Blade immediately drove the point across for all of them.

"-. .-"

The company of ten arrived in the harrowing chamber, a large, circular hall about as wide as the entire previous level put together, just as Uldred, along with several abomination, turned a mage into one of them with a sort of magical ritual that ominously resembled a thunderstorm. Three participated in the actual turning, while the other five stood aside and waited.

Raonar and Faren walked in front, while Theron, Leliana, Gwen, Sten and Alistair were lined up behind then, along with Wynne, leaving Kallian and Alim at the rear, where they were practically hidden from view.

And, of course, Uldred himself turned to face them as the abominations took their places around him. Irving was standing next to a supporting column some meters to his left, twitching as though he was struggling with something.

Then, the one responsible for all the mess spoke. "Ah, strangers. And even Wynne is with you, how touching. I must say I am surprised you are all still alive, though that means you killed all of my servants. Ah well, better for them to die in the service of their betters that live a life bereft of meaning."

Wynne couldn't stop herself from speaking up. "Uldred, stop what you're doing immediately!" As if it was going to help any.

"Ahem!" the commander stepped in, quickly silencing the woman with a sharp glare before turning to face Uldred again. "So, you're building an army of abominations. I must say it's just a bit more creative than just turning them all into darkspawn. Though you should question the method's effectiveness considering that just the few of us more or less eradicated every single one of them on our way up here."

"Bah!" the man scoffed. he was wearing some robes that seemed a bit too shoddy for a high enchanter and he was as bald, as skinny and as uppity and Raonar, Wynne and Gwen remembered. "Abomination are just the true form of mages. You see, mages are just the larval stage of something greater, something I have mastered. I can offer this to all mages, even Wynne, but she will surely refuse, so says her searing glare. And even if you slew those on your way here, I can always make more, and I'll just have them dominate the rest of the templars and anyone else who gets in my way."

"Yes, about that," the Warden Commander helpfully supplied, twirling his moustache. "I'm afraid the Templars you enslaved are still very much alive and free of the mind domination."

Even Uldred stared in shock at that, but his eyes narrowed as he began to process the information. "How did you... Only very powerful blood magic can counter the work of demons in such a manner. Doing extra studies Wynne? But no matter," he performed a theatrical, dismissive wave and even rolled his eyes before pointing in Irving's direction. "I already have the First Enchanter on my side. Fooling that fool, Greagoir, should come easy after I've dealt with you, isn't that right, Irving?"

"N-Never! You-You must stop him!"

"Tsk tsk tsk, and I thought we were making progress."

"Well," the dwarf noble spoke once more, though he seemed interestingly detached. "I'm afraid I'm here to stop you. We already took care of the other pests, so it would really be in your best interest to just surrender. You're just one man and a few goons. You should know that those abominations you have with you won't be enough to help you win."

The annoyed mage frowned. "Apologies, but I won't allow that. You know not what you face. You are a pain in my side and must be removed before you fester! But killing you would just be a waste. No, with a demon behind your raw potential, you could be unstoppable, my greatest weapon!"

That instant, the abominations around Uldred began to gather magic and Uldred himself bent forward, as though he was commencing some sort of transformation.

Now, from all the books he'd read, about adventures and epic battles, Raonar knew this was the point where the big bad turned into some wicked beast that the heroes would have to valiantly fight and defeat. It would eventually drag out into a battle of epic proportions, during which everyone would be able to test their mettle, find out some sort of special meaning in life and maybe even state an aesop or two. Bonus points if the room got wrecked in the process.

Unfortunately, no one in the group was even inclined towards that kind of fight right now since they had seen more than enough of themselves during that experience in the Fade. Before Uldred had even finished speaking, Faren was already ariborne, having jumped up to catch Maric's Blade, which had been tossed over by Kallian, the others having stepped aside to offer Alim and her a clear line of sight.

A fireball left the tip of Alim's staff and headed quickly straight for Uldred. But even before it exploded, Faren landed on Raonar's leg, which was in the middle of a very powerful horizontal kick, charged with all the power the prince could call from the Fade to back it up.

The fireball exploded, blowing all the abominations away, and a burst of magic propelled Faren forward the very same moment, at a very high speed, his momentum being a perfect combination of the dwarf noble's kick and his own dive.

A few seconds later, Faren landed about three meters behind Uldred and crouched, sliding across the floor for another one meter and a half until he came to a halt, with one hand on the ground to keep his balance and his sword arm outstretched. Maric's Blade extended away from him, at a slight angle upwards. Blood stained it, but before that fluid could gather up and start to fall off the edge, drop by drop, the confused abominations managed to get their bearings and finally realize what had happened.

Uldred's head was still rolling away from his body, said body only now beginning to catch up to the fact that it no longer had a brain to direct it. And once it collapsed in a motionless heap, the minions of that supposedly powerful mage were left completely shocked at how quickly he had been eliminated.

It took about five minutes for all the enemies left to be taken out.

"Alas, dear baldy, thine death was unavoidable!" Raonar theatrically moaned as though he were the main character in a tragedy. He even pressed the back of his right wrist against his forehead after he used his other hand to just pick up Uldred's head and hold it in front of him, as though he were having a solliloquy. "Truly, the most appropriate punishment for a smug villain is a death proportionally anticlimactic to all the damage he caused. Though I admit, this severely downplayed Niall's role in this, since the Litany ended up unnecessary. Regardless, I am quite certain he would approve of your passing either way." He turned to look at everyone else, who were staring at him, with varying degrees of distress at how casually he was holding that head in his palm. "Would you not agree?"

There was a very, very, **very** long pause. So long, in fact, that it became clear no one actually had any sort of reply to that.

So Irving found himself in the position of having to actually point out the obvious fact that he was not feeling very well, since he had a broken rib or two and some pain in his leg.

"Um, friend, I wouldn't want to be a bother after all you've done but... I could really use some assistance here."

Raonar turned his head towards him and his eyebrow rose. Then, he just let Uldred's head fall to the floor with a thump and just clapped his palms against each other a few times, as one would do when dusting off. "Sure, we'll get you and everyone else patched up in a jiffy."

And everyone else decided to put off questioning his sanity and, instead, focus on the relief at not having to fight whatever monster Uldred was about to become.

* * *

_The review space is, of course, still waiting!_


	30. True Respite: Assumptions

Author's note: Yes, I know, it took a long time for this chapter to come out. Internet issues and real life got cluttered.

Still, I scrounged up a special treat for you all. Those interested in what Raonar was like when he was seven, and how he got along with a 10 year-old Trian, might want to take a look at my first one-shot ever, Premeditated. It is part of this same continuity and may shed some light on the protagonist's character.

Of course, you may also want to read it if you like unconventional uses for nugs and seeing all noble house heads covered in a mysterious red fluid. You can find it in my profile page of course.

* * *

**Chapter 29: ****Assumptions**

"-. .-"

_Excerpt from journal of Senior Enchanter Wynne_

_19 Solis, 9:30 Dragon:__ Again I am reminded of how actually getting a chance to write anything down while traveling is proving to be more of a challenge than I suspected. I never thought it would be so difficult to find a suitable sitting position when camping on the side of the road. Also, the fire, while strong, hardly rivals the brightness of the magical lamps in the Circle Tower, so I must write more slowly and carefully, lest I end up leaving behind an illegible mess that even I would have trouble sorting out. But I am getting ahead of myself. First I should recount the events that led to my becoming part of this unusual convoy before my old age catches up to me and I end up doing what old people are best known for, which is losing one's initial train of thought._

_Uldred's mad scheme to turn all mages into abominations was thwarted by the timely arrival of the Grey Wardens. The actual conclusion of that whole ordeal was actually very 'anticlimactic', to use the supposed Warden Commander's own words. I write here 'supposed' for reasons I will go into later._

_While some mages were turned into abominations, most of them, along with the apprentices, were rescued before that mad man had a chance to turn them. It was fortunate that the Wardens reached the Circle so soon after that whole mess began. Uldred had apparently been focusing on turning the more powerful mages first, since he wanted to amass more power quickly. According to Irving, Uldred also said at some point that, once he had enough abominations at his command (and they needed to be strong, hence his targeting of the more accomplished mages) he could start dividing them into groups and twist more mages at once._

_After the Wardens eliminated him in just a few seconds and in what could only be described as a means I would never even have thought about, Irving was able to convince Knight Commander Greagoir that the Circle was safe again. Greagoir was also quite pleased to hear that most of the Templars on the higher levels had even been freed from mind domination._

_I decided to withhold whatever... misgivings I have with Alim Surana's... unusual methods after a rather... straightforward, for lack of a better word, private speech on the part of the so-called Warden Commander. In the end, I was forced to admit that, had Alim not possessed his special knowledge, we would have likely had to kill every single templar we encountered on our way up the tower. I still have reservations towards Alim and I will keep a close eye on him for as long as I, Irving and the other mages accompany the Wardens and their assistants. So long as he does not get to make the decisions, I will not be against the Mages' collaboration with the Grey Wardens._

_And so comes the issue of how I ended up accompanying this strange band of travelers. Once Irving got better and finished sorting things out with Greagoir, we finally learned that the Grey Wardens had actually come to the tower seeking the mages' help to exorcise a small boy in Redcliffe. It is strange how such a case of demon possession can be seen as the indirect fortune for the rest of us. Granted, the Treaty presented to us, and which demands our assistance against the Blight, may have led the Wardens to our door all the same, but there is no guarantee they would have arrived in time to actually save the mages._

_It is with great misgivings that I am forced to consider this Connor's possession an indirect contributing factor to our salvation. I dare say the Right of Annulment would have been the only other possible outcome. That or Uldred's scheme would have succeeded._

_It took a couple o days for Irving and the others to fully recover and prepare for the journey. So now we are bound to reach Redcliffe Castle on the morrow, where we will perform a ritual and send one mage into the Fade to fight off whatever demon is possessing that poor child. But as we travel, I suppose I will take the time to perhaps get to know these Wardens better and see if they require any assistance. They all seem so young and inexperienced, and their 'helpers' are a colored bunch. I am especially suspicious of this Morrigan character, and slightly wary of Shale and Sten, though the latter seems more stoic than antisocial. At least this girl, Leliana, seems pleasant enough._

_Still, I find that these seven Wardens themselves are more than interesting._

_Alistair seems like a fine young lad. A bit childish perhaps, but his heart is in the right place and he is around the same age as my son would be about now. He seems to like making jokes about everything, though I wonder why he feels the need to deflect questions with humor._

_I was a bit surprised to learn that the lady which Alistair spends most of his time around is, by all accounts, the heir to the Cousland line. Gwenith I believe her name was. I will attempt to learn just what circumstances led to her becoming a Grey Warden. From what I can gleam, they weren't pretty. it would also be a shame for her to start down an unfortunate path because of a misfortune pileup and no one to offer any sort of guidance._

_Kallian looks like a fine girl. I must admit, while I was hailed as a least mildly attractive at her age, I doubt I could have matched her. On the other hand, she seems unusually subdued at times. I wonder just what kind of dream she had back at the tower, and if that's the only reason for how closed off she has been these past days. My questions regarding the subject were met with either refusal to respond or answers vague enough to not transmit any information, though enough to suggest it was probably worse than the illusion I was trapped in. Pity that such a young flower would go through such a disturbing experience at the age of only 18._

_The red-haired dwarf. Faren was it? Dwarves have such unusual names. Still, he appears to be a fine young man, especially mindful of Kallian's wellbeing. I cannot help but feel there is something brewing between those two, though one may say that the scene immediately after Kallian's awakening from that nightmare was a clear signal of that. On the other hand, those odd... chain-linked daggers of his, and his hidden blades make him something of an oddity. There was one thing I noticed, however. I waited until he was more or less in high spirits before I got into a conversation with him. When I asked him about that tattoo on his face, and if it meant anything, he seemed to actually wince and promptly excused himself. _

_That other dwarf was around and simply told me never to mention it in front of him, especially when he's in a good mood. My questions about it were met with no answer, except that he'll ask him if it's 'ok to tell me.'_

_The Dalish elf, Theron, is especially solitary, though he was not actually reluctant to speak to me. More like he had no qualms about being as blunt as possible and apparently completely honest, as long as I did not demand any lengthy sentences from him. From what I gathered, he doesn't like humans much and is only doing his best to stop the Blight because he owes it to someone to make sure the taint doesn't harm anyone ever again. As expected, he did not speak more on that subject._

_And now, for the two that have given me the most conflicting feelings._

_Alim Surana. He was Irving's prized pupil, much in the way that Daria Amell was. Hmm, it seems that the two of them are actually having a conversation right this moment, since she volunteered to assist in the exorcism, though I think she just jumped at the chance to be away from the tower for once. I wonder if she knows of his being a Blood Mage. I honestly don't know what to make of him. I have no idea how long he has known blood magic, since it is practically impossible for him to have gained all of its secrets in the two months since he's drafting into the Grey Wardens, especially considering that he has had barely any chance to study any tomes not found in the Circle library itself. _

_Had he been part of Uldred's Blood Mage cartel prior to that fiasco with Jowan? Did he learn blood magic on his own somehow? Regardless, I do not really trust him, though he did free all those Templars, even though most mages would have jumped at the chance to be rid of them altogether. On the other hand, being able to counter demonic mind control means his knowledge of the forbidden arts is of the highest caliber, likely on par with that of Tevinter Magisters, if not higher. If he is such a prodigy, I can only wonder why he concealed his talent over the past few years. What are his goals I wonder..._

_I am still a bit put out at how easily I was fooled by that demon's illusion and at the fact that it was Alim, of all people, that snapped me out of it. I was, on the other hand, surprised at how Alim so bluntly asked me if what Petra spoke of, that fight with a demon, left me more injured than I let on. Apparently, me being fooled by a demon so easily struck a cord as to how I am still alive now... He is certainly very perceptive._

_And now, for the Warden Commander himself. _

_I never thought I'd say this, but trying to figure him out has given me more of a headache than Alim has. Besides the fact that Raonar is one of the strangest names I ever came upon (and my tongue hurts if I repeat it too many times), I haven't actually been able to get a feel of his personality. Actually, it's more like he doesn't have a personality at all. His attitude seems to change according to whatever situation he finds himself in. I remember how he made light of my threat to strike him down if he moved against the apprentices when he and the others stumbled upon the room I had sealed with barriers, to keep the monsters at bay. It's not that he tried to ridicule me, more like he couldn't help himself from stating the obvious fact that I would have stood no chance against them, even with the aid of Petra and the other two mages there._

_Later, he turned contemplative, of all things, when faced with revenants and abominations, as well as shades and other creatures form the Fade. His comment before and after battles seemed to suggest he was more interested in how the Veil worked instead of being in the least afraid, or at least nervous when those things engaged us. He also displayed some unusual abilities that could only be magical. This was especially odd, since he was not only a non-mage, but dwarves should be completely incapable of magic. I will have to ask him about it soon, I am afraid my curiosity won't let me sleep otherwise. I assume his white hair and eyes are tied to whatever gave him this power._

_Then, there was the matter of that speech he gave me, the one that dissuaded me from trying to "rat out Alim to Greagoir for having used his blood magic to save more people than all the other mages put together would have been capable of" as the dwarf said it. I relented not so much because he made good points, but because I was amazed at how he actually managed to get me to listen to a lecture... That hasn't happened to me since before I took on my first apprentice, which was decades ago._

_Finally, the way he so casually played with Uldred's head was... disturbing to say the least. While I admit that dying in such an anticlimactic way was fitting for Udred, the memory of Raonar acting the tragic mourner while holding Uldred's head in his palm still makes me shudder. How in Thedas did he actually get to be the leader of Ferelden's Grey Wardens after the tragedy at Ostagar I have no idea. I can only hope that apparent insanity was just that: apparent._

_Another reason I am wary of him is that he seems to confide in Alim Surana quite a bit, even in spite of the latter's belligerent use of blood magic. It was also interesting how those two were able to locate each other even in the Fade._

_In the end, however, I still can't seem to get a feel of what he is underneath his continually shifting exterior. The only unarguable fact about him is that he seems to have a firm control over this group of his. Whatever orders I have witnessed him give so far were followed immediately, during or out of battle alike. He also seems to stay level under duress, as though he has seen many battles already. I wonder where that discipline comes from. _

_But what most interests me is the nagging feeling that there is something I'm missing..._

"Writing a journal eh?"

Wynne almost jumped out of her skin and she was startled enough that her tome almost flew into the fire.

And there was much heavy breathing and heart pounding before the old woman could speak again. "By the heavens, you startled me. You shouldn't sneak up on people like that."

The Warden Commander set himself in a cross-legged position next to where she was sitting alone by the fire. "I didn't sneak, you were just completely immersed in your writing. You really should be careful not to lose track of your surroundings out on the road. It's not safe."

Wynne found herself scoffing. "Well, pardon me for actually finding some use in recording my thoughts and opinions."

"Hey, I'm just saying you shouldn't lose track of what's happening around you. I never said having a journal is bad. I mean, I used to have one too, until about a couple of years ago."

"Oh?" Wynne was beginning to think maybe he wasn't so hopeless after all. "Why did you stop?"

The dwarf noble contemplated his apple (he seemed to be eating those a lot lately) as he gave his answer. "It became... dangerous."

One of the woman's eyebrows rose immediately. "I'm not sure I understand."

"Orzammar isn't exactly a place where you can easily keep your thoughts hidden, especially if you write them down, what with all the spies and assassins and whatnot."

There was a pause, during which Wynne was wondering how on Thedas he could speak so casually about such a serious subject. "Oh my, is life there truly so complicated?"

He gave a deep sigh. "You have no idea. Assassination, blackmail, they happen constantly there. Basically, everything goes as long as it's not out in the open... Even fratricide, among other things."

Now Wynne was really horrified and was starting to wonder just how this young man with hair even whiter than hers had fit in that society. "That description is... very unsettling."

"I know." The other said. He also gave her some time to rub her forehead, as she seemed to be coming down with a headache.

"I mean," she went on, "I did get a feeling of that sort, but not very strong. I once went to Orzammar and it seemed like a very grand place, if a bit isolated from the rest of the world. I did not actually see any obvious evidence of people seeking each other's deaths. I was far younger then, however so I suppose I may have been somewhat more preoccupied with the magnificence of the city and my appointed task than with what went on beneath the appearances."

The commander turned his heads and gazed at her shrewdly, though she did not understand that look. "When was this?"

"Ah, it was long ago, when King Maric was still alive, though I might say I was already past my youth even then. I was sent there as part of a group of healers, the head in fact."

"Healers went to help the dwarves? The Circle of Magi hardly does anything without the Chantry's specific say so if I remember right, and it deals with Orzammar even less, since we are, as your revered mothers are so fond of saying, godless heathens."

Wynne decided to ignore that last jab. "We were given special dispensation by King Maric to answer the call of the Dwarven King Endrin. His firstborn son had suffered a serious accident and he requested the aid of the best healers available on such short notice."

"I see..." Raonar bit on his apple again, his expression carefully blank, except for a small twitch on the corner of his mouth. "So it was serious, eh?"

"Yes. There was little doubt his life could be saved, but it was not a given that he would make a full recovery. The accident had left him with a broken arm and rib, and his spine had been damaged quite severely. We never were given the specifics of the accident itself, and got no explanation as to why. Still, it was a miracle his spine hadn't actually broken outright. He was remarkably sturdy for a ten year-old."

"Was he now? So, in your mind, that visit to Orzammar remained a sort of test for your healing abilities?"

"Oh no," Wynne shook her head and smiled, something akin to amusement finally showing. "While I and my colleagues did have to put our best into the healing act itself, the bigger headache, for me personally, came when I was supposed to make the actual diagnostic."

"How so?" The dwarf's expression showed only casual curiosity.

"The prince's little brother was a real devil. The palace guard walked with me up until the final corridor that led to the room in question. After that, I went there alone. That was when he struck."

"Struck?"

"Well, by the time I had reached the other end of the hall, I had fallen prey to two tripwires, one falling bucket of water and one of my own spells that was supposed to have temporarily dazed the child but ended up reflecting off a polished ornamental suit of armor straight into my eyes."

There was a pause.

"You're telling me that you got your ass handed over to you by a seven year-old?"

"I did not!" the woman protested with a frown. "I admit I may have been unprepared for his tricks but I could not just very well start casting every spell I knew on the son of the dwarven king in the heart of his own palace."

"That sounds like such an excuse," the commander observed neutrally, much to the woman's annoyance. "And you actually fell to TWO tripwires? Anyway, how did it turn out in the end? Was he just your average evil, screwed up brat?"

The woman gave a sigh. "No. Actually, after that whole mess, he tripped on some stairs and hurt his arm. And when I healed it, he brightened up and explained why he had pranked me... and I dare say I have never heard anything more unusual since."

"Oh?"

"Apparently, it was all a test. He said that he could be sure now that I wasn't a threat to his big brother because I was a 'nice witch lady', as he put it, if I still decided to heal his arm after he put me through all that hell."

"... riiiight. And what, you believed him?"

"Well, I wasn't sure at first, but the way he behaved around his elder brother after that, and the scene that happened later that evening, left me with the certainty that he did actually mean well, in his own, twisted way."

The commander stopped chewing for some reason and looked a bit worried. Then, he looked at her with narrowed eyes. "What scene?"

"I was going to check up on the firstborn prince a second time but that prankster was in his room, so I waited by the door for a while."

Wynne missed how the corner of the other one's mouth twitched. "You mean you spied on them?"

"Hardly..." The raised eyebrow on the man's face made it clear she was not convincing at all. "Alright, perhaps I did, but I suppose I couldn't help myself because it was all very touching, seeing that lad crying on the side of the bed and his older brother trying to comfort him, even though he was the one in more pain."

Wynne really was asking herself why the dwarf was now glaring at her.

Fortunately, after a while, the stout warrior resumed his chewing and stopped staring at her, though his frown did not abate. "That still doesn't explain why you find it so unbelievable that Orzammar is such a backstabber's nest."

"Hmm, I suppose it doesn't," the mage admitted. "I do wonder what became of those children, however. It would be a shame if their lives were destroyed by what you say is common there."

The other one threw what was left of his apple away and poked at the fire with a stick, to stir the embers. "They grew up, like everyone else. The second eldest eventually became more loved and respected by the people. This, among other things, led to a sort of rivalry with Trian that eventually degenerated into hostility soon after the poisoning of their mother, the queen."

Wynne was gaping already. The queen had been poisoned?

"The second son kept gaining popularity until rumors arose that he would be elected king instead of Trian. Then, on the day when he took charge of his first military command, he was found standing over what was established as his brother's corpse. I said established because it was burned beyond the point where it could be recognizable. The prince was later pronounced guilty of having murdered him."

"Slow down!" the mage pleaded in astonishment. "This all is unbelievable! How could those two have gotten to the point where they would kill each other?"

"Well, people change," the dwarf said with a casual wave of his hand. "And the supposedly guilty one apparently didn't even try to persuade the deshyrs of his innocence when called to stand trial."

"What?"

"You heard me."

"I... this is all so..."

"His punishment was being forced to walk the Deep Roads, fighting darkspawn until killed, only that's not exactly what happened to the guy."

That definitely got the old woman's attention. "No? Well, what did he do?"

"He was found by the Grey Wardens and recruited into their order."

There was an uneasy silence.

Then, the short individual turned his piercing gaze towards her and she knew she was probably looking both stupefied and a little horrified. Her stuttering definitely confirmed her unease. "You... you're..."

"I suppose you not remembering my name and the fact that my hair and eyes are different can be seen as an excuse for not putting the pieces together before now."

"Incredible... You mean you just played dumb through my entire 'tale' just now?"

"Not really. After all, how else could I have known for sure that the one that handed your ass to you was seven years-old? You're the one that wasn't perceptive enough. What I am more interested in, however, is what you're going to do now that you know why I'm no longer in Orzammar."

Wynne decided to give him a piercing glare of her own. "You haven't really denied anything. Did you actually perform such a callous act?"

"Heh. Now that would be telling. Sorry, but very few people know the answer to that question. Make of that what you will. I think I'd much rather let you wonder about that as you stay up at night."

With that, the so-called Warden Commander got up and left, apparently in the direction of Sten, who seemed to be having some sort of 'discussion' with the black mabari war hound.

And all that Wynne could actually do after that was wonder if she actually really knew what she'd gotten herself into when she decided to help with Connor's exorcism.

"-. .-"

Faren was more than a little glad to be away from the Circle Tower. If he was ever going to see another demon or abomination it would be too soon. There was also the issue of what had happened to Kallian and how Raonar and Alim had seemed to take that whole matter very seriously. At least she had managed to go to sleep easily enough, though there was hardly any guarantee she wouldn't wake up screaming because of another nightmare. Still, the fact she could close her eyes at all was enough to give the castless rogue a little peace of mind while he sorted out what else he wanted to do.

Now where was that guy? Ah yes, talking to Sten and... the dog... This should be interesting. Strange things never end it seems.

Faren reached Raonar's side just as Sten and Rinne were finishing growling at each other. It looked like they were testing each other's valor, though less perceptive people would have found it all a bit silly. Oddly enough, Sten ended up praising the mabari's bravery and actually smiled, or was it just an impression?

"Good girl!" the dwarf noble earnestly praised his hound as he pat her on the head after Sten had left. "Now go and play with Theron's wolf a little. He seems a bit reclusive so try to make him socialize a little, alright? We can't have our dear Dalish hunter passing on his apathy to his animal companion too."

"You know I'm right here," the elf in question complained from one of the branches of the grand oak he had decided to climb in. Since the convoy had made camp in a place with fairly many big trees, the elf had decided to enjoy himself as best he could, and what better way than being above everyone else, literally?

"Yes, and I stand by my words that you're a bit too apathetic, though I suspect it's just a cover for your whole disapproval of everything that's happened since you got near that mirror," the white-haired one hypothesized with a shrug of both shoulders.

"Yes yes, thank you kindly for reminding me of that particularly glorious day."

Since that had been a deadpan, Faren felt impressed with Theron's skill at covering up for grief with dry wit. It also managed to lift his spirits a notch, enough to finally gather enough courage to say what he wanted.

"Hey man, I uh... want to talk to you."

Raonar glanced at him with a raised eyebrow and clapped his hands together several times, as if dusting them off. "Hmm? Oh, it's you. Sure."

"In private..."

"As I said, sure," he repeated, squinting both eyes as he led the duster away from camp. "How long will it take?"

"..."

"Don't look at me like that, I just want to know what kind of spot I should look for, that's all," the noble explained, somewhat put out.

"Spot?"

"Well if you had a tale that took hours to tell, you wouldn't want to stand on your feet the whole time, right?"

Faren supposed that made sense. "Oh, so that's what it was. I'm not sure how long it'll take really."

The other one said nothing more but didn't stop either while he actually led the redhead through a thicket, until they reached what looked like a pond. There, he sat down and leaned against a stump, gesturing for the brand to do the same. "I asked Theron to look for a nice, private spot for me earlier, just in case."

"You said it again," Faren cautioned as he sat down next to him. "Just in case."

The commander went through a whole set of different facial expressions before settling on a perfectly blank look. "Alim also said he didn't like it when I say that."

"Probably because you usually say it when you think something bad might happen... and then it does end up happening."

"It didn't **always** happen... not really."

"Well, let's have a recap then, about when you said just in case." The rogue began to use the fingers on his hand to count the occasions he was about to enumerate. "When you gave me that potion after you bailed me out of the dungeon. I get that you also said it when you prepared that fire bomb that helped the whole framing fiasco. Then you divided the treaties in Ostagar, 'just in case' Loghain happened to abandon us. Oh, and let's not forget how you wished me a happy birthday, just in case you didn't catch up to us by 'next month.'"

"You see! It didn't always come to pass after all!" the exile said enthusiastically.

The pause that followed was remarkably weird, until Faren just blurted out something by reflex. "Are you deaf or something?"

"That last bit, maybe you forgot but I actually **did** catch up to you by 'next month.' Just not before your birthday."

There was another pause.

"Damn! Why do you **always** get to be the one who has a point?"

"Funny, Alim asked me that very same thing too. Well, I suppose I **could** act stupid if you guys really wanted. Trian used to say I had a real talent at playing stupid, when we were kids that is."

Faren noticed that the one beside him was looking particularly wistful just now. "Well, I'm not sure about acting stupid, but I can honestly say that you're at least an expert at acting crazy. You can take the Uldred head monologue as exhibit A."

The other dwarf shot him a betrayed look. "Cute. Brutal honesty is it? And your vocabulary seems to be gaining big words now too. I take it you spent some time looking through those books in the Circle's many libraries? You must have really been bored. Ah well, if it's going to be like that, I suppose I should steel myself for what you want to speak to me about. So, what is it?"

Again the duster was amazed at how instantly he could cut shift from rambling to the main point. "Right... It's about that... dream of mine that you... broke. About what I wanted to tell you before you told me to think about it first... in that Fade thing."

"I thought as much." The exiled prince turned somewhat somber. "Are you sure you want to tell **me**?"

Faren didn't quite understand why he had stressed that last word. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He took a deep breath. "Look, I know we've been watching each other's backs for a while now, and I appreciate that you feel like you can trust me but... I just don't want you to rush into things. I wouldn't want you to regret telling me this later."

"Hmm, that sounds a lot like your usual routine when you prepare for all sort of crazy shit," the castless aid with a nod. "Except for one thing."

"And that thing is..."

"You didn't say 'just in case'."

There was an odd silence, pierced only by the sound of a cricket.

"Drat. I was caught," the noble deadpanned.

"Is there any... particular reason I wouldn't want to trust you with this?" Faren knew he sounded skeptical, but he supposed he should be, given the circumstances and that guy's tendency to see things as more serious than they were... usually.

"Well, actually, there is," he admitted, faster than the red-haired bruiser expected... which was worrisome "But before you ask, I'm not going to tell you what it is. Someday, I probably will, but when I do... you might end up hating me. So you'll understand if I want to delay this as much as possible."

The redhead's eyebrow threatened to go up to the top of his skull. "That sounds a bit far-fetched. What could you have done that would make **me** of all people hate you, after everything that's happened?"

"You do realize I just said I wouldn't tell you, right?"

Faren groaned. "You're so difficult sometimes."

"Just sometimes? That's got to be the best compliment I've gotten all day," the prince said merrily, as though the prospect of Faren eventually hating him did not weigh on him in the slightest. Of course it was an act, but it was still odd.

So the rogue gave out a shriek of exasperation before silence fell between them again. And they just sat there for a time, throwing pebbles into the pond and disturbing some of the small evening insects that flew near the water's surface (Faren had still not managed to go past the point where every new thing caused excitement to well up inside him). Then, when the moon had gone high up into the sky, the duster figured he may as well just take a chance and see how things would end up. He supposed he never expected this to be simple anyway. In the end, if what that guy just said was true and he did have some secret that may offend him that badly, then at least he had been upfront about it, which meant that he had no intention of abusing his trust.

But it was the former noble that spoke. "It's getting late. Maybe we should go back."

"No... I've decided. I still want to talk to you about it."

And that was the first time ever that the duster had actually seen pure wonder in that so-called noble's eyes. And there was enough of it that he almost forgot the weird color that those irises had.

"But what if you end up regretting it?" Raonar finally asked, staring at the small stone that he was still fiddling with.

"Honestly... I think that if what you're not telling me is really so bad, then there's more than just selfish convenience that's keeping you from talking to me about it."

"What if you're wrong and I **am** just being selfish?"

"Honestly man, after everything I've seen you do, I'm pretty sure your definition of 'selfish' is one I haven't heard yet because nothing you did so far fits mine. And besides, what about what **I** have to say? You think it's something I'm especially proud of?"

"I doubt you have any foolish pride to speak of, really," the exile almost whispered, causing the other dwarf to actually stare ahead blankly. "Fine, if this is what you really want, then I'm more than willing to listen."

"Ye ancestors! Finally he stops rambling!" uttered the duster, imitating the overly theatrical moaning that Raonar himself displayed upon Uldred's swift defeat.

"-. .-"

Alistair was sure of one thing, and that was more or less directly related to the way he was fidgeting now.

It was past noon. They had arrived back at Redcliffe Castle several hours earlier, at which point the mages were quick to begin preparations for the ritual of exorcism. The ones that came were First Enchanter Irving, High Enchanter Wynne, Petra, Kinnon and one Daria Amell, whom Alim appeared to have known prior to his leaving the tower. At least that's what was suggested by how they spent practically the entire journey talking to each-other. Well, when Alim wasn't having whispered conversations with that white-haired dwarf that is, or when he disappeared with Morrigan to who know where during the evenings.

Anyway, Teagan and Isolde were obviously overjoyed to see them return, and glad that it had all only taken several days. They were, of course, quite distressed when told of what had transpired, and Isolde obviously felt that the ordeal could be seen as more proof that she had cause to not want Connor going to Kinloch Hold. Alistair was again reminded of why he did not like the woman.

At all.

Fortunately, the so-called warden commander promptly cut them all off and practically ordered everyone to shut up and let the mages prepare their components and spells. Then, when the decision came to decide who was going into the Fade, Teagan and Irving were surprisingly eager to have Raonar make the choice. Needless to say, Alim was the one that was singled out, and the elf was quite quick in complying.

And while Alistair did not really know **how** long the whole thing was supposed to take, he was definitely feeling as though it was taking too long.

Of course, there was another reason. With all the trouble in the Circle Tower, the mages were only able to scrounge up enough lyrium for a single ritual. Alim had seemed quite confident in his abilities, but if he were to fail, things would go bad fast. Jowan's blood magic ritual could supposedly be used if the first way should fail, but the demon would likely not give them that chance and, instead, possess Connor immediately and attack them all.

So the senior Grey Warden was now sitting in a chair that he had brought and placed in the hallway right ahead of the entrance to the room where Connor was, while Gwen was sitting in her own chair not too far from him. They had been prohibited from entering by the dwarf noble, who had only let Isolde go in, so as to give the boy a mother's embrace while that entire process lasted. As for he himself, the commander had actually sat down in a meditative posture and entered a sort of trance that, as he said it, would let him 'know if the Demon tried to cross the veil over to this side, just in case Alim ran into any trouble.'

Said trance came accompanied by the appropriate magical manifestations, in this case subtle rays of light practically coming out through his skin, at least as far as most people could tell. Alistair's sixth sense as a Templar let him detect the pulse of magical energy that periodically came out of that guy as he sat there motionless. He suspected it was more or less similar to his usual bad effect on spellcasting, only stronger and better directed.

Faren and Theron had stayed behind in the village, along with Sten and Shale. The dwarf rogue had gone to Owen's blacksmith shop to get his wrist blades adjusted better, while Theron was looking to restock his supply of arrows and spare arrowheads. Sten was also going to have to be present for the maintenance of his own armor, since whatever changes had to be sure not to make the armor unwearable by him. Considering that the blacksmith daughter, Valena, had been rescued in one piece, the man was quite eager to assist in any way he could. And this all came in addition to how he had agreed to just repair all of their equipment almost free of charge.

Morrigan had gone off somewhere by herself again, while Leliana had gone to the treasury, to get whatever gold was available, with Teagan's permission. It was, after all, going to aid the cause of the Grey Wardens.

As for Kallian, she had only said that she was a bit tired, and wasn't feeling particularly well either, something about a headache. So she had gone off to a dormitory to sleep it off.

And still, Alistair was fidgeting, though he was doing his best not to be overly obvious about it. He really hoped this would work. He didn't want Arl Eamon to end up losing his son over all this, and even though he had little love for Isolde, he didn't want Eamon to lose his wife either. And he had to admit that a small part of him wanted to know just what was going on in the Fade.

He didn't know that that last wish of his was actually going to be fulfilled, but his attention was suddenly drawn by what felt like a sudden spike in the magical charge of the chamber ahead.

He jumped to his feet, which was far easier now that he was wearing regular clothes instead of armor (they had acquired a set of Templar armor, but it was at Owen's for maintenance), and practically barged into the room, only for his eyes to see a most unusual magical spectacle.

The white-haired dwarf was on his feet now, though his eyes were closed and his head was bowed, while his palms clasped to each other in front of him, high enough that they were just below his face. The magical aura around him was brighter than what he had so far displayed and the air seemed unusually thick. Alistair could only stare in confusion and awe as Gwen also burst in and stopped just beside the other human.

"Mother, what's happening?" Connor asked in fear, though his eyes were shut, meaning that whatever was troubling him was not what seemed to be occurring visually. He and Isolde, who had knelt beside him and was holding him in her arms, were now at the edge of the room, near the door to where Jowan's old books were kept.

It was the commander that answered. "The Veil is growing thinner. The demon is getting desperate."

No sooner had he finished that utterance that a strange light filled the whole chamber for a brief instant, before it only partially died down, the rest causing everything in sight to become blurred and twisted as visions and images from another place became superimposed on reality. Colors became shapes with shimmering contours and the illusion stabilized with an audible humming, until the sounds and sight of a fierce battle became more than obvious.

The first thing everyone saw was an explosion of white and gold. The blast left behind a white mist that dispersed quite quickly, revealing an apparently irate desire demon, complete with her horns and whip-like tail. She was floating in the air and gathering magic with both of her hands. Her act was interrupted when a stone missile slammed straight into her forehead and shattered into pieces, though not before knocking her to the ground.

She recovered quickly enough, but one of her horns had been broken at the very base and was now on the ground. Her only reaction was a sneer, but her attacker, clad in partially shredded robes of perfect black, gave himself no such reprieve and made a point of lunging the tip of his twin-headed dragon staff straight in her direction.

The bolt of lightning struck her head-on, but she managed to cross her arms in front of her face and conjure up a shimmering shield that absorbed most of the damage. Then, she countered with a ball lightning of her own that was barely dodged by the elf, though it still discharged randomly and affected him somewhat as he rolled to the side and came up on one knee.

The next exchange was more direct. She practically charged him and morphed her right hand into a twisted, oversized limb with long, sharp claws. The other one brought his staff up to guard, stopping her thrust, after which his eyes started to shine outright, a shade of bright blue, as he pushed his magic into the weapon, changing it into electricity that went directly into the Fade spirit.

She drew back with a scream, lightning visibly crackling through and around her, but Alim was more or less out of breath so he failed to make the best of that moment of vulnerability. So he drew on the power from a nearby lyrium vein while the demoness summoned two rage demon thralls to aid her in her struggle.

They lasted a mere instant, however, for the mage lift his staff high, and a wave of frost left his body in all directions, freezing them, even though they were technically made of fire. And when they had been dispatched, he glared at that female-looking thing one last time before he discarded his staff altogether and struck his fist against the 'ground' with all his might, causing it to split open and have veritable rocks and spikes jump out of it from directly beneath his enemy.

Her body was almost mangled, but she invoked her last reserves and destroyed the stones. But all that which she had left to try was concentrate the entirety of all her remaining strength into one final spell, a maneuver which her foe was more than willing to mirror.

There was a sudden flash of light, bright enough to almost seem blinding, and whatever screams may or may not have been uttered were completely covered up by the raw barrage of noise that the violent collision produced. And at the end of it, after the dust settled and the smoke cleared. what was left was an apparent crater, in the middle of which were to figures.

One was a battered desire demon, kneeling and with her upper body leaning slightly backwards, on the verge of collapsing outright. But shimmering chains suddenly burst out of the ground and gathered around her arms and legs, as well as her neck, so as to hold her in place and to force her to face the one she had been defeated by.

As for what the other figure was it would have been hard to tell for sure if those looking upon that unnatural vision had not already known who it was. His face was invisible, shrouded in a deep shadow cast by his black cowl, and his robes had become a mass of rags that flapped eerily in an unfelt breeze. His arms could not be seen as they hung to his sides, as the long sleeves, now torn and ripped into messy strands, reached far lower than the tips of his fingers.

He was like a dark specter, a black shadow that was staring down at that demon that had possessed that boy. That demon which was now immobile and outright horrified at how helpless she had come to be in the core of her own realm. And her eyes only widened as the one who had invaded her realm finally moved again.

His right arm rose to the side, until it took a position that seemed to suggest it was holding and leaning to something at the same time. Then, lightning sprung from the ground beside him, and came up, concentrating in the shape of what looked like a staff, except for the odd, horizontal, bent handle at the middle. And the answer as to what that thing actually was came when the long and ominous blade of the scythe formed right above of the executioner's head.

Then, the dark specter slowly titled his head to the side, eyes like green flames finally piercing from beyond the darkness, and his other arm came and grabbed the handle of what he had just created. It was no weapon. It was an executioner's tool, made of energy pure and focused enough that there was little doubt it would be able to permanently rend the being of that demon asunder.

The cold, dark man's scythe followed its natural purpose and came forward in a horizontal swipe that cut so deep and quickly that the halves of the demon's body were severed instantly, only for the electricity to disintegrate whatever remained. And all that was left after that was a black, ragged-looking thing, holding a scythe in the middle of a crater that had also been practically cut in half by the strength behind that cut.

The vision ended along with the remains of that place, for nothing in the Fade can outlive its maker.

And when it was over, the room was normal again, populated by a scared mother that was covering her child's eyes and ears as best she could, as well as a dwarf and two humans, one of which, the woman, was still staring blankly, awed by what she had just seen. As for Alistair, he found that he would soon find out if there are any nightmares that can be worse that those given by the Archdemon.

Because he had just seen a demon powerful enough to raise an undead army being coldly executed by the Grim Reaper.

But the stunned silence was finally broken by the noticeably strong voice of a very angry exiled prince of the dwarves.

"That does it! Wait till I get my hands on him!"

Alistair, Gwenith and Isolde, who was still covering Connor's eyes and ears with her hands, could only look on in confusion as the stout warrior made his way out of that room and towards the castle's main floor with very hurried steps.

"-. .-"

This was not what Alim had expected to be greeted by once he successfully dispatched that demon. He would have thought he would be met by cheers, or at least some praise for a job well done. Instead, right after his soul returned to his body, the Warden Commander practically barged into that meeting chamber, grabbed him by the wrist somewhat painfully and more or less dragged him away, even as all the mages, plus Bann Teagan and the knights, stared at them.

And he kept walking and pulling him along until they reached a sort of bedroom, at which point the dwarf shoved him over to one chair.

Presently, the white-haired one was glaring at him quite intensely. "What the hell was **that**?"

Alim was pretty sure he had no idea what that was supposed to mean but he wasn't particularly distressed either. He was just really confused.. "I am... not following."

The dwarf pressed his fingers against the bridge of his nose, as though he was trying to stay civil. This was especially unusual, since Alim couldn't really remember any time he lost his temper for real...

... except against Isolde about a week before.

"Alim, you were just in the Fade right?"

"Yes," the elf answered coolly.

"And, that means that you practically entered Connor's dream, yes? Since that's where that demon was."

"Yes."_ Where is he going with this?_

"So tell me then," the exile demanded as he met the other pair of eyes directly. "Since when is it a good idea to impersonate death incarnate when inside a child's dream?"

There was a pause, and an elf that was blinking in something akin to bewilderment.

But the other one started on him again, fuming as he said each word. "Look, I get that you hate demons, and that you make a point of destroying them in the most gruesome of ways, but do you realize just how emotionally scarring something like this can be to a kid like him? That boy was practically witnessing **every sodding moment** of that fight you and that demon bitch had! Did you **have** to go all "I am become Death, destroyer of worlds" at the end? I'll be surprised if he doesn't end up psychologically marred for life! Some rescue, having your savior be scarier than the demon that possessed you to murder a castle's worth of people and turn them into mad zombies! At least if you had managed to come up with a memory wipe spell, this could have been more easily 'fixed' but you didn't."

Alim would have realized that this was probably the most brutal tongue lashing he had ever experienced. He didn't immediately see that, however, because he was too busy being taken aback at what his 'playing around' had led to. That playing the Grim Reaper thing at the end had been just a whim, since he really wanted to see that thing experiencing what 'turning the tables' meant. That and he couldn't have really helped the ragged look of his robes, not really.

But suddenly, something struck him. "Wait... how do you even know what happened there?"

"Hmpf! The Veil weakened enough that everyone in that room, me, Alistair, Gwen, Isolde, all of us could damned well see you two **and **that place you were fighting in! Sure, Isolde did her best to cover Connor's eyes and ears, but we both know that was useless, since he was practically seeing and feeling it all because it was his own bloody dream that it was all happening in!"

The mage was startled and he instinctively had his hand cover his mouth. But his concerns were not the same as those of the exile. His mind was now thinking of something different. The Veil had been weakened that much? If it had been thin enough that the Fade actually became temporarily visible, then it was clear that what he had done was actually more than justified.

So before the dwarf could turn the doorknob, the elf was on his feet and had cast a spell on the door, to keep it shut.

Raonar turned around. Very slowly.

But it was Alim that spoke, though his eyes were narrowed and his voice calculated. "I will concede to your point that I may have gone too far in how I went all Grim Reaper at the end. However, I am afraid most of your anger, which is quite uncharacteristic and I actually have a theory as to why it exists, is misdirected."

There was a raised eyebrow. And a lot of skepticism. "Is it really..."

"Yes. You see, it was actually quite necessary that I obliterated that demon that way, through energetic disintegration, because in her desperation, she had tried to forcefully possess Connor right when it became clear that I was more powerful than she... or rather IT was. So yes, if you saw that, and the Veil was weak enough, it was only because I barely managed to prevent that from happening."

"..."

"And yes, I went all out, hence the explosions and craters, because if I hadn't, that demon would have been able to put enough attention into the possession and, even though she would have lost anyway, she would have at least destroyed the boy's soul just to spite us."

"... Well, you still could have managed to** not** come across as more frightening than her."

There was an uneasy silence, by the end of which Alim had slowly sat back down on his chair and his arms were now resting on his knees. "Do I really come across as worse than demons?"

The bearded one's head bent to the right. "I'm not sure I'd go as far as to say that. But scarier... oh yeah, definitely. Much scarier. Actually, your way of torturing them to death would make me shudder sometimes if I hadn't grown up in Orzammar."

"I see..."

The prince of the dwarves then assumed a look that Alim associated with when he entered his soul-penetration mode, when it felt like he could see or deduce a person's most hidden secrets. "This hatred you have for demons, and which makes you choose very... appropriately torturous ways of ending their existence... It seems awfully... personal."

The blood mage tensed before he could stop himself.

"And it also seems to occasionally overpower your reason, to some extent."

The mage knew he was setting the stage for a question, but he already knew what it was, so he decided to speed things along. "Let's just say that... my Harrowing wasn't the first time I had to face demons directly."

Silence fell between them again, and the warrior was now leaning against the door and had both arms crossed in front of him. And the mage slowly rubbed his palms against each other for a short while, but he regained his composure quickly and began an analysis of his own.

"The way you get angry about everything that's happened to this Connor kid, it also seems awfully personal."

"I suppose it does," Raonar conceded immediately, though he kept his face blank.

"You actually seem to like kids a lot. I remember how you actually went and spoke a bit with those ones in the Circle Tower, the apprentices that Wynne had safeguarded."

"You seem to be paying a lot of attention to what I do..."

Alim continued as though the other one hadn't even spoken, though he met his gaze quite neutrally. "You seem to care about everyone around you, but you usually keep up either a cool attitude, dry wit or just pure humor whenever you deal with other people. But you change when kids are involved. You get really pissed off when someone's stupidity or, worse yet, deliberate ignorance ends up causing them harm. You're also unusually careful and you actually seem to talk to them in a tone and manner that I only ever see you use when talking to Faren."

"..."

"I knew it. Why you were so hard on Isolde for her poor handling of this whole mess. Why you were so determined to get to the Tower as soon as possible, despite being exhausted. Why you made a point of reassuring those apprentice kids, and why you wanted to be near Connor while I went into the Fade, 'just in case.' They are all related."

"..."

"It bothers you doesn't it? That issue with Grey Wardens and how it's almost impossible for them to-"

"Stop."

It wasn't said in anger, or in any way that could suggest any sort of emotional load. It had been a simple whisper, from one whose eyes were closed and who was just standing with his back leaning against the door. He had said but one word, one that just suggested it was time for the other one to stop speaking.

Then, he straightened up, turned to the door and pushed some of his own magic into it, dispelling the sealing glyph that the elf had cast earlier, after which he slowly opened it, walked out, and closed it behind him with no sort of haste whatsoever.

_The review space is, as always, ready and willing!_


	31. Warden Arc 1: Waning Sanity Personified

Author's notes: Here we are, chapter 30. I warn you, some things in this chapter might turn out a bit creepy. Also, if you feel confused, it was intended. And if you finish the chapter and still feel confused, fear not, that was intended too.

* * *

**Chapter 30: Crumbling Sanity Personified**

"-. .-"

She had a bad taste in her mouth.

It was too dark to see. Last thing she remembered was that she had somehow fallen into an abyss until she reached some... place. From what she could gather from feeling around blindly, it seemed like a cavern of some sort. The more immediate problem was that, even though she had somehow miraculously survived that fall, her shoulder ached and she had a cut on the side of her left leg for some reason, one that looked like it had been inflicted by a sword.

Finally adjusting to the dim light somewhat, her eyes began to distinguish enormous stalactites far above, while what looked like lyrium veins cast a pale green-blue light upon that large underground location. Dragging her feet forward, she used the granite wall as support to walk out of the small side-tunnel she was in, so that she may study the sight more clearly. She didn't get much chance, however, because she heard the distinct guttural noise that hurlocks make when sighting their prey.

She looked ahead and saw it, as though it was pushing itself to its feet, sword and shield in hand, but no sooner had it stood up that it charged her. She brought her blade up to deflect the strike, side-stepping widely enough to grab its wrist and twist it to its back, after which her sword came out through the creature's chest. But only then did she notice that the texture of its skin felt different, and that her Warden sense wasn't responding to the darkspawn she had just skewered. And what was even more worrisome was that the clearly lethal hit did not cause it to fall. Instead, it was flailing about even more madly.

Momentarily shocked by this, the woman was unprepared for the ferocity with which the thing began to struggle. It lunged its head backwards, hitting her straight in the forehead and sending her staggering backwards.

And before she could recover, the creature had turned around, revealing its half-rotten face, frozen in place by the cold of the mountaintop while the tarnished and cracked breastplate rattled as it hung around its putrid torso. Then, she barely had enough time to realize what she was actually fighting before what was clearly not a darkspawn had its raised sword arm severed from the shoulder. The moving corpse stared at where its limb once was for a moment before a glimmering sword chopped off its head from behind, after which it was practically cut in two by a slash that cleaved clearly through its middle.

Gurgling noises were slowly replaced by the sounds of battle, metal striking metal repeatedly around her while a gale swooped and filled her ears from above. Only after that did the view of that huge cave start to shift and crumble and her skin recalled the feeling of impending frostbite.

Someone was calling out to her.

"Kal! Kallian!"

Something was also shaking her shoulder. Hard.

"Kallian! Dammit Kal, don't drift away now! Not again!"

The tugging suddenly stopped, and she thought she could hear blades crossing once more, along with the sound of a chain flying and spinning through the air. But her vision was still blurry, even though light had begun to assault her from all direction, only for it to suddenly stop and go dark.

Then a roar struck her eardrums, and she instinctively looked above, only for her unfocused eyes to fall upon the haggard shape of a huge dragon, twisted, corrupted, with spikes growing out of its many scales.

But a hand shook her by the shoulder again, and her irises finally snapped into focus as her mind reasserted itself, fast enough for her reflexes to move her feet in just the right position when she was forcefully pulled to the right, so that the walking corpse would miss instead of cleave her shoulder right off.

Chained knives wrapped around the undead thing's legs before it was thrown to the ground and its neck was crushed underfoot.

"Come on, Kal, snap... out of it..." The voice was weaker now, and irregular, fatigue clearly coming out through each breath.

The cold began to sting the cut on her leg.

"This is becoming a liability," another man's voice was heard to her right, just before a gust of wind caused his robe to flutter.

"I'm fine!" Kallian heard herself saying as she pushed herself back into position. "I was just a bit disoriented..."

Alim looked at her, clearly not buying her act, but he levitated away anyway, in order to move well beyond the reach of the undead now that whatever ranged warriors had existed were no more.

Kallian had no time to survey the scene, however, because a new enemy engaged her, relentlessly trying to overpower her. It was another of those undead things, swinging the sword and trying to bash her left and right, until its shield actually did managed to catch her unprepared now that her mobility was impaired by her multiple cuts and bruises.

The bulwark slammed into her, dislocating her shoulder and hitting the side of her head, throwing her through the air. A moment was all the time she had to notice the clear blue sky above her before she felt her battered shell striking against the ground. And the first thing that she could feel after the throbbing pain died down, and after blood began to trickle out of the blow to her head, was the distinct feeling of snow on her face.

The rest faded along with panicked shouts and she barely registered someone trying to turn her on her back before all feeling started to fade away, until all she could sense was the cold overtaking what was left of her.

And finally, the cold itself was replaced by the comparable warmth of a summer night, though she could well see that her blanket was partially soaked with her sweat.

He eyes had snapped open at some point, though she couldn't remember when that had happened, but she knew it must have been a while ago because her lungs were already starting to settle down. Waking up seemed to be getting harder lately.

Throwing aside whatever furs and blankets she was covered in, she put on her regular clothes before leaving her cot. It seemed to be late in the evening, which meant that she had only managed to sleep for an hour or so. She **had** told that elf mage and dwarf that she would probably be unable to actually go to bed that early in the afternoon, but they had been very insistent on it, more so than Faren, oddly enough, even making camp a couple of hours earlier than usual.

For a moment, her heart skipped a beat when she thought she could see two hurlocks sitting next to the fire. Barely managing to contain a gasp, she rubbed at her eyes and finally saw that it was, in fact, just Alistair and Leliana, the latter apparently caught up in trying to have Alistair explain to her how he could be so weirded out by her talking about the shoes in Orlais. Kallian suppressed a snort and absently heard her say that their fearless leader had apparently seemed quite interested in the that same topic just a bit earlier, hence Leliana's confusion as to how the almost-templar could be so dumbfounded. The bard was probably having trouble with his odd jokes. That and the dwarf noble had probably just played an innocent prank on her by pretending he was ever so interested in Orlesian shoes (only Kallian thought of that of course, not Leliana).

The city elf looked around and saw Sten setting up his tent, aided by both mabari war hounds who were quite skillfully helping by pulling on the necessary ropes with their teeth. Shale was also assisting, oddly enough, though if the broken sticks and poles all around it... around her, were any indication, she was probably making it all harder.

"Souver'inan isala hamin."

Kallian spun around with a start, her hand instinctively gripping the dagger that lay in a holster on her right hip and the only weapon she had taken along with her when she decided to leave her tent.

"That means 'weary eyes need resting' in Elvish," Theron explained, looking at her in a very nonplussed manner as he stood just a couple of feet away from her. He was holding his hands behind his back. "Is there a reason you might wish to stab me right now?"

"Oh, it's you."

"You are still holding onto your dagger," the Dalish helpfully pointed out.

The fair-haired elven girl looked at her hand sideways before realizing it was true. She let her arm hang beside her, embarrassed.

"The dreams are getting worse, aren't they?" Theron guessed, something akin to sympathy showing on his face.

"I'm fine," was all that Kallian said, though she averted her own gaze.

"I see." The hunter's voice seemed forcefully straight as he turned around and began to walk away, before stopping in his tracks. "There is a song amongst my people. One of the verses says 'in uthenera na revas.' It reads 'in waking sleep is freedom.' I sincerely hope you will not provide a more... unfortunate interpretation for those words." He took a few more steps before making another stop. "You need not fear the night or what dangers it may bring. If it will help your mind settle, I and the others will ensure that no harm comes to you. Perhaps this much assurance will at least make your nights easier."

The elf with a white tattoo on her face let her narrowed eyes follow the Dalish for a time as he quaintly walked away and towards his own tent before she remembered that she had a headache. She was sure Wynne would be able to help with that somehow, so she looked around and spotted her doing some sort of magic some distance away from the center of camp.

"You're quite taken with each-other, aren't you?" the human woman spoke when she saw her approach.

The elven lass found that she really could do nothing to reply to that except stare with bulging eyes at the old woman.

"That young lad Faren and you. One would have to be blind not to notice how you manage to find excuses to be near each-other most of the time. Well, he seems to at least."

"Uuhh... I see..."

"My my, you get embarrassed easily. And you're blush looks like it will turn your hair pink, along with your tattoo," Wynne teased.

Kalian groaned before she could stop herself. "Do we really have to talk about this?"

The old woman looked at her in a very adult-to-child way. "I noticed your blossoming relationship and I wanted to ask you where you thought it was going."

"I'm not really sure I know that myself," the girl answered, oblivious to the fact that she was toying with a certain ring on her finger.

The other one, of course, seemed to have been preparing for this. "I do not mean to sound preachy but I do not think it is the best thing for you two right now."

"Excuse me?"

"You are both Grey Wardens. You have responsibilities that supercede your personal desires."

The lass was starting to actually wish it were her father that was talking to her about this instead. He at least seemed to have more tact. "I'm not sure you actually saw enough to know what our 'desires' are but maybe you should consider that we're more than just darkspawn killing machines. We have emotions too."

The old mage assumed what Kallian saw as a somewhat condescending demeanor. "Love is ultimately selfish. It demands that one be devoted to a single person, who may fully occupy one's mind and heart. A Grey Warden cannot afford to be selfish. If you somehow come to the situation where you have to choose between the one you love and everyone else, what will you do?"

Kallian was really starting to wonder if this wasn't just another nightmare. "Did you actually give Faren the same speech?"

"Not yet, no, though he already seems to be a bit upset for some reason. And a little distracted. Worry for you and your... troubles, no doubt, and that only seems to enforce my point."

"I'll appreciate it if you keep out of this," the elf said with a bit of anger in her voice, "because whatever we do is really none of your concern." With that, she turned away and stormed off.

"I have given my advice, do with it what you will," the mage finished in a resigned tone.

"Andraste's ass, and I only wanted to somehow get rid of this splitting headache. It's late and I can't sleep at all."

Kallian's feet led her well away from the camp, through the forests south of the Imperial Highway. She was actually rubbing her forehead and just walking on, not noticing that she was actually doing her best not to make any noise. She was in her 'getting away' mode, the one she always used when she wanted to get out of an uncomfortable situation. Thus, she was actually advancing like a shadow through the woods, making hardly any sounds even when she hopped over falling stumps.

The city elf hit her shin against something and let out a short 'ouch' of pain before she began to hop on one foot, until she reached a halt. Soon enough, the cart she had hit against also stopped, along with the creaking of wheels on the gravel that covered the now ruined Imperial Highway.

Unfortunately, once she stopped advancing on the road in order to tend to her hurt leg, something bumped, no, hit her hard form behind, almost causing her to fall on her face if not for Theron catching her.

"Ah, my apologies," Shale spoke in her 'I don't really care' tone from directly behind her, stopping in her tracks with a stomp. "Though perhaps it should watch where it is going, and what is coming up behind it. I simply did not see it was there and almost squished it. Would have been quite a shame if it ended up as a red stain on some rock, especially if that rock happened to be my foot."

"We are most grateful for the advice, falon," the Dalish said in Kallian's stead, using a totally formal tone. "Though I would ask you to also keep your... eyes... on the road and not towards the sky. There are no birds in sight and, since the sun is still quite high up, we would like to keep any... unfortunate incidents to a minimum. But again, thank you for your... care in not stepping on us at every occasion."

"Yeah thanks... I think..." was all that Kallian added to that as she moved out of the golem's way. Though she had just hit her leg, she felt like her **head** was spinning instead.

They were all moving along the road to the north of lake Calenhand now. Raonar and Alim were walking in front, apparently explaining something to Faren, who was actually between the two, and the shortest of the three, oddly enough, though the other dwarf was just a little bit taller. Behind them was Sten, who was guiding the two oxen that pulled on their cart of supplies and equipment. The cat on the cart was probably a shapeshifted Morrigan, while Wynne was walking just beside the vehicle, apparently throwing said cat odd looks once in a while.

Leliana was on the other side of cart, teasing Sten by calling him a 'softie' because she had... seen him play with a kitten? No, it definitely couldn't have been the shapeshifted Morrigan that was now in the cart... though it's possible the witch turned into it just to make the giant even more vulnerable to the Orlesian's teasing. This was probably one of the only occasions when she would see those two women actually working towards the same goal, in this case annoying Sten, thought the elven rogue.

As the pain in her shin faded, Kallian looked up at the blue sky and wished the sun didn't hurt to look at. Too bad her musings were going to be cut short.

"Darkspawn," Theron notified the non-wardens. "They are coming from up ahead, and another group will soon come within our sight from the right of the Highway."

The fight wasn't proving to be very difficult. the darkspawn were, indeed, quite many, but everyone seemed to be holding their own and were quite successful in getting the monsters to somehow gather around a single spot. Once that happened, Alim was able to pull off a larger than usual cone of cold, after which Shale threw a large boulder that smashed straight into the middle of the enemy group, breaking into multiple pieces and shattering them all.

But things would have gone bad if Kallian herself hadn't sensed the camouflaged shriek coming up from behind her. With a quick motion, she spun around, avoiding its claws, after which she grabbed it by the wrist and actually tugged on it, hard. The beast lost its balance, at which point she brought her knee up and hit it in the abdomen. She followed up with a very precise move that involved twisting her body in such a way as to use the shriek's own weight against it and throw it to the ground over her head.

The thing's 'life' ended with the blade down its mouth and out of the back of its neck.

But when she stepped back from her kill, her foot did not find the ground. And when she looked back, she only too late saw the dark hole she had stepped in. She had no time to wonder how on earth that hole had appeared there, exactly where she was going to place her foot, because the hole turned into a pit as the stone slabs on the imperial highway started to break apart and fall into the ever increasing chasm.

She was already in mid-fall when she looked back and tried to call for help, only to see that there was no one there anymore, and nothing else except a crumbling stone road that was falling into that black abyss bit by bit.

So she could do little but fall and look in horror at how her every attempt at grabbing onto something ended in futility.

She had a bad taste in her mouth.

It was too dark to see. Last thing she remembered was that she had somehow fallen into an abyss until she reached some... place. From what she could gather from feeling around blindly, it seemed like a cavern of some sort, but she could only ask herself what this was and where.

And her answer came when her ears picked up what sounded like lustful growling from all around her. And when she looked up, as she lay in a prone position, she realized that she was surrounded by shrieks, hurlocks and genlocks on all sides.

There was little light, none but what was cast by the lyrium in the walls. This was probably the part where she would be frozen in fear, or actually faint because of it, or worse. Those things were advancing on her, no weapons drawn but their arms ready as though they planned to grab her, to do what her mind was desperately trying not to imagine.

Her mind suddenly flashed back to Vaughan and, for some reason, she found the thought of HIM doing what she thought these things were about to do even more disgusting. And this proved fatal for the first monster that put its hand on her.

Like a serpent, she twisted around it and used its own weight and movement against it, sending it tumbling forward hard enough to crash into a genlock on the other side. She followed with a rabbit punch to the neck of another beast, one that ended with a snapping sound. The third hurlock attacked her as the second one fell, and she brought her foot up in a kick to its face, causing it to end up collapsing on top of yet another one of those things.

But they were too many, and they overwhelmed her, took a hold of her by both arms, one also grabbing her by the hair while a third took her by the jaw and fingered her tattoo. She stared defiantly into its face, a hideous thing, half-covered in long fangs, so it sunk its claws into the skin around said white markings around her right eye, deep enough for her blood to trickle out.

Kallian realized she couldn't hear them growl anymore because her heart was pounding, hard, and the blood vessels in her temples were throbbing so intensely that her ears didn't work properly any longer. And her heartbeat kept accelerating as that thing's claw went lower, giving more length to the cut on her cheek, below her right eye.

But the creature suddenly heaved, as though it had been hit in the back by something, only an instant before a dagger came around its neck from behind and moved so quickly and powerfully that it concluded in a total decapitation. And once the husk of that darkspawn hit the ground, a shadow of a person blurred into existence behind them all, accompanied by the sound of blades sinking into flesh and of a chain gliding through the air.

A pair of throats were cut, and those two other hurlocks that were still holding onto Kallian realized a moment too late that their right and left shoulders, respectively, were now serving as footholds for their killer. The chain descended upon them, wrapping itself in two ringlets around both of their necks. One instant later, their attacker performed a backflip and pulled them back, ending with a powerful tug that crushed their gullets against their spines.

And what that was done, whatever beasts were left had but a moment to look confused before the shadow became something akin to a whirlwind as it slipped between them and spun in such a way that two daggers fell them all, one by one, before they could even do anything besides clumsily try to counterattack, only to have their limbs crippled or outright severed before finally being lethally struck themselves.

Kallian was trying to suppress her trembling when the whole confrontation finished and the person that had come to her rescue finally stopped its movement in front of her. He straightened up, returned his weapons to their holsters and finally turned to face her. And while the light didn't exactly let anything except his vague outline be seen at first, the city elf hardly had any difficulty in recognizing the silhouette, though she was still in a sort of state of shock so she couldn't speak properly.

"Faren, wha-what's happening? Where are we? What is this place?"

He didn't answer at first, but the pale, teal light from the lyrium did reach part of his face as he approached an knelt in front of her. He seemed to be smiling, but his eyes showed only something akin to pity as he gently placed his hand on the cheek that the darkspawn had marred. "This shouldn't be happening. Not so soon. You shouldn't be here."

"What are you talking about? Where are we?"

The dwarf smiled wryly again and, much to the elf's awe, produced something akin to a bright warm light in the palm of his hand for a moment, the same hand that was on her face. And said strange feeling ended with the earlier cut on her face disappearing as though it had never been there. Only then did he speak again. "This is the last time that I can send you back. You have to go back before they find you again. Before **he** finally finds you. I won't be able to keep you safe if he finds you. Neither of us will be safe if he finds you. He must never get you, do you understand me?"

"What is... Faren what are y-" her voice practically turned off, and she felt hazy when her whole body felt like it had been engulfed by a tornado. Many noises raced through her ears and brain, and every tactile sensation coursed through her skin before it settled for a comfortable breeze. Then, her ears also calmed down, until all she could hear was silence. And finally, her eyes opened (she didn't know when she'd shut them).

Kallian sat up in her bed and began rubbing her eyes, not immediately realizing that there was someone sitting on another bed in the same room.

"Bad dreams?" a distinctly Orlesian voice asked.

The elf's head shot up and stared in her direction. Only after a moment did she relax. The bard was sitting on her own bed. With all the trouble that had gone on in Redcliffe Castle and how most people had been killed in almost every room, there were only a few left where none of the killings had occurred. That was where she and the bard they had ended up spending the night. This particular chamber seemed to have once belonged to servants of the Arl, though the comfort was above most anything Kallian had so far encountered, as life in the Alienage had never been luxurious and since she left she had only been to Ostagar and on the road.

"You were thrashing in your sleep so I was thinking of waking you but you seem to have managed to wake up on your own," said the red-haired woman as she sat with one leg on top of the other.

"I don't remember what I was dreaming about," the other one said sincerely. She really couldn't remember. "Where is everyone else?"

The bard seemed to pick up on her wish to change the subject. "Ah, doing this and that. Shale and Sten are apparently having a discussion about the meaning of life up on the battlements, staring at the horizon, though Shale is probably just keeping a lookout for pigeons. Morrigan and Alim went off to spend some time together somewhere, to 'try some more unusual magic' as they said it." Leliana giggled at that one, but went on anyway.

"The dogs are snuggling in the hallway... or they were when I came here. They may have moved to this level's living room since then, I am unsure. Gwen is training I think. Theron and his wolf were in the castle courtyard with her last time I heard. As for Alistair, he is probably glaring, pouting and groaning because he hasn't been allowed to leave the castle library by our beloved fearless leader, who has also been there since he so... succinctly put us all up to speed on just how and why he became a Grey Warden."

That caught the fair-haired lass's attention. "He actually told you? How come?"

"Well, Wynne actually started asking questions, so Gwen and Alistair took that as a cue to start to press him themselves. Wynne seemed to think he may have been a cold-blooded murderer, or worse, a kinslayer, so those two lovebirds were quite alarmed. Theron was around at the time and he seemed mildly interested in knowing about it so he stuck around." Leliana then turned bashful and flicked her fingers through her hair as a seductress should. "And I, of course, am a bard so it was obvious that I would be there to hear the tale!"

"What, and he just told you?" Tabris wasn't exactly expecting the answer yes.

"Well, we all sat him down in the library, at that big table on the middle. or maybe it's best to say he was already there and we just sat there too, after which Wynne, Alistair and Gwen demanded to know."

"And what, he just told you?'

The bard actually pouted. "No. Well, not really... He said that the noble assembly, something like a senate, reached the conclusion he had killed his older and decided to feed him to the darkspawn as punishment. Thus, probably everyone thinks he's dead and he would like people to think that about him for as long as possible."

"I assume they didn't take it well," the Grey Warden guessed. "And before you ask, yes, I know the story and no, I won't tell you about it."

The other woman stared at her with some annoyance. "Wynne was the most put out and said that it all looked like he was running away from something if he wanted to be assumed dead. He just grinned at that and glanced at her with a raised eyebrow before returning to his book. Gwen said she decided to reserve judgment for later and Alistair said that he couldn't believe that anyone who went through all that trouble for Connor could ever be a kinslayer. After that, our fearless leader practically shooed us out, all of us except Alistair, whom he ordered to stay, saying he had some books to show him."

"Books?"

"I think they dealt with politics and protocol mostly. Alistair looked suitably horrified, or so I thought when I glanced in his direction before I closed the door behind me."

There was a pause.

So Leliana got the idea that she should probably go find something to occupy herself with. She did say a few more words as she got up, however. "Do you need any help with your hair?"

There was an awkward pause, only shorter this time. "No thanks, I'm fine. I want to rest for a bit longer anyway."

The Orlesian just gave a nod and made for the door, though she stopped when she placed her hand on the doorknob. She seemed to hesitate for a second. "Do you want to trade secrets? Just between us girls?"

Kallian Tabris knew what she was getting at but she really didn't want to break her word to Faren. "That depends on what secret you want."

Leliana turned around a sight bit. "I will tell you what I was before I came to the Chantry, and you tell me if he really did do what he says this 'noble' assembly said."

"Sorry Leliana, but I promised someone I wouldn't tell that to anyone else."

"You do realize that trying to cover everything up practically screams that he is actually guilty, no?"

"Well, you all still seem to not be sure about that."

"It just doesn't fit!" the human woman said. "I mean, he is smarter than he lets on, which is already a lot, and I dare say he would probably make us see things his way, at least in some measure, even if it is revealed that he killed him. And setting aside how scary that ability of his is, it's quite possible. I know how the society works in Orlais. The nobles keep up a facade of amiability when in public, but they really compete over influence, wealth and the favor of the Empress, which basically means that they are engaged in a game of politics that revolves around eliminating your political opponents. If Orzammar is anything like that... Regardless, he has the same attitude and I dare say he has all the qualities he would need to fit in perfectly in such a society. But those people don't care about anything besides themselves, which is not what I or anyone with a working reason can say about him in this case."

"You seem to know a lot about things like this," the elf noticed.

"It seems I have revealed too much," said the minstrel. "Still, I will respect your decision. But at least, could you explain something else to me?"

"Again, it depends."

"He seems to put no effort into trying to gain any sort of sympathy or even recognition for anything he does. Actually, I dare say he actually puts effort into making it hard for people to decide to like him. Why is that?"

That was one hell of a question. Still, answering it in a certain way could give Leliana the hints she needed without her actually breaking her word to Faren. "I think he wants to get people to stop making assumptions or let themselves be led by their own preconceptions... or something. Well, that's what Faren says anyway, and he's known him the longest."

The bard narrowed her eyes "And, of course, it also helps to keep people confused until you find the one thing that can secure their undying and unwavering loyalty to you..."

"That sounds rather ominous..."

"Ah, don't mind me... So, people either love him or hate him?"

She thought for a moment. "Not really. I think you either go with what he says, because he seems to actually know what he's doing, or be totally confused and get headaches but still do as he says because said headaches can't seem to let you come up with ideas of your own, at least not better ones. Honestly, only apathetic people like Theron could probably be nonplussed by him, but well, you get it..."

"Yes, he's the one who suggested that our current commander assumed leadership. Anyway, thank you for explaining."

There was a thud when Kallian let her head fall back on her pillow, and her sheets fluttered for a moment before they settled and she did her best to let her thoughts drift away. She knew she must have had a nightmare before Leliana showed up because she wasn't feeling in any way rested right now. So she vaguely acknowledged the comfort of the bed as her breathing became slower and her mind almost wandered off.

This was no moment to drift off, however. The bark of the old tree she was pinned against was rough and had started to scratch the skin on her back, so Kallian made a mental note to kick herself for having come so far away from camp, near the middle of the night no less, in naught but her nightgown and just one dagger to defend herself. it didn't help that she had been disarmed of said dagger by a certain someone before he had pinned both of her arms against the huge trunk behind her by both wrists.

"My, but there certainly seems to exist unparalleled beauty amongst the Grey Wardens," said her assailant as he leaned in close and leered. "I must say that is too bad, because I do so hate to rob this world of such glamorous things." The moon was behind him, but some of its light refracted off the ground and foliage enough that the vague outline of his face and pointy ears could be made out. A small glimmer slid down what looked like a tattoo on the side of his face, a dark marking that seemed to course down from his temple all the way to his chin.

"Who sent you?" she asked defiantly in a voice so icy that one would think it could have cut through rock. Unlike the assassin, she was facing the moon directly, and that celestial body reflected perfectly in her eyes, amplifying her menacing glare beyond what most people could bear without flinching.

But he wasn't most people. He had proven this when he and his hired blades had ambushed the two of them. "Those are strong eyes, my dear, and a look that would make any man want to swear himself your slave." He leaned even nearer, until his mouth was close enough for his breath to be felt in her ear as he spoke again. "Even risk death to serve you I might say."

"Well you signed your own death sentence when you attacked us," said another voice. The source could not be distinguished, but it was somewhere amidst the trees.

Where the assassin's hidden archer accomplices were supposed to be.

Even still pinned, the city elf turned her head to stare in the direction where Faren had fallen after he was shot in the back. After he had been shot in the back for protecting her.

And he wasn't there anymore.

Neither were the men that were backing the assassin.

There was the sound of a blade cutting flesh, and a helpless yelp was all the noise that someone hidden in the dark of the forest could utter before his body collapsed in a heap. "And that would be the last one," the dwarf was heard saying after the kill was made.

With the reflexes and iron will of one who was raised to kill and subdue, the assassin brusquely pulled Kallian from the trunk until he was standing behind her with his dagger at her throat. "Come out! You may have faked your death and killed off my men but faking it again won't save your precious gem here."

There was only silence, and Kallian actually was wondering what Faren was going to do. For all she knew, he was hurt badly after practically getting an arrow stuck into his back and, frankly, she was surprised he was even alive.

"No answer, is it?" the mysterious aggressor challenged. "So her death is not good enough an incentive for your cooperation? Nerves of steel on this one." He used his other hand to take her by the chin and force her to turn her face towards his as he leaned his own head forward over her shoulder. "Then perhaps if I mar this pretty face you'll be more willing to listen? Though it would be a shame to destroy it without first putting this charm to good use."

Kallian's eyes were affixed onto his, and she knew that it was not just a taunt or a bluff. His eyes spoke of one that sees no reason not to carry out such a threat, the eyes of one that would not hesitate.

The eyes of one that has nothing to lose anymore.

And as he leaned closer, she was able to catch a moment when his eyes wavered slightly. So she decided to play a game of her own and, instead of fighting back, she mirrored his own intention and renounced all resistance. No, she did not just renounce, she threw herself at him and her lips met his. And from there, instinct took over, and they kissed passionately, he losing his grip on her because of how the shock sent his heart racing and she sensing said shock fill him enough to make him drop his guard.

Her hands found their way to the back of his head and made sure he could not pull away from her overwhelming assault. And while that happened, the man only too late realized that he had dropped his knife, so thirsty were those lips of hers that he felt his life being sucked away. And oh, how he enjoyed it...

One moment later, Kallian's knee had buried deep enough into his abdomen that his insides felt like they had been crushed against his back. The impact put massive instant pressure on his lungs and he gasped for breath once, keeling over enough for her knee to again come up with force, striking him square in the face and almost sending him toppling backwards.

But before he could fall on his back, she had twisted his arm and spun around in the exact position needed to throw him in such a way that he practically did a flip before he ended up sprawled on his back, unconscious.

The city elf briefly wondered if maybe she should step on his face, just a little bit, but she would soon have more pressing concerns.

"I should... kill him," Faren's voice was finally heard again, though it was ragged and torn. He was barely standing, leaning with his shoulder against an oak and holding onto it.

Grass and leaves were crushed when his knees struck the ground, and his body was very slowly falling forward. But the other one reacted quickly and was there in an instant, stopping his fall and finding that she could do nothing but put her arms around him, only for her left palm to get covered in what could only be blood, pouring from just beneath the back of his shoulder. "You're hurt." She knew she was stating the obvious, but she couldn't say anything else, because her mind was frantically trying to figure out what to do. They had no poultices with them, and even those could only heal minor things, unless they were especially potent, not deep stab wounds like this. And even if she were to run back to the camp, they were too far and he would probably not make it.

His chin was resting on her shoulder now, but she could feel he was going numb and that he could barely speak anymore. "Funny... To think I'd... lose your first kiss to... someone like him..."

_This isn't right,_ she thought as she slowly let him prop his back against the fallen log next to them. _You can't really be... No, I'm not letting you go like this. _"That wasn't my first kiss..." _damn, what a clumsy thing to say._

He gave a wry smile at that, and she felt like something was hurting on the inside. "Ah... I should have known... That ring should have made it... clear... that you've... been with someone else..."

_No, no no!_ "I haven't... I haven't kissed anyone before, that's not what I meant."

Faren seemed to wince, as though the wound in his back stung harder now. "Then... what was that... just now?"

Looking at him, Kallian could see that he was about to drift away, away from her, because she had been so careless as to put them both in danger by coming out here unprepared. And now he was hurt and bleeding to death because of her. So she just said what first popped into her head. "That wasn't a kiss..." _Smooth, real smooth, idiot!_

The dwarf would have probably laughed if he could, but he had to settle for a painful groan. He managed not to completely shut his eyes from the pain, however. They seemed brighter than before the trip to the Tower, and it was because of more than just the moonlight reflecting into those hazel irises. "What else... could it have been?"

Not knowing what else to do, Kallian took his face in both of her hands and drew it closer to her own. "That was just practice." _At least if you do something stupid, you should do it all the way._

The kiss was slow at first. She tried to be careful not to make the injury in his back any more painful than it already was, not that it was going to put off his passing by much. The feeling slowly intensified, and while he didn't respond at first, he didn't reject her either, so she pressed on, until some measure of response could finally be felt. But the adrenaline and excitement didn't seem to make up for the fact that his life was leaking out through his back.

The sensation of alertness was suddenly replaced by one of acceleration, and she thought she heard something crumbling before she realized she was alone in the middle of what looked like a huge cavern whose floor was breaking apart and falling into a bottomless pit. She felt lightheaded for some reason, and her feet could barely keep her balanced as the tremors kept rising and dying down, and rising again, each time causing another chunk of the floor to break loose and be lost in the endless abyss.

And she was finally lost in that bottomless pit herself when a large stalactite fell from above just a few meters away from her and destroyed whatever was left that was keeping the remains of the cavern floor together, and she fell shortly after a loose rock struck her in the side of the head and knocked her out.

She had a bad taste in her mouth.

It was too dark to see. Last thing she remembered was that she had somehow fallen into an abyss until she reached some... place. From what she could gather from feeling around blindly, it seemed like a cavern of some sort, but she could only ask herself what this was and where.

But suddenly her blind wanderings ended when her hand placed itself on... something... odd. It felt hard, but the surface was smooth, though a bit grimy. Her answer as to what she had stumbled upon was made plain when the giant leg flung her away and sent her rolling until she stopped by hitting what felt like a rough cave wall, hard. Adrenaline shooting up, she pushed herself to stand and looked back in the direction she had been thrown away from.

Only vague shadows and outlines could first be seen, until the monster opened its large mouth and breathed some unholy flames, flames of red and purple that lit up that entire area long enough for her to recognize what looked like a giant dragon, twisted and corrupted and with eerie, sickly green eyes that seemed to drill holes through her skull. She felt frozen, paralyzed as that beast advanced on her, and she somehow knew it wanted to devour her, but not kill her. It wanted **her, **wanted to turn her, to twist her, to make her like **them**.

Rocks were rendered into dust and rubble as Urthemiel slammed its forepaw against the ground as he took another step towards her, spreading its wings menacingly as it brought its head low, as if it wanted to stare at her directly. But its advance was cut short when the upper edge of the small side-cave the elf had retreated into somehow broke off and fell on the dragon's head. And when the archdemon broke free, it roared in rage, only for its barrage of noise to break upon a wall of stone that rose directly from the ground, between it and the Grey Warden it wanted to break.

Someone had grabbed her by the wrist.

"We can't stay here," Faren told her and didn't even give her time to get her bearing because he practically took off, dragging her along despite whatever confusion and protests she may have wanted to voice.

"This again, what in Andraste's name is going on?" The elf cursed the trembling in her own voice and the fact that she was almost hyperventilating.

"I told you last time," the other one answered, not slowing in his stride as he kept pulling her along, descending deeper and deeper into that darkness. "Now he's found you." That statement was enforced by a loud rumble that signaled how the dragon had broken through that wall of stone that had somehow been erected earlier. "Dammit! We have to move, now!" And he broke into a run, still not letting go of her wrist, so she could do little but do her best to keep up while still trying to speak despite the pain in her side and the blow she had suffered to the head.

"Where... gah. Ouch! What the hell is going on? Where are we! Where are we going?"

"We have to go deeper!" Urthemiel's fire breath could now be heard coming up from behind them, while the light from it seemed like it was stalking the two. And the heat in her back was getting stronger and stronger too. "We have to go deeper, until it's too deep and narrow for him to reach!"

Unfortunately, the Archdemon's roar came out far, far louder than before in that moment, loud enough that it practically shook the foundations of that whole place until the entire cave started to collapse in on itself. And before long, the two wardens were trying all they could do avoid certain death as they ran without thinking.

And Kallian vaguely thought someone, someone other than Faren or Urtemiel, was calling out for her to stop, to wait, but she couldn't, she wouldn't listen because it came from the same direction as the Archdemon himself. The only thing her brain was thinking just then was that she had to run, that she had to keep following the one that was pulling her forward by her wrist.

And it was only then that she realized no one was with her any longer, that Faren had disappeared without her realizing it and no one was actually tugging on her hand anymore. Where had he gone? Had he been crushed? No, no boulder big enough had come down from above yet. But then, how had they become separated?

Unfortunately, her thoughts ended just then because a full-blown earthquake began to be shake everything and she could only stare above in fear as the whole ceiling, if that mass of broken rocks and shattered stones could even be called that, was falling dangerously fast. And the moment before it came down close enough to end her life, she did what survival instinct demanded and crouched, covering her head with both hands, despite knowing it was futile. She only regretted that she would die without knowing what the hell was actually going on and how she had come to be there, wherever **there** was.

So she waited.

And waited.

The noise of collapsing debris was heard. Urthemiel's maddening roar and fire breath was heard. The noise of an explosion was heard, and then the sound of magic gathering and the distinct shriek that the Archdemon gave out suspiciously soon after something was heard cutting deep into flesh. **It's** flesh. The archdemon had just been attacked.

And she was still alive somehow.

Her head jerked upwards only for her eyes to land upon what looked like a vaguely humanoid figure, completely shrouded in a cloak of swirling energies that kept shifting between silver, white and blue. It was standing in front of the dragon with what looked like a curved blade of light in its right hand, ready to counter whatever the beast might try to do. And the dragon itself seemed to have been taken aback somewhat, as it had brought its head low and to the side, and was staring at that... person sideways, unsure of what to do now that its right foreleg was sporting a fairly deep cut, a cut that was bleeding black fluid.

"Are you still with us?"

That voice didn't come from the dragon, nor did it come from the one in front of it. So the city elf could finally realize there was another person there, standing next to her in fact. A robed figure, with a staff in hand and magic coursing through his whole body, no doubt the same spell that created the dome of force that had protected them from the collapsing cavern ceiling before bursting apart and throwing all rocks aside.

"Alim? Now I'm really confused..."

The next line spoken by the mage was not addressed to her. "Let's drive that thing out in one fell swoop!"

On signal, Urthemiel's opponent almost blurred out of vision, so quickly did he jump as high as the dragon's eye level, and cut out one of its eyes with a single swipe of the brilliant sword he wielded. So the beast drew back and wailed, becoming totally vulnerable to Alim's concentrated lightning bolt that struck it straight through the now wide open mouth.

And not long after the other warrior landed back on the ground, the monster had lost all semblance of balance and began to glow and blur, and break apart in a thousand hallucinations before Kallian's waking eyes and simply disappearing with not even a puff of smoke.

Only after that was done did the odd magic around the fighter die down, until no one but a heavily armored dwarf with white hair and beard was left. The dwarf turned around and looked at her. After that, he started walking towards her and the mage that had prevented the crumbling cave ceiling from ending her existence there and then. He walked, and walked, and got closer, his gaze piercing and his steps certain.

And when he was finally in front of her (she was half-kneeling on the ground and using both arms, fists clenched, to keep her balance), he got to one knee and just put one hand on her forehead, as if to check for a fever. "I thought we wouldn't be able to reach you."

"Right well... may-maybe you can," she paused, deciding it may be better to let her lungs settle. "What in the name of Maferath's stupidity is going on here? One thing I'm fighting some assassin and the next second I'm under a mountain that's trying to help some crazy Archdemon kill me!"

"Assassin?" Alim echoed as he crouched as well. "What do you mean you were just fighting an assassin?"

"Just that!" the lass snapped, though she was suddenly reminded that her side was hurt and her ribs had suffered a strong blow earlier. "Some blond elf was trying to kill me and... and Faren was hurt and..."

"Kallian," the dwarf interrupted her, looking alarmed. "Zevran attacked us over a **week** ago."

"What!"

"You don't remember?" Alim asked, his eyes wide.

"I was just there! And then... then Faren was bleeding and... and then we kissed and he was gone, and then I fell and lost it... But he was just here a minute ago, pulling me after him, to run away from that thing and then he was gone again! Maker, what's happening? I don't understand any of this..."

"This is progressing too fast," the mage cursed. "Kallian, you're having a nightmare right now. We two are inside your nightmare. And Faren was never here. There is no way he could enter your dreams. You've been alone here all along."

"What?"

"It's been getting worse. You're getting your Calling early and it's been getting harder and harder to wake you up recently. It seems your memories are getting jumbled up too."

"And we're running out of time. We have to get you to wake again," he added as he practically pressed the tip of his staff against her chin. "Just by being here we're making it worse but it was the only way we could think of that might wake you."

"Wai-" her voice cut off again, and the feeling of relentless acceleration returned as she passed through every possible sensation. Her eyes were overwhelmed by what her brain interpreted as too much for her to see, and everything around her was loud, then it was cold, then warm, then silent, cold again, hot, hotter like it was boiling, freezing, falling, rising, aching, flying, being torn by sickle winds, being calmed by a gentle breeze, then trepidation overtook her and her awareness was cut short again.

"**Now** will you tell me why you have dragged me all the way out of camp?"

Kallian opened her eyes at the sound of Morrigan's annoyed voice. The elf was still with her back against a tree. She had stayed there and waited for the pain in her leg to fade after she had hit her shin against a stump not too long ago. She thought she must have gotten distracted, probably as a sort of self-preservation mechanism that her brain had activated after suffering Wynne's lecture on how her 'relationship' with Faren was not appropriate.

"Yes, I figured it was time we had a chat."

The elf recognized the second voice as belonging to the exiled dwarven prince. What could they be talking about and why had they come all the way out here? Then again, she was also having trouble coming up with a viable reason for why she had scampered off herself so late in the evening. Still, she decided that listening to them talk, while indiscreet, would be at least mildly interesting.

"Speak then, if you must."

The city elf couldn't help but think that the witch was being just a tad bit more annoying than usual.

"I suppose we could try and trick each other into revealing things that the other knows not," the commander began in what sounded like a very... double-edged tone of voice, "but I'll just be blunt. I don't trust you, Morrigan, and I certainly don't trust your mother. But most of all, I am perfectly convinced that Flemeth had her own agenda when she sent you with Gwen and Alistair, and don't even try to convince me she sent you along just to help them fight the Blight."

"My, but you are a master of deduction," the witch said with a scoff. "Shall we now engage in a game of guesses and riddles in which you try to discover just what said goal is? Perhaps you will want me to say hot or cold depending on how far off the mark you are?"

"Please, I know you'll never tell me even if I do guess. But you told Alim, when you two were speaking of Flemeth, that she rarely tells you her plans. In this case, however, I assume she at least told you part of it and to bide your time until it was time to move. I won't start to guess at it, but let me ask you this: did you know she tried to force my hand into making a deal with her?"

There was just silence, and Kallian couldn't risk peeking. Just eavesdropping was already risky enough.

"Ah, so you didn't know? How odd, yet not altogether unexpected," Raonar pronounced. "I wonder just how whatever deal she wanted to force me into involved you if she chose to keep silent about it. Then again, sending you with us was bound to at least pose the possibility that I would bring it up eventually and you would learn of it."

"You do realize you are babbling right now, do you not?" Morrigan said with some condescending irony.

"Flemeth said something like that too. You really resemble her."

"I **dare **you to say that again**."**

"You really resemble her, and don't scowl at me like that. Anyway, let me just spell out my own thoughts: that she didn't bother telling you or even feel concerned about you finding out later likely means that her 'plan' both involves you and is something she feels you would not be able to affect in any way even if you did know what it was. Or maybe she feels you could do something about it, but she sent you along anyway, even knowing I might spark some suspicions in you. Thus, whatever long-term plan she may have wanted to set in motion relies on whatever task she entrusted you with. And I'll just make a wild guess that it involves the Grey Wardens somehow."

There was another pause, so Kallian tuned everything out and focused on her hearing as best she could.

"Is that all?" the swamp witch finally spoke.

"No. I just want to say one more thing."

"Oh?"

"I don't trust you... but I don't dislike you either. You're a bit of a bitch and all, just like I'm a bit annoying sometimes, but I don't see you doing it just to spite people, even with Alistair. it's a facade, isn't it, like a defense mechanism?"

The woman was heard shifting her weight but she said nothing.

So the dwarf spoke again. "Just... be careful alright? Flemeth, she... let's just say that if a certain someone I know had a spine to speak of, he would have felt a chill go down that spine when she showed up to 'offer assistance'."

"Why are you telling me this?"

It took a bit for the answer to come. "Because my honor demands it. And because I feel someone should be looking out for you."

"I am not some helpless girl that needs protecting!" she almost snapped.

"I know, but that doesn't mean you don't need help."

"Do you always get people riled up like this?" the woman asked with some amusement.

"Mostly, yes."

"I can see why you came to be the leader of this bunch then," she joked.

Kallian thought she could hear a third set of steps coming from the same direction as the voices themselves, only from farther away.

"Ah, saved by the guest!" the prince uttered.

"Conspiring in the dark I take it?" Alim jested.

"We were done anyway," the exile assured him.

"Indeed, 'twould be the time for us to resume your lessons," Morrigan said. "Come!"

Kallian listened to two sets of footsteps faded beyond the edge of hearing and she was kind of hoping that the warden commander would make himself scarce as well because she was getting tired of just hiding behind that tree. Too bad for her, he had other plans.

"You can come out of there, whoever you are!"

_Drat._

Kallian felt like a small child that had been caught stealing an apple as she slowly came out from behind the tree.

But the dwarf was actually filled with relief when he saw her, so he approached her. "Ah, Kallian! How are you feeling?"

"A bit tired. I couldn't sleep well... Umm, shouldn't you be all pissed at me for eavesdropping?"

"Nah, I don't plan to keep this a secret from everyone else. I just thought Morrigan would feel less like she were under a magnifying glass than if we were to all stare at her as I interrogated her. I figured she would be more forthcoming this way. Anyway, doesn't matter. Why are **you** here anyway? The camp is over there."

"Oh... my feet just brought me here after I... ran into Wynne."

Kallian wondered why Raonar had just narrowed his eyes. "Did she say anything that made you uncomfortable?"

The elf briefly wondered why he sounded like her long-dead mother. "It's nothing... mostly..."

"Tell me what it was. I won't have anyone trying to enforce any ideas upon my subordinates. That **is** what she tried to do I assume?"

She just couldn't stop thinking of how incredible it was that he could be bossy and still come across as a totally pleasant guy. "She told me that it wasn't appropriate for Faren and me to be in a relationship because love is selfish and Grey Wardens can't afford to be selfish. In other words, that we should end it. And keep in mind that I'm not even sure we **are **in a relationship yet, at least not that far into it, I mean-"

"Hey, wait," he stopped her, raising both hands in a placating manner. "She actually started to lecture you... about what it means to be a Grey Warden?" He sounded positively flabbergasted, which was saying something.

"Umm... pretty much... I think so..." It really did come across as that, come to think of it.

"I see..." And he suddenly made for the direction where the camp was. "Faren is **that** way by the way. Probably worried sick about you and how your dreams have been getting worse and harder to wake up from."

"Oh... thanks..." It was only then that she realized that was exactly what she would have wanted to find out but would have probably forgotten to ask.

Sure enough, after a few more minutes of walking through the forest under the pale moonlight, she caught sight of him sitting on the ground with both arms resting on his knees and playing with a leaf between his fingers. He seemed quite oblivious to everything around him too, which was very unlike him and one wouldn't have really guessed it at first. The only reason she noticed it was because he didn't sense her come up to him from behind until she was exactly next to him and let herself sit down with a thud.

He actually flinched so hard that the leaf slipped out of his grasp.

"Wow... I never thought you were possible to catch by surprise," she said as an innocent tease.

"I'm not, except when it comes to you I guess..." he replied with a smile. "So uhh... are you... feeling alright?"

"Yeah..."

"That's a lie if I ever heard one."

She looked at him for a while and saw that she wasn't going to get away without elaborating. And she figured that the fact she had sought him out was a clear indication that she actually did want to talk to him about it. "The dreams they... the darkspawn... they were chasing me, and I kept running through some huge cave, and the Archdemon was hounding me, sending its minions after me... They weren't... killing me wasn't what they wanted..."

Her words broke mid-sentence, and she began to rub her forehead, trying to make sense of things. And she only managed to gather enough courage to continue when he wrapped his arm around her and drew her close. And in response, she let her head rest on his shoulder and waited for her heart to stop pounding. "I could hear them, I could... I could actually understand them. They called me their sister, others called me their mistress, their... their mother even... they saw me as their kin, and the Archdemon I... I actually felt drawn to it... even as I kept running for my life, I felt like it was calling to me, like I could hear a song in my head..."

"Look, it'll be fine... Somehow it'll be okay, Those two are working on it, they'll figure something out..."

She knew he wasn't really sure of that, she knew he was just trying to make it easier for her while probably cursing himself in his head for not having been able to come up with any better lines while he sat here alone for Maker knows how long. Eventually, she opened her eyes again and looked up to study him. She saw how he was looking away, but his eyes weren't focused on anything. it was just a calm vigilance as he held onto her, content in being her support without trying to take anything else, without wanting to exploit her vulnerability in any way.

She felt kind of warm when she realized just how considerate he was being and wondered just how he had come to be like that. She remembered her talk with him on his birthday and how he spoke of himself as a thug and a criminal, but she honestly couldn't see anything of the sort in him right now. She just saw... someone she was glad to be close to.

"Get down!"

Her mind raced, her entire body felt like it was flung aside, probably because that's exactly what had just happened. Faren had just pushed her to the ground and jumped over her before she vaguely heard a whisking sound. And that sound ended with another, of flesh being pierced by an arrow and her protector cringing in pain as the arrow lodged itself in his back somewhere before she could even figure out what was happening.

The sheets were flung aside as she woke up with a scream of fear that filled the humble quarters she had been sleeping in. Her chest was pounding again, enough that her lungs didn't seem to get enough air as she gasped for breath, and it took some time for her to notice that she had brought her arms around her own shoulders, as if trying to shield herself from a cold that didn't really exist but which she felt because her clothes were soaked in sweat.

Those things had almost caught her again... in her dreams. Her nightmares had been getting worse each night after they left the Circle tower and she hadn't been able to sleep for more than a couple of hours at a time even after they came back to Redcliffe. She wondered how much longer it would take before she started to actually hallucinate or go sleepwalking.

She changed into a new set of common clothing and she just left her old one lying on the floor next to the bed. She didn't feel like doing anything about them right now and decided to just take a walk through the castle and stretch her legs, maybe occupy her mind with something besides... those things.

Oddly enough, her feet led her by the door to the library, and she could clearly hear two voices in there. One of them was Alistair whining, while the other one was an impassive dwarf noble sounding as though he was keeping the templar on a tight leash. She decided that some eavesdropping wouldn't hurt.

"Why do I have to study these things again?"

"I already said, just in case Eamon decides you should be king next, whenever he decides to wake up."

"That's a big might and I definitely don't plan on being a king!"

"Well, then you'll read those for when you finally get around to actually gaining a more prominent position among the Wardens."

"Well I'd like to see you try and learn this stuff, **then** I'll see if you're as nonplussed about it."

"Actually, I **did** already learn every possible thing about this. I'm the prince of Orzammar, remember? Now stop whining. I'll give you a written test tomorrow, so be sure to study well."

"WHAT!"

"Stop being such a child, will you?"

"I hate it when you get all bossy..."

"I had a really difficult big brother to learn from." He actually sounded a bit amused.

There was a pause before Alistair spoke again. "About that, I want to ask you something."

"Hmm?"

"You keep talking about your older brother, the one you **still** haven't denied having killed by the way, but never about you younger one. Why is that?"

This time, the pause was longer.

"Bhelen is an idiot, just like my father. And I don't like to talk about idiots. There."

"..."

"I may be looking at my book but I can sense your stare, Alistair. Get back to your studying."

"Are you seriously going to hound me about this?"

"Yes."

"Well... can't we at least reach a compromise?" _Was he actually almost begging?_

"Hmm... now there's an idea. Do you have a suggestion then?"

"... Damn... none that you'd like... probably..."

"Probably... I have one though."

"You do..."

"Let's see... I'll tutor you in ruling, politics and leadership, and in exchange, you teach me how to be a Templar."

"Not... to be a jerk or anything, but I'm supposed to have been sworn not to reveal those secrets. And I can't believe you'd actually be blackmailing me into this..."

"I'm not. I don't really plan to nag you into breaking your so-called oath. It would have been in **your** best interest to accept though. Too bad..."

"What do you mean it would have been in my best interest?"

"Well, teaching me Templar skills would have taken a whole lot of time. But since you won't be doing it, I guess we'll have no choice but spend all of that extra time on your own lessons. And no, this isn't blackmail, because I actually look forward to tutoring you. So remind me to pack five times as many tomes before we leave, alright?"

The elf imagined Alistair and a very horrified look on his face.

"Unless of course, Alistair, you plan on running and whining to Gwen, for all the good it would do..."

"Alright, I'll do it!"

"Really? Awesome!"

"Why do I feel like this was your goal from the start?"

"It wasn't, but believe whatever you want."

There was a very pained groan from Alistair's side, so Kallian had to practically leave that place with all haste before she failed to contain her snicker.

Her next stop was the nearest battlement. She really felt like she could use some fresh air. Much to her surprise, however, Faren was already there for some reason, leaning forward a bit and staring at the horizon, over the outer walls and towards Lake Calenhad. He heard her come out through the heavy wooden door, however, so he turned in her direction and looked slightly uncertain of what to say.

So she decided to speak first. "What are you doing all alone up here?"

He opened his mouth, then snapped it shut. **Then** he managed to talk. "Honestly? Worrying about you."

She stopped dead in her tracks. "Haven't you heard of foreplay?'

Faren deflated. "Sorry... I don't know how to handle this. And I guess I've been spending too much time talking to that guy because some of his brutal honesty is rubbing off on me." He paused and looked away. "Sorry, I'll... go away now."

_Is he actually leaving? No way! _"What? Why?"

He looked at her with a frown of confusion. "Didn't I just say something stupid?"

"Well... yes but... I mean no... Well... okay, sort of... I think."_ Why is it so hard to answer that question?" _"Nevermind. Just... don't go anywhere."

The next few minutes were spent in silence, he again staring at the lake and her own eyes following a pair of doves that were practically dancing through the air, their wings flapping and fluttering through the air as they ascended in a sort of spiraling flight. She glanced in his direction a couple of times, but she didn't catch him ogling her. Not even once. And that was enough to drive home the message that he wasn't going to push her.

He didn't mind speaking though. "The dreams have been getting worse, haven't they?"

But she skipped to what was really bothering her. "It took a while, but I managed to get Alim to tell me what happened during the Joining." She saw him tense. "I was the only one that wasn't going to survive the Joining."

"Look Kal, that doesn't mean-"

"No, it's alright. At least I know where I stand."

"That doesn't sound right... You talked to those too, you know that that may very well not have anything to do with it. It may have very well just been that demon's fault this all happened to you."

"No, the fact remains that I should have died in the Joining, which means that I was never meant or fit to actually be a Grey War-"

A loud rumble was heard just below them, and the outer walls of the fortress suddenly cracked and began to crumble as unreasonably powerful tremors began to shake the very foundations of not just the castle, but of the earth itself. A tower fell, broken at the middle, and as more and more of the castle was destroyed, the noise kept getting louder and louder, until her head started to ache and her temples to throb enough that she could not hear well or even keep her balance anymore.

And before she knew it, she was falling again. The sky was moving away from her, faster and faster. Then, darkness began to envelop her from all directions, until all that was left of the blue sky was one single circle that was getting smaller and smaller, until it finally disappeared completely. And when that was done, all she could think of was that she couldn't shake this feeling of deja-vu, nevermind that she was falling.

She had a bad taste in her mouth.

It was too dark to see. Last thing she remembered was that she had somehow fallen into an abyss until she reached some... place. From what she could gather from feeling around blindly, it seemed like a cavern of some sort.

This time she was aching all over, and she had to put a lot of effort into pushing herself up, and she also had to spit out some actual dirt and rubble. But when she tried to drag herself forward, her forearm brushed against something.

It would have probably been a better idea to wait until her eyes adjusted to the dim light from the lyrium, because then she wouldn't have had to realize that there was a dead hurlock right next to her by putting her hand on its slimy, fanged face. There was a moment when she just froze, but the next she had jumped away, only for her other hand to land on another dead darkspawn that was behind her.

She bit her lower lip in order to prevent a scream, and she made herself smaller and looked around, waiting for her vision to at least begin to see something around her. Slowly, outlines began to form, outlines of many fallen enemies, dozens of darkspawn all around her, dead and bleeding, all of the bodies fresh. One of them twitched, almost causing her to scream, but it went still immediately afterwards, like all of the others. Only then did the feeling in her legs and arms totally return and she noticed that she had been lying in a pool of blood.

And amidst all of that, there was a single silhouette standing more or less upright, though just barely. A person was on his knees just in front of her, with his back turned towards her. He looked like a statue, as though he had frozen in place. His hands were slumped to his sides, though still clutching on a pair of daggers, and the faint light from the lyrium showed that it was hard to make out where his hair ended because he was splattered with blood.

A lot of blood.

A lot of blood, and not all of it was from the things he'd killed. The things he'd killed while she lay there unconscious.

Not even bothering to mind that she too was bloodied all over, she was in front of him in an instant, only to find that he was staring blankly ahead, his mouth half open. He was covered in cuts, and he had several stab wounds in his chest and abdomen. They were deep and blood was flowing out of them like rivers.

And her shock at seeing him like that prevented her from noticing that there was a genlock rogue to their right. The shock prevented her from hearing it until it was right next to them. The shock just held her paralyzed an she just watched Faren's eyes flash gold as he was on his feet with his dagger through its throat in less than a moment before both the monster and he himself fell again.

The beast sprawled on top of the other creatures, and the only reason the dwarf didn't fall over as well as because she was there to support his weight with her own after his knees hit the ground once again. And the shock finally died down enough that she could notice her whole body trembling and her arms wrapping themselves around him. She knew she was probably hurting him more, stabbed all over as he was, but she just couldn't help it. Her body couldn't help it, she didn't know what else to do. She didn't know where she was. She didn't know how she'd ended up there. She didn't know how long she'd been unconscious. She didn't know how many hits he'd taken for her. She just knew he had been mortally wounded at least fifteen times and he was still there, killing anything that dared come near her.

She didn't remember anything that happened before. She didn't remember that she had been in this place before. She didn't remember that she'd been pulled out by two others. She didn't remember. She couldn't even try to remember, her brain just couldn't process that much right now.

Her mind was too busy being in denial, and her body too preoccupied with clinging to what logic already saw as lost.

And he couldn't reciprocate her embrace. He couldn't really move either. But even with his lungs punctured in several places, and his blood flooding him on the inside an outside, he still managed to speak somehow. No chokes, no stutter, no gasps. His voice was unmarred somehow, completely unlike her own. "Why are you crying?"

"I... You... what just... how did... where..."

"I suppose this is our limit isn't it?"

She saw all the dead darkspawn twitch.

"Sorry. I wasn't able to do more than this after all," he told her, still motionless.

The dead darkspawn got to their feet.

And she couldn't move. Her body refused to let him go.

The darkspawn growled and grunted, and turned their eyes towards her.

And still she couldn't move.

The darkspawn advanced upon her, and all of a sudden there were more of them, coming from all sides.

And still she wouldn't let go.

And the creatures were close to her now, leering, sneering, growling all at once, with something akin to lust.

And she realized that it wasn't her death that they sought. **She** was what they sought. She was their goal, and the goal of the dragon that was now staring down upon her, its form having been obscured by the impenetrable shadows until now, when it deigned to breathe some flames, so as to show her, to show her he was there, and that he had her, that she was now his.

And she realized too late that the only way to escape that fate worse than death was death itself. She realized too late that she should snatch one of Faren's daggers and slit her own throat before those things grabbed her. It was too late to do anything when they took her and started to pull her away from him, to pull them away from each other. She couldn't even scream when she saw them stick their blades into him, again and again and again.

She wanted to scream, but she couldn't. She tried to struggle, but it was pointless.

They grabbed her and dragged her off, their sick hands on her head, on her arms, on her legs, on her neck. But she barely even paid them mind, because her gaze couldn't tear away from the horror of him being stabbed again and again and again.

And all that was left was madness, al that threatened to engulf her was madness. The madness of the darkspawn, the madness of the archdemon, the madness of fate and, worst of all, her own insanity.

But everything suddenly went still for a moment.

And Urthemiel was taken aback when the wall cracked and started bleeding.

Then another crack appeared at the base of the nearest lyrium vein which went from teal to red as the crack went upwards and started bleeding as well. And with every second, the entire, vast cavern was filled with a rumble as wounds in the world appeared all over, spilling blood until the whole cave was flooded, until there was a red sea building up, threatening to engulf them all.

Natural law was subjugated when the blood gathered into a whirlpool, the level still rising as the world itself kept bleeding, sending the darkspawn into a frenzy and even the Archdemon into a fit of panic.

And once she saw that she had been let go of, the beasts frantically trying to escape the crimson tide, she was finally able to see Faren slowly getting to his feet, he being at the very center of the whirlpool. "Finally." was all he said before he was engulfed in the blood.

And Kallian just stared, unsure of what to feel, as the blood rose and began to take form.

All darkspawn were slain by blood spears that disappeared as soon as they sprouted, their screams silenced before they were uttered.

And once only the Archdemon was left, the blood began to concentrate around where Faren once was and ascended into a sort of column that was intimidating enough that even the dragon began to back away once it saw that, regardless of how much fire it spat out, it made no difference.

One last roar was heard before the tide of blood turned into a trident that flew straight for the Archdemon and pierced its torso, the three tips long enough and going deep enough to come out through its back.

For a time, nothing could be heard, except for how the blood was still flowing into that chamber through the cracks in the wall.

Then, when the monster was dead, the blood lost all form and fell like a flood, only for it to now gather around Kallian and start to envelop her, slowly, invitingly, reassuringly, in a way that felt... right somehow.

Because the foreign presence in her mind was now gone and she recognized that blood for what it was.

That blood was her own.

And with that realization, everything went still, before the tide began to recede and the wounds in the world began to draw the blood back into themselves, even as light began to return to that place. Before long, there was absolutely no sort of stain, red or otherwise, left on her.

She wasn't lying on her back right now, not really. She could feel someone's arms wrapped around her, holding her, stroking her hair. the arms of someone that was sitting beside her. It was a hold she recognized, though she could not exactly figure out form where. Not yet.

Her eyes were closed, and she didn't exactly think of opening them for some reason. Her hearing was just fine, however, so she could finally start to make sense of things.

And the first voice she heard was unexpected.

"I did tell you, my friend, you are holding her wrong. You need to draw her head closer to your heart. Then you have to kiss the top of her head and arch your-"

"Shut up Zevran!" That shout came from a source painfully close to her ear, though the voice was one she didn't mind hearing again.

"But I am merely trying to assist you! After all, how could such a sublimely beautiful princess possibly want to awaken to anything but the most perfect of embraces? Perhaps you will allow me to demonstrate? I dare say I have plenty of experience in such things, and I doubt she will mind if we share one more kiss."

"Shut it! That doesn't count!"

The lass could almost feel the searing glare that Faren was sending him, probably because his face was getting hot, something she could detect because her forehead was touching it. Maybe she should play dead for a while longer? This actually felt... good.

"Stop joking you guys, we still don't know anything for certain," suggested Gwen.

"But that thing this mage Avernus made, did it really work?" Leliana was heard asking.

"As far as blood magic can be trusted," Wynne said sharply, making the fair-haired elf imagine Alim and Morrigan rolling their eyes.

The answer was given by a voice she did not place and which seemed to belong to an old man. A very, very uppity old man. "Magic may not be absolutely reliable, certainly not to be trusted fully, but I did say my old research would help restore her balance and it has."

And whatever uncertainty was still left was dispelled by the very amused voice of the Warden Commander himself. "Indeed, I do believe she has been awake for some time now but has been playing the unconscious maiden just so she could listen to our antics."

There was a pause.

And she figured she may as well drop the act, so she opened her eyes and put her hand on Faren's cheek. "It seems I was found out."

She expected some annoyed remark, some sort of scolding, any sort of backlash for that trick. Instead, Faren just embraced her tighter, as tight as he could without screwing up. She realized from watching his crumpled face that he was fighting his every instinct. He would have wanted to hug her as tight as he could, but he didn't because it would have hurt her.

"You're awake... Thanks the Stone, you're alright. You'll be alright. You're really going to be alright."

He sounded so pained, so fearful, so different from the impassive Faren in her dreams. She now remembered Alim telling her Faren was never there. So just what had she seen really?

It didn't really matter, not yet. For now, she could be sure that she really had woken up for real, because whatever she had been made to drink had left her with a bad taste in her mouth, and she wasn't in any underground cave right now.

She had a bad taste in her mouth, but she hadn't fallen into any abyss.

The room was empty now. Everyone had left, leaving the two of them alone. Faren probably didn't notice them leave either. And since she was finally able to actually pay attention to her surroundings, she realized that she... didn't know where she was exactly.

"Umm, Faren... where are we?"

He gave himself some time to take a deep breath, but he kept his eyes closed, content with just holding her. "This is some room in Soldier's Peak." he paused, and his eyes finally snapped open and he looked into her own eyes with a worried frown. "Wait, you don't remember? You only drifted away in the courtyard, after that undead thing bashed you in the face with that grimy shield. You managed to make it up to that point on your own two feet and only now succumbed to that Calling thing."

"Oh... sorry I... the last thing I remember before this last nightmare was talking to you on the battlements in Redcliffe castle and then..."

Faren stared at her looking worried. Very, very worried. "Kallian... that happened over two weeks ago..."

_The review space is there and waiting of course!_


	32. Warden Arc 2: The Grey Area

Author's notes: Here it is. As a response to reviews, the last chapter was actually supposed to be confusing and weird. This is what happened while Kallian was having trouble.

* * *

**Chapter 31: The Grey Area  
**

"-. .-"

Jowan still didn't think he'd heard that right, even after that white-haired dwarf had said it for the second time. "You want to... what?"

"You heard us."

"We are going to let you out of here," Alim told him, he being the only other person, besides the dwarf and himself, in the dungeon of Redcliffe Castle. "Eamon would probably have you executed or sent back to the tower when or if he recovers. So, we're letting you go now instead. I'll use my magic to push everyone at the far end of this tunnel, and outside, including the knights, into a slumber so that you can get away."

"But we want some of your blood to make a phylactery that we will keep," Raonar again outlined, in his totally blank expression. "That's the condition.."

Jowan hesitated. "I'm not sure about this..."

"That or you can just choose to rot in here until you get beheaded. We're giving you a way out with the condition that you let us put in a failsafe," the commander spoke. "You do understand **why** we want to play safe, right? You practically caused this much death."

"Well?" Alim pressed.

Jowan couldn't help but feel a little trapped, but he figured it was still living of a sort. So he just nodded and watched as his old friend prepared the small vial.

"-. .-"

"And so, they say that when Alindra has cried enough, she will be able to cross the river to be reunited with her soldier," Leliana concluded her tale with an appropriately wistful gaze in her eyes as she stared at the stars. It was probably past midnight but she actually felt reinvigorated after telling that tale, especially to such a good audience.

Thinking about it, it was quite interesting how Raonar had actually sat through that entire story. Granted, it was his and her turn to stand watch for the first half of that night, but he still seemed to listen quite intently, not asking any unnecessary questions, though he did break his silence several times in order to try and gauge the motives of the characters better. She also took the time to study him as she spoke, glancing in his direction in those few moments when he closed his eyes and leaned against one of the moss-covered logs that they had all used as benches while having dinner around the campfire several hours earlier.

She was also next to the fire, though not exactly across from him, occasionally throwing some extra firewood in to keep it going, when **he** happened to forget to do it that is. That was another unusual thing she noticed, him forgetting to add wood to the fire. She couldn't really remember him forgetting anything since he had joined, well, rejoined them in Redcliffe. Verily, one might say he double-checked everything since he assumed command, which made it all the more unusual that he would actually let things slip his mind while listening to her storytelling.

Not that she minded having that sort of effect on him.

And now he gave a deep breath and looked at her with some mixture of amusement and lack of understanding on his face. "Wait so... Alindra, like her soldier, was turned into a star and has to keep crying for who knows how many millennia until her tears turn into a road she can walk on to reach her lover?"

"Yes, that is how the story goes."

He looked positively dumbfounded. "That... is so incredibly stupid."

There was a pause.

And only **after** that pause did Lelliana finally get to the part where she felt taken aback by that statement. "How can you say that, after hearing the tale...?"

"Seriously, Leliana, you can't **not** notice the inherent sadism in that horrible ending."

"But it doesn't end badly! It ends hopefully! We don't know **when **Alindra will get her soldier, but she will..." Her mouth stopped moving when he gave her a very penetrating gaze and smiled in a shrewd enough manner that she felt as though she had just said something absolutely idiotic.

"Wait, so let's recap..." he challenged. "Alindra's father gets her lover killed in the war because he doesn't want her marrying beneath her. Then she starts crying and pleads to the Gods to 'deliver her from this cruel world', and they respond by... dooming her to cry for eternity... Right, **very** merciful gods indeed."

"But it's not eternity... not really," she said lamely. "That's not really the point of the story."

"Leliana... if Alindra really wanted to get out of this cruel world, all she had to do was jump off the roof or out a window, or just drink a slow acting poison to kill herself painlessly in her sleep. If she didn't go suicidal, she was probably going to get over it. She would have probably moaned and wailed for a few weeks and moved on. But instead, the so-called Gods decide to not only raise her and make her a star, but they **deliberately** turn her soldier into a star too and place him on the **other** end of the sky** on purpose.** And now she has to cry for just how many millennia exactly? Honestly, those so-called Gods must really be sadistic if they enjoy seeing a woman cry forever, because that's the only reason I can see for putting her in that position, instead of just making those two part of the same constellation or something, so they'd just be together."

The Orlesian woman was gaping as though she had just been given irrefutable proof that the Maker was nothing but a duck-billed platypus.

"Speechless?"

That finally made her clear her throat and try to at least salvage some of the story. "Of all the ways to interpret such a love story that transcends death, you choose the one where the Gods themselves are sadists."

"Well pardon me, but unless there is some sort of metaphysical law that says you can't turn two lovers into stars without dooming them to eternal suffering and weeping, then the Gods are either sadistic or just plain retarded. Or maybe they're just being practical and figured they would have to work less now that Alindra is filling the sky with stars, her tears as it were, in their place."

The woman just could not stop herself from gasping in stupefaction. "You... you don't have a shred of romance in you!"

He looked amazingly nonplussed. "Perhaps, or maybe I just think that love stories can exists even without having idiotic plots. No offense towards you intended, of course, since, fortunately, you're not the inventor of the story... right? "

The woman felt like her head was spinning because she just... didn't understand something. "But then, if you thought the tale was stupid, why did you listen so politely?"

"Well, because you're a great storyteller I guess..." He leaned back from the fire, in his ever so candid manner, and the flames cast half a shadow on his face as he looked at her sideways. His nearly silver irises were perfectly visible, however, as though they had a glow of their own to light them up. And when she felt like she was going to be drawn into them, she averted her gaze and ended up staring at the fire itself. The embers had become really interesting to look at all of a sudden.

"Th... thank you for the compliment... I think..." she sputtered.

"Right, so I guess I'll go and see just what that dog of mine and Shale are up to. Be right back!"

And he got up and left.

And all Leliana could wonder was if her stories really were based on idiotic plots. Regardless of how much she liked Alindra's tale, she had to admit he had a point about those Gods.. Maybe she hadn't heard the tale right the first time? That had to be it...

Right?

"-. .-"

_Excerpt from journal of Senior Enchanter Wynne_

_08 Matrinalis, 9:30 Dragon:_ _Heavens, it seems that writing any sort of log about this dangerous journey will fall to me, of all people. Apparently, none of the Grey Wardens even bothered considering such a prospect ever since things took a turn for the worst at Ostagar. I asked the so-called Warden Commander why he did not at least take a few notes and he simply said that he just didn't feel like it (note that I still use 'so-called' because I still find him strange, especially this 'reason' for not keeping any kind of written account of things). But I am getting ahead of myself._

_ I asked Irving for permission to leave the Circle and accompany the Grey Wardens. I can feel that I am not long for this world and would like to do something worthwhile with whatever time I have left. The Wardens' reactions were mixed, from Alistair's arguable enthusiasms to Alim's slight annoyance, though I haven't been treated with any sort of hostility. In fact, I dare say I have mostly enjoyed the new company, especially Leliana and Alistair himself._

_ That was about two weeks ago, when the party decided, more like the Commander decided on his own, that our next stop was Denerim (we had already been in Redcliffe for some time, aiding with the 'cleanup', which was mostly getting rid of all the remaining bodies and healing the sick and wounded.) He said he had some business to take care of in Denerim, Grey Warden business, but would not say anything more about it for some reason. He can be unnerving to the point of absurdity, especially with how he always puts on that sly smirk of his whenever he decides to deliberately hold out on information. Still, I'm not sure what is worse, the fact that he keeps everyone else in the dark about many things (like whether or not he really killed his brother), or that everyone seems to have absolutely no problem with it._

_ Granted, Gwenith did, at least, tell me she also sometimes finds him slightly aggravating, and so did Alistair, especially now that he is being forcefully tutored in politics and leadership. Speaking of this, the idea to teach Alistair these things is a plus for the dwarf, I admit, since I happen to think it is a wise precaution and that Alistair stands to gain from it. He already has discipline and a strong sense of duty, which can only be amplified by gaining some actual leadership skills. I can only hope our so-called fearless leader doesn't pass on any of his own quirks to the lad. I dare say Alistair already has enough of his own._

_ Lady Cousland also said that she actually does trust Raonar because, or so she believes, even though he can be a bit harsh, maybe too harsh sometimes, he actually does have everyone's best interests at heart. I tried to pry more out of her, but she would say nothing. Alistair also seems to trust him after how he pushed himself and everyone else to get that exorcism done with as little death as possible. Well, as little __**additional**__ death as possible, considering how many people actually died before their arrival in Redcliffe._

_ But I digress._

_ Right now, we are no longer going to Denerim. Just before we got all the supplies we needed, a certain Levi Dryden showed up in the village and asked for help with the exploration of Soldier's Peak, a fortress that once belonged to the Grey Wardens. I was not present at the short debate that was held between the seven Wardens, but the decision was made to check it out. The leader also said it may actually prove convenient and make it easier to accomplish whatever task he has to carry out in the capital if they do gain a headquarters of sorts._

_ Did I mention how aggravating it is that he insists on keeping us in the dark?_

_ Still, I suppose I should try to give him the benefit of the doubt, lest I end up seeming biased. Though he holds out on some things, what he has disclosed so far has not been untruthful to the best of my knowledge. He also seems to genuinely take an interest in the wellbeing of all those that travel with him, and this extends to more than what practicality demands. _

_ For instance, he actually made sure to have a solid quantity of cookies baked and packed for the journey, most of them reserved for Sten. I also overheard him inquiring into everyone's condition several times a day over the past week. But what I find most interesting is that he appears to be quite protective of this Faren lad, especially now that the latter is feeling down for some reason. Of course, I'd be lying if I said Raonar wasn't being subtle about it. I doubt anyone actually noticed, Faren included, but I lived enough to notice patterns when they show up. That said, I saw how he always makes sure that he is within earshot of Faren's tent while does that odd, light-coming-out-of-his-entire-body meditation during the night, and that he only retires to his own tent once the redhead is fast asleep, usually after checking up on him first._

_ Another interesting thing is how he decided there would always be at least two people and one of the mabari war hounds on watch each night. And it should be noted that Shale never sleeps at all so, technically, there are always at least three... individuals awake at all times. And even so, the dwarf himself often spends hours performing that odd meditation I mentioned before. I was thinking of asking just what he is doing and how, but I fear he might just stonewall me again, grinning in his ever so mirthful way._

_ Tonight we have reached half the distance between Redcliffe and this fortress that the trader spoke of. And now, I am sitting by the fire, stupefied at how little coherence my notes actually have. Amazing that my thoughts would start to look so jumbled on paper, like a bunch of random ideas with almost no connection between them, after such a short time spent with these young people. I cannot help but wonder if the manner of our (again) so-called fearless leader has anything to do with this... I'll have to perform some meditation of my own I believe, then turn in for the night._

_ I just hope the one in charge and Alim don't cook up any horrendous schemes while they stand watch together for the first half of the night._

"-. .-"

"This is the first and only time I say this," the dwarf noble sternly told his faithful mabari war hound. "Stop hounding Shale into doing your bidding. How do you think I felt when I learned you had been behaving like this? What does your conduct make **me** look like?"

Rinne tilted her head and gave the puppy dog eyes expression (which wasn't all that hard considering she was, in fact, an actual dog so it came naturally to her).

"Ugh, that stare is making me ill," Shale said. She was actually attending this scolding session, as was her right as the injured party, and was standing some way behind and to the right of the white-haired warrior. "And I'm made of rock so feeling ill should actually be impossible for me."

"Don't give me that look," the dwarf admonished his hound. "I said that and I mean it. Stop manipulating Shale into doing your bidding."

There was a sigh on the golem's part. She was obviously not thankful for how the commander had just said she had been manipulated, but she didn't really say anything, considering it was all true. There was also the fact that her remaining dignity (pride actually) is what had prevented her from actually bringing this matter to his attention herself. As such, it took over a month for the exile to end up learning it from Faren, who just mentioned in passing how she had told him about 'not wanting to suffer the indignity.'

Rinne just whimpered but looked away from the stone creature, obviously reluctant to obey.

And, of course, her master picked up on that right away. "Don't try to weasel your way out. I expect you to take responsibility for your actions. Now, apologize to Shale."

If the golem hadn't been on the receiving end of the mabari's manipulative games of mime for the past several weeks, she would have found it embarrassing that the Warden would be treating Rinne like he would a human, dwarf or elf.

Sure enough, the dog lamely looked at the golem and barked a few times before going silent.

"I suppose that will have to do," Raonar decided, still looking down at the huge canine while stroking his beard. "Unless you just put up an act and lied to my face."

The dog whined softly, as though she felt hurt and insulted by his mistrust in her sincerity to him.

"Seeing that thing put in its place was almost worth all the indignity it put me through." Shale said before she suddenly stopped speaking. "Actually, forget I said anything," and she turned around and stomped off as fast as she could without running.

The silver-eyed Warden started to complain to himself as he made his way to the fire in the middle of the camp. "A sheltered noble, an almost templar... a giant that committed familicide during a panic attack, a not-very-chantry sister that says she gets visions from the Maker, an envoy of Flemeth with people issues, a pair of thieves, an apathetic Dalish elf that doesn't care about humans... and a dog that manipulates golems into acting like slaves... Sometimes I really feel like an insanity magnet."

It was getting late but there were still some hours left of his and Alim's shift at keeping watch (the elf had gone off to check on Kallian again).

When he got to the fire, the leader sat down in a cross-legged position and started to poke at the embers, following the flying sparks with his eyes as they ascended through the air and faded, becoming little besides ash flakes. He started to visualize the lava that coursed throughout Orzammar and how it glowed and flowed, like the life pulse of the city. How it practically poured through and also enveloped the city, granting warmth and light.

And how it could consume them all if left unchecked, just like a single spark of this small fire could light the whole forest.

He squelched his worry and doubt about what may have happened and what may be happening in Orzammar before said doubt even surfaced. This was not the time to think about Trian and whether or not he was alright. This was not the time to think about Gorim and whether or not he was alright. This wasn't the time to think about his father and wonder about whether or not he was alright, or if he actually got a grip and figured out what was really important yet. And Bhelen had a long way to go before he actually got to be among those foremost in his mind. (read: he had to stop being an idiot).

As was said, the exiled second son of the dwarven king did not think about this. Now was the time to keep an eye on what Kallian was going through, and to keep trying to find a way to stop this, whatever it was, that was making her get her Calling early. Not that anyone really knew this is what was happening. He and Alim were the only ones that did, along with Faren and Kallian herself that is.

And, of course, it was time to think about stopping the Blight too.

His attention was once again drawn outwards when Rinne slowly came forward and stopped at a couple of meters from him, looking sad. Then, she stared at him and gave a pained whine.

He could guess what she was asking. "I'm not angry at you."

She looked surprised, as far as dogs can express surprise at least, and whined curiously.

"I was just... really disappointed in you when I heard you were actually doing that sort of thing," he explained gravely.

The dog flinched like it had just been smacked, but she didn't make any more sounds. She didn't look at him anymore either. Instead, she was staring at the ground, like someone that was really sorry for screwing things up.

So the dwarf sighed and opened his arms in invitation. "Come here."

On any other occasion, the black hound would have jumped him. She would have jumped on top of him and started to lick him on the face, or would have started to wrestle with him. Instead, she slowly walked forward and set her forepaws in his lap while laying her head on his shoulder, sighing when he put his arms around her and began to stroke her on the top of her head.

And it's not like he didn't understand and appreciate the thought behind her actions. "I know you were just trying to look out for me, but I don't want you to think the end justifies the means, alright?"

She gave a short bark of obedience and closed her eyes, delighting in her master's understanding.

"I wish I had a dog like that," Alim's voice was heard, revealing he had finally returned from his check-up. "You're really lucky, you know?"

The exile made a quick summary of his life so far and restrained himself before he could point out the irony of that statement. And it wasn't like Alim hadn't said that on purpose anyway, because he had.

Rinne suddenly broke out of her master's arms and slipped behind him, curling up in a ball with her back pressed against his, acting as both support and a sort of pillow for him to lean back on.

Which he did before finally asking what he didn't really want to. "Is it any worse than before?"

The elf snapped his fingers and the small fire suddenly erupted in a blaze. "I'm afraid so. Her nightmares seem to be going beyond the point where I can do anything to tone them down."

"It's probably because these so-called 'dreams' aren't happening in the Fade," guessed the other warden. "You've got no idea what to do about it, right?"

"I'm not sure anyone would," the other one replied. "I mean, from what I understand, there was never a case of someone that survived the Joining with assistance. I at least found out this was a factor. What we managed to pull off back then seems to have just been a... temporary delay in Kallian's death. That or it reacted negatively with what that demon did back at Kinloch Hold."

"You mean a 'more' temporary reprieve."

"Yes."

A period of silence followed, since they really could do nothing but wait and see, and hope they might find something useful in Soldier's Peak. But there was something else on Alim Surana's mind. "So, this Grey Warden business of yours, the one you say you have to take care of in Denerim..."

"It doesn't matter for now."

"I wasn't going to press you about what it is, though I do think you're being a bit too careful about it if you're not telling the other wardens. What I want to ask you is what you plan to do afterwards."

The exile opened his eyes but looked resolute. "It depends. If Eamon's not going to wake up by then, and if we can't somehow clear the Grey Wardens' name and actually draw Ferelden's attention to the Blight... I suppose we'll have no choice but to use these treaties and gather whatever armies we can and leave for Orlais."

There was a pause.

But Alim was far less stumped by this than anyone else would have been. "I assume you've given this a lot of thought."

"Even if we get my people and the elves to aid us, it won't be enough against a full darkspawn horde. Setting aside all the political bias that chronicles and records are packed with, we can at least trust history to teach us that we can't save a nation that doesn't do anything to save itself. So if Ferelden insists on branding us outlaws and, if rumors are true, getting ready for a civil war, we really have no hope of saving it from the Blight."

"Alistair and Gwen seem to think Eamon would be able to help us stop Loghain and actually talk some sense into these humans," Alim stated, knowing he was really just pointing out the obvious.

"Right, I know. But he's out of commission and we can't wait for him to recover forever. And nothing seems to work on him. He's catatonic. And chasing fairy tales like this Urn of Sacred Ashes is hardly what I call a smart way of trying to stop the Blight, especially knowing that all of Isolde's knights were sent out to find it and failed. It may not even exist. As I said, we'll go and take care of our business in Denerim, after Soldier's Peak is done with. By then, the knights should have returned and, if we can't get any good leads, we're not going to waste time while the Darkspawn ravage the land."

The mage took some time to study his expression and, from what he could see of what the light from the flames revealed of his face, he wasn't happy with the state of affairs. Even if it was the completely logical course of action, it didn't make him feel any better about it.

At all.

"Gwen and Alistair might decide to just stay behind if it comes to that..."

The dwarf did not take his eyes off the fire. "If it were just me, I'd embark on even this insane fairy tale hunt on my own. I'd go look for ancient relics all the time if I could. But stopping the Blight became my responsibility when Duncan died. I'm the leader here and, not counting Alistair, I'm the eldest of the Wardens too. I'm the one that has to think about the whole world instead of each person in particular. I'm the one that has to make the final decisions, even when there are no right ones to be had. I know not everyone will be happy with them. I can just wait and prepare, and handle everything as best I can when the time comes." He suddenly stopped and blinked a few times. Then, he smiled and reassumed his candid demeanor. "Sorry, now I'm brooding. Silly isn't it? And very out of character for me."

Rinne barked from behind him.

Not that the mage actually minded it. "Listening to the chief brood is what the second in command is for, right?"

The prince shot him an awkward glance. "What, so you're the second in command now? When did **that** happen?"

"Eh, I heard Sten telling Theron that he did not think it was wise for you to have a mage as second in command. What, do you mind? Theron didn't seem to..."

"Nah."

"You know, I think I understand what you meant when you said that you did us all a favor by assuming leadership, though I am still trying to guess exactly **why** you maneuvered it all to become the leader if you knew this is what things were going to be like."

The dwarf leaned back against the large hound and looked at the starry sky with half-open eyes. "It's what I am."

"-. .-"

_Excerpt from journal of Senior Enchanter Wynne_

_09 Matrinalis, 9:30 Dragon:__ Today we stopped two hours earlier than usual, at which point Alim and Raonar almost ordered Kallian to set up her tent immediately and go to sleep for some reason, after she had something to eat. She agreed when that other dwarf (Faren) asked her to. I must say that I do not agree with this relationship they seem to be getting into. It is never a good sign when someone starts listening more to others than the one who is in command, regardless of how aggravating the latter is._

_ That said, the lass awoke just a short time after the rest of us had our own dinner. I was performing my evening magical exercises when she approached me and I took advantage of the occasion to broach the subject of their blossoming relationship. She proved... reluctant to see the bigger picture and realize that she had to put her duty as a Grey Warden above all else. She actually stormed off and told me to stay out of it._

_ Perhaps that lad Faren will prove more open-minded and willing to see my point. Shame I could not catch him tonight. He disappeared off somewhere immediately after we ate, the same way that our so-called fearless leader went off to have some talk with Morrigan. Come to think of it, Gwen and Alistair also spend a lot of time with each other. Perhaps I should..."_

_ "_Ahem."

Wynne looked up from her journal to see a certain white-haired Commander of the Grey looking at her with a completely blank expression. On the other hand, he had both of his arms crossed in front of him and was tapping the ground with his foot. And those eyes of his felt like spears, though she could not tell why exactly.

"What's on your mind?" she asked.

"Now, unless you don't know, I am the kind of person that handles a situation as soon as I notice it instead of waiting until it gets too big to ignore."

The woman felt a chill go down her spine for some reason. "I see..."

"So let me get this straight," he began with no other sort of preamble. "You just told Kallian that she should break up with Faren because they are both Grey Wardens and are, thus, not allowed to have a relationship? And no, she didn't complain about it, I guessed at it and ordered her to confirm or deny."

Wynne briefly felt surprised at how she hadn't prepared for this discussion. "That's not exactly how I'd put it but-"

"And what, exactly, do you think places you in the position where you can actually lecture people on what being a Grey Warden means?"

The mage thought of complaining about his tone, but he hadn't used any sort of aggressive nuance in his voice. He probably knew she would snap back if he had. He definitely was prepared for this kind of talk. That didn't mean she was going to back down here though. "Well pardon me if I feel they should put their priorities in order before their bond gets strong enough to jeopardize everyone else."

There was a period of silence, and the commander's stare began to make the old woman feel like she was in for it.

And how right she was. "Wynne, Kallian and Faren aren't your mage apprentices so you don't get to decide what their priorities should be."

"I don't think that was called f-"

"Silence."

Wynne's jaw snapped shut automatically. Only after that did she realize that his glare startled her enough to make her train of thought break off.

And his stance changed to one straighter and more imposing (and the fact that he had found a spot of higher ground and his eye level was actually above hers definitely helped). "I am going to be perfectly frank, so listen very carefully. You are not a Grey Warden. You have no idea what being a Grey Warden implies. You **cannot** have any idea what kind of sacrifices we make to become what we are. And don't even start on me with what history books say about our order. Thus, you cannot claim to know what our priorities are. You do not get to give lectures on what being a Grey Warden means. You do not get to give any sort of **suggestions** as to what sort of conduct is appropriate for a member of our order. You do not get to tell stories about what Grey Wardens are supposed to be like, especially not ones that have us acting deliberately idiotic just to enforce your own view of what a 'hero' is and how we are supposed to be it.

So when you see two of them, or just one of them, finding some sort of peace of mind in the comfort of another, you do **not** pester them about your **idea** of what the duty of the Grey Wardens is and of how they should go about it. And just so there are no misunderstandings, **I **am the only one with the authority to order them to break it off. If their feelings start to affect their judgment during missions, **I** am the one you complain to if you really must, after which **I** will take whatever actions are required. So you will **never** start to act the mentor about what being a Grey Warden means. You will **not** tell Kallian, or Gwen, or Alisair, or Faren or Theron or Alim or, Stone help you, me what we should be doing as members of the order.

Se when you feel like you should tell any of us what you think is the most Grey Warden-like thing to do, don't. Do I make myself clear?"

"This is hardly-"

"Do I make myself **clear**?" he asked again, not raising the pitch of his voice but somehow sounding a lot more intimidating than before.

So Wynne narrowed her eyes but relented. Reluctantly. "Very well, **commander**."

And, much to her stupefaction, instead of storming off or anything, he suddenly brightened up and gave a very merry grin. "Awesome! I **knew** you'd be reasonable! And look! Gwen and Alistair are finally **not** all over each other for once so you can go and try to talk to Alistair about how their relationship is going!"

There was an uneasy silence before Wynne spoke again. "Are you mocking me?"

"Of course not!" he said with a snort. "I said you don't have the right to lecture people on Grey Warden stuff, not that you're not allowed to give any other advice you might have. I mean, you're ages older than me and still alive, so you must at least have **some** wisdom to pass on, right? That said, I was talking to Leliana and learned that the Chantry has this really scary myth about where children come from and since Alistair was raised in the Chantry... well, you get the hint, right?"

And he was gone.

So the Senior Enchanter could only stand there looking dumbstruck for a while before she decided it was just too headache-inducing to even **try** to understand what had just happened, so she decided she would go and talk to Alistair about where babies come from.

"-. .-"

The full moon was high up in the starry sky and there was just a weak breeze coursing through the forest. This would normally be accompanied by a general serenity. The denizens of the forest, or most of them, would be curled up in their nests or dens, waiting for the morning to come, while nocturnal animals would go about their own lives. The forest would normally be almost still around this time, while the occasional owl hooted, looking about with curiosity at the occasional firefly.

Unfortunately, said owl had to fly off with haste because a she-wolf caused quite a splash when it jumped in and out of the spring located next to the very tree on whose branch it stood. And only a few moments later, a he-wolf ran through that very same place, chasing after the former.

They were like two shadows, blurring in and out of the darkness as they followed one after the other, the one behind trying to catch up to the she-wolf as she kept taunting him, slowing down in her dash just enough for him to come within inches of her, only to storm off like the wind whenever the other got close.

The chase kept on for a time, both at once exhilarated and relentless, until the one farther back gathered all of his strength and leapt forward quickly and high enough that he practically fell on top of the other, causing them both to lose balance and end up rolling on the bumpy ground, carried forward by their inertia.

And when they actually slid down a slippery slope, there was a flash of light and a magical pulse for a few moments, at the end of which Morrigan was revealed to have been pinned to the ground. She was on her back with a certain circle mage holding down both of her arms by the wrists as he practically lay over her.

The obvious implications of that posture were not lost on either of them, but they were too out of breath to even acknowledge it for a while. Only after that did Alim finally get his lungs under enough control to actually talk. "Hah...Caught you... Now, you'll have to... tell me what our brave commander talked to you about just before I met up with you. That was the deal, no? I prove I can catch you as a wolf and you answer my question."

The witch seemed to be breathing a bit more easily, though she still seemed frustrated. "You must have cheated. 'Tis impossible that you would already have mastery of this animal form."

His green eyes glinted even though there was little light for them to reflect. "It's your own fault for being such a... good teacher. Now tell me."

"Do you truly expect me to tell you while not getting off of me?"

"What, do you mind?" he coyly challenged.

Morrigan paused for a second and stared at him with one raised eyebrow. "Since we are away from prying eyes, not overmuch. But please, stop giving me that grin. Combined with the way you are leering, 'tis most disturbing."

"As you wish, lady of the wilds," he conceded with an overly dramatic tone of voice. "Now, what was it that Raonar talked to you about?"

"Why do you not simply ask him?"

"I never said I won't. But stop dodging the question and just answer me."

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Fine. He told me he believes I have an ulterior reason to accompany you, that he does not trust me but that he does not dislike me either. He also told me to... be careful about how I handle my mother... and that she tried to force him into making a deal with her... a deal I was not told of."

"I see."

He looked at her for a time, after which he let himself slip off and ended up lying on the ground beside her. "Thank you for telling me."

"I suppose now we will finally decide whether or not to actually do something about **them**?" the witch suggested, though her tone let it show that she didn't really care either way.

"By 'them' I assume you mean the scents we picked up while we were wolves?"

"Yes, that is what I meant."

"I'll race you!" Alim boasted as he transformed into a wolf once again and instantly charged off.

"You are a year too early to race me," the other one simply said as she slipped into her own wolf form and went after him.

"-. .-"

"Make's sword! I know where babies come from!"

It was taking all of the Warden Commander's will to keep his laughter silent. Still, it was really hard. Even though Alistair was on the other end of the camp, his outraged yell was heard crystal clear in the dwarf's ears as he meditated. Of course, those more observant would have noticed that he wasn't successfully meditating anymore, because his magical aura turned off immediately upon the templar's uttering of that exclamation.

That and there was something else that drew his attention.

"Help! You have to help us!"

It was a man. A frightened-looking man almost tripping on his own steps as he ran. "Oh thank the Maker I ran into you! It's bandits! They've got my family! We were just trying to run from the darkspawn in the south and we were ambushed! You have to help!"

The dwarf got up more slowly than one may have expected but he did order everyone to grab what weapons they could. Unfortunately, like him, Gwen and Alistair were out of their armors, as was Sten. Still, with Wynne there to heal them if things went bad, they should be fine.

There was one thing, however, that the dwarf did before they all followed the scared human, at least one other thing besides ordering Leliana to stay behind and keep an eye on the camp while they were away. He turned to Theron, who was just as vigilant as always, and fully geared. "Take your wolf and the mabari hounds and go see what Shale is up to. I think she went off in that direction, chasing after a weird bird."

"-. .-"

It's not like she expected it to be easy, what with birds flying and all that, but this particular one was just too unnerving. The gall! It had actually had the nerve to not only fly close and around her several times, but it had even landed on its shoulder at one point. So of course Shale would go on a roaring rampage of retribution, breaking down trees and crushing boulders while trying to squish that thing. The only thing that could have made it all worse was if it had been a pigeon, but she was quite sure pigeons were smaller and not as colorful as this one.

But the strangest part was that that damnable bird had actually talked.

Initially, Shale thought she was just hearing things, but it became more than obvious that she wasn't, especially now that that flying thing had stopped on the branch of a tree that was too large for the golem to destroy. The bird was actually taunting her.

"Big stupid rock! Sqawk! Big stupid rock!"

Shale was seething. "Oh no, squishing it is not enough. I will have to track down its relatives and the relatives of **those** relatives and squish them also."

Unfortunately, she was forced to divert her attention elsewhere when the sound of arrows bouncing off of stone notified her that she was not alone there. Turning around, she saw a human with its bow aimed at her and uselessly trying to shoot her down. Of course, the shots didn't even scratch the granite she was made of.

"Is this 'being an idiot day' I wonder?" she rambled as she quaintly stepped towards him, only to feel her body getting slower, and a strange feeling climbing up from her feet to her upper body. Only barely did she manage to to twist around and see a female mage casting a cone of cold in her direction, a mage she had failed to detect before because she was too caught up in paying attention to that detestable winged creature.

And that winged creature was now sitting on said mage's shoulder.

"Ambush... typical."

Shale's jaw froze in place before she could point out that freezing her in place was just a means of delaying their inevitable squishing, but she was forced to reassess her situation when two men armed with worrisomely large mauls came out of hiding.

The frozen Shale felt remarkably fragile all of a sudden.

"-. .-"

Kallian was glad to finally find some peace of mind, though she had to admit this wasn't how she'd pictured this evening would turn out. First she wakes up because of nightmares and a splitting headache. Then she gets a lecture from Wynne on how she should break up with Faren because it's irresponsible for Grey Wardens to have that kind of relationship. She did briefly consider Wynne would have probably not pestered her if she knew about how she was practically dying a slow death but understood it was her own fault for wanting to keep it a secret for as long as possible.

Then the evening got even more unusual when Raonar made it more or less obvious that he would go have a discussion with that old woman, **after** he pointed her in Faren's direction by his own initiative, making it clear he was definitely not against this relationship that may or may not even be far enough along to warrant such a discussion. And that was **after** he totally did not scold her for eavesdropping on his and Morrigan's troubling conversation about Flemeth.

The irony, though, was that she wasn't really sure she and the tattooed dwarf **had** gotten to that part.

At least she got the confirmation that they actually were in that kind of relationship when Faren put his arm around her shoulders and just listened to her talk about her nightmares. He didn't even say much, except try to reassure her that those two (Alim and Raonar that is, but mostly Alim) would figure out something that would get her condition repaired. She knew, of course, that he was hiding how concerned he really was, and that no one really had any idea what to do. Still, if she was going to die, she would at least make the best of what time was left.

And the fact that her headache was gone at least suggested she was taking the correct approach to all this. And his embrace felt really warm and tender.

"Get down!"

Her mind raced, trying to catch up to what was going on around her, but only grasped the situation when she was already lying on her back on the cold ground, with Faren over her. Her thoughts gained order, and she realized that the whisking sound she had heard along with that shout had come from an arrow that he had just taken for her. And even as she realized that, he seemed to choke before outright collapsing on the ground next to her, the arrow lodged in his back.

And he was not moving.

"Wh-" she pushed herself up and tried to get over her shock, but she was frozen. She dared not touch him, she dared not face the possibility of checking for his pulse and finding none. he fact that he already looked dead was a strong enough shock in itself.

"So noble!" an unknown voice then spoke. It came from behind her and belonged to a man, one that walked as someone for whom soundless steps came naturally. "Jumping to take the arrow instead of his beloved! A worthy death, wouldn't you say?"

She was on her feet in a moment, dagger in hand while her white nightgown fluttered through the air as she spun around to face their unknown attacker. She knew the arrow came from elsewhere, of course, obvious from how she had side-stepped enough as to put a tree between her and the direction of said arrow. She was not about to show that she knew she was at a disadvantage, however. She didn't speak either, figuring that there was little chance he would say who he was even if she did ask.

So she just watched him as he approached, shrouded in the darkness cast by the crowns of the trees through which the full moon could not easily pierce. And as he got closer, he drew a dagger, then a second one in his other hand. From what she could see of his silhouette, he was an elf, lightly armored, most likely an assassin for hire. This wasn't just some bandit attack. Whoever it was, he had waited, along with whatever men he had, for the party to become separated before striking at the most opportune moment.

He stopped for a moment and spun his small weapons between his fingertips. Then, he deliberately drifted into the shadows, as an assassin should.

The city elf realized immediately that this wasn't an issue of where he would show up from. Stealth implied that he would sneak around and aim for the most vulnerable spot, preferably from behind. So instead of frantically looking around to try and spot him, Kallian just shifted her weight and took advantage of how loose-fitting her nightgown was to deliberately show a fake vulnerability.

And when the strike came, it only went through the fabric of her clothes, missing her by an inch but giving her enough of a signal as to how to counterattack. Within a moment, she had turned on her heels and wrapped said nightgown around his wrist, using her other hand to strike back. He tilted his head by a narrow margin, but her thrust still made a small cut below his eye.

He jumped away the very next fraction of a second, letting go of the knife in his right hand in order to successfully disentangle his hand from how it had become tied up in her clothes. And only then did he actually touch the cut on his face and realize that it was he that had been injured first in that 'duel.' "Impressive. It appears that the flowers that exist among the Grey Wardens are as beautiful as they are likely to tear you apart with their thorns."

Kallian kept her expression completely blank, even though she found the way he was leering at her somewhat disturbing. She also did not take her eyes off him as she picked up the knife he had dropped and confirmed that it was coated in poison. "Hmm, how very valorous, to attack a damsel with a poisoned dagger. Such a cowardly thing to do."

"Ah, my dear, you would perhaps wish I assaulted you with my bare hands instead? I must admit that has a certain appeal. Still, I fear that engaging you while unarmed might prove less that fruitful to my health."

"No doubt," she agreed gracefully as her white gown fluttered in the breeze. "Who sent you?" she then asked. Her stance was straight, with her free arm in front, to guard, while her armed hand was extended backwards, ready to counter whatever the enemy elf would come up with.

"My apologies, but I am not inclined to answer that question," he said as he disappeared to the shadows again.

Tabris was really getting impatient now. She had to deal with this quickly and take a look at Faren but she was also aware of the fact that the assassin wasn't alone. All she could do now was somehow make sure his next hit didn't cut her, because even a small incision could spell trouble because of whatever poison that guy was using. She also knew that deliberately showing a vulnerability was not going to work a second time.

She only barely heard him (she really was glad to be an elf sometimes, because those pointy ears at least helped her stay aware of everything around her). She side-stepped just in time to avoid getting stabbed. He had aimed deep, but that was his mistake, because this posture was one she knew well. Her body moved on its own when she saw that arm extended right besides her. Her free hand just grabbed that wrist and the motion continued with her making a spin and practically twisting it. But while he did lose hold of his weapon, he did something unexpected. Instead of ending up tumbling to the ground, he agilely performed a sort of horizontal aerial rotation, landing on his feet perfectly and surprising her enough that he disarmed her of her own knife.

A few second later, her back was pinned against a tree and he was pressing both of her wrists against the bark, one of his hands also holding her dagger. And his right foot was holding her own underneath, so as to prevent any blows below the belt.

"-. .-"

The full moon was high up in the starry sky and there was just a weak breeze coursing through the forest. This would normally be accompanied by a general serenity. The denizens of the forest, or most of them, would be curled up in their nests or dens, waiting for the morning to come, while nocturnal animals would go about their own lives. The forest would normally be almost still around this time, while the occasional owl hooted, looking about with curiosity at the occasional firefly.

But said owl was forced to fly away when two wolves jumped out of the underbrush and sank their teeth deep in the necks of those two archers that thought nothing would stop them from shooting Leliana down while she was distracted by that third, chainmail-wearing man with a greatsword. Not that she had had too much trouble with him per se.

Still, it was only after she slit the throat of that attacker that she could actually turn her attention towards the other two that had come along to attack the nearly defenseless camp, only to see that two wolves had already slain them.

Well, two wolves that went through an unusual magical transformation, only to reveal a certain mage and witch. And the elf complained. "Ugh... I can't believe I just bit on the throat of a human. I never thought I'd **ever** bite on the throat of **anything** actually. But really, did it **have** to be a human?"

Morrigan chuckled as she summoned a swarm of insect that immediately began to consume the bodies of the fallen.

"-. .-"

Shale used to boast that she had no concept of fear, but this particular situation actually made her question whether that had been just bravado or overconfidence. She could not move, so utterly frozen in place she was, and while the sensation she felt was not pain per se, it definitely made her realize that, should those two men with mauls strike her hard enough, she would be shattered to smithereens, maybe even in a single hit.

Yes, the worst part was that she was totally trapped in that spell of frost which that detestably smug female mage had surprised her with. So all she could do was wonder if getting smashed into pieces really was the equivalent of death for a golem or if she'd have to spend the rest of eternity as a pile of rubble.

And that actually made her somewhat envious of squishy creatures of flesh, which didn't have to worry about the possibility of that sort of eternal un-life.

The men advanced and were within a foot of the construct on each side. But when they prepared to swing those war hammers with all their might, one of them suddenly found himself with an arrow embedded in his throat, while the other one could do naught but fall over, ending up sprawled on the ground with Damon, Gwen's mabari war hound, on top of him, his sharp fangs sunk deep into the back of his neck.

Taken by surprise, Shale was still able to hear something attack the archer behind her, right before a blade was heard sinking into him.

Unfortunately, seeing that things had gotten out of hand, the apostate mage flipped out and decided to at least take the golem down with her. So she gathered her magic and prepared to launch a stone missile directly at her, knowing that the impact would do the job.

But her spell fizzled when she too was thrown to the ground by something black and large, something with really sharp teeth that made sure to tear through her throat before she could gasp in horror. And after that was done, Rinne, of course, did the natural thing and stepped off her latest victim in order to pant happily at Shale and bark a few times before sitting on its hind legs, looking pleased with herself.

"I'm not exactly a mage," the Dalish elf said as he walked to her front, followed by his wolf. "But those crystals of yours channel fire, do they not? So why, exactly, haven't you used them to thaw yourself?"

Shale suddenly felt really stupid, but Rinne actually barked at the elf as though she were admonishing him for something.

"Ah!" he said in realization. "You're saying she wouldn't have had enough time to do it anyway. Still, I find it odd Shale didn't even think about it. I mean, from what Raonar told me, that they gave Shale the ability to counter the effects of a frost spell of that kind was exactly why he chose to take along those very specific types of crystals instead of the others he found in that village of Honnleath he talked about. After all, getting frozen and shattered is pretty much the biggest weakness of golems, or so he said."

Shale was really focusing on her fire crystals now.

"Ah, so it does work," the hunter remarked.

"Yes," the stone giant reluctantly said now that her jaw could move again. And when she finally shook off the effects of that magic, she turned her eerie eyes towards the black hound and sighed in dejection. "Just when I thought I was rid of it and its demands, I wind up in its debt for saving my apparently not so invulnerable life. If gods exist, they either have a horrid sense of humor or a very good sense of irony."

Rinne barked excitedly.

Twice.

"-. .-"

If the situation were any less dire, Kallian would have probably felt amused at how she had managed to surprise that assassin enough to kick the living lights out of him. Unfortunately, she really didn't have enough time for that.

Faren was dying.

And all she could do was ask herself why that was happening. A few minutes ago he was comforting her and now...

Now she was holding him, because he didn't have enough strength left to keep his balance, even though he had fallen to his knees. He must have pulled the arrow out of his back because there was just a deep wound now. One that was bleeding heavily.

"Funny... To think I'd... lose your first kiss to... someone like him..." His breath was irregular. And maker, was he heavy and hard to support. She found it necessary to lay him with his back against that tree.

"That wasn't my first kiss..."

He gave a wry smile at that, and she felt like something was hurting on the inside. He had his back against that oak now and his eyes were half-open, as though he was putting effort into staying conscious. "Ah... I should have known... That ring should have made it... clear... that you've... been with someone else..."

"I haven't... I haven't kissed anyone before, that's not what I meant."

Faren seemed to wince, as though the wound in his back stung harder now. "Then... what was that... just now?"

Kallian figured she would just take that whole idea all the way. "That was just practice."

She knew it was stupid. She knew she was being selfish. She knew she should probably tear her gown and improvise some bandages. She knew she should try and get him back to camp, or run there herself and get some help. Morrigan, Alim, Wynne, any one of them should be able to do something.

But she didn't. She was suddenly scared that, if she didn't do it now, she wouldn't get to do it again. From what she could tell, he wasn't going to last enough for her to accomplish any of those goals. All she could think of was how she didn't want him to die before she had a chance to actually show how she felt.

The kiss was slow at first, mostly because he didn't seem to respond to it. So she put more feeling into it, all of it, everything she had, and her arms slipped around him, her fingers sinking into the back of his neck while her other hand pulled him closer, wound in the back or not. And finally, he began to return it, his on arms wrapping around her, weakly at first. She could feel him suppress a groan as he moved his right shoulder, but he didn't relent, so neither would she.

She suspected that it was probably just wishful thinking, but it felt like he was growing more fierce with every second, like his life was returning to him by the moment, with every breath they took or released into each other. He even managed to lift a hand enough to set itself on the back of her head, fingers swimming through her hair, while the other one went across her back and held her tight, as though he was ordering her to surrender every breath in her body.

There was a mysterious choir of coughs some way to the right.

Then, there was an awkward silence.

Only **after **that did Kallian's head jerk backwards and she ended up with an injured lip because Faren had bitten onto it a bit too hard.

And when she turned to face the direction of those noises, she was at once relieved and shocked to see an embarrassingly large group of people.

Leliana was giggling.

Wynne was looking at them with the expected frown.

Sten looked like he didn't care, probably because he didn't.

Theron looked just as nonplussed.

And the dwarf noble was stroking his beard while his forehead looked half the size it usually was, probably because both of his eyebrows were much higher than usual.

And then, Maker help her, he spoke. "Umm... you two **do** realize you are making out in the middle of a metaphorical sea of corpses, right?"

"Of all the... Faren is injured!" the city elf snapped as though that was supposed to explain everything. "I thought he was dying so I... What are you just standing there for? Heal him already!"

"How romantic!" the bard predictably declared. "Lovers sharing a final kiss before one is to pass on after having defended her with his very life! This is so much better than the tale of Alindra and her soldier!"

There was a certain someone that was most concerned with that statement. "Uhh... Kal, I'm not really dying or anything..."

There was a pause.

"WHAT?"

Faren did push both index fingers into his ears at that. "Ow, that hurts... I never said I was dying."

"But you... you were barely standing and I thought... then you... and you had trouble speaking and..."

Leliana giggled again.

But what was more troubling was that the white-haired dwarf was trying to suppress a smirk and failing.

And finally, Kallian thought she realized it. "You... You were faking it!"

Faren groaned again. "To be fair, I really did get shot in the back..." he glanced at Wynne "...and I **am** still bleeding by the way..."

The mage finally got the hint and cast a healing spell on him from afar. A blue mist enveloped him for a brief moment before he relaxed and was able to breathe easily again.

"How could you make me think you... how... Seriously, I thought you were actually dying! How could you do that? How could you put me through something like this...?"

"But I didn't do anything!" he tried to defend himself, sounding genuinely alarmed. "I mean, I had just pulled an arrow out of the back of my shoulder dammit! It's not like it was easy to kill those four thugs in the shadows. So yeah, I had trouble breathing and talking. And **you're** the one that decided to slam me by making out with that assassin..." there was another suspicious choir of coughs "... so I'm sorry I wasn't able to actually make much sense."

"Oh... so this wasn't just a prank of yours meant as a sort of payback for how I let him get my first kiss instead of you."

"Didn't you just say that was just practice?" the redhead asked with an innocent pout.

She put her arms around his neck again. "Yeah..."

"And to your question: just because I spend a lot of time with that prince guy doesn't mean I'm going to start messing with people's heads just for fun."

The exile snorted. "You know I'm standing right here. And I don't do it for fun." Everyone who had come with him suddenly looked away for some reason. "Right, cast aside glances if you must," he waved them all off, obviously not caring if they believed him or not. "So anyway, is that assassin still alive?"

The fair-haired lass nodded. "Yeah."

That was when she finally noticed two wolves waiting near their attacker's body, before they transformed back into their human selves.

"Just so you now, I'm not going to use my blood control on him to make him talk," Alim said before anyone could ask.

"Well, let's drag him over to camp and have a little discussion with him," was the order.

"-. .-"

Zevran Arainai was very surprised to be waking up alive again. The first time had already been surprising enough. He had awakened to find that he had been neatly tied to a tree while everyone had convened in front of him, to interrogate him. Seeing a new opportunity, he decided to cooperate to the best of his ability, answering all of their questions about how he was an Antivan Crow and had been hired by Loghain mac Tir to assassinate the Grey Wardens.

After that, he offered to join them and serve them in their quest because he really didn't want to die and sticking with the Wardens was definitely not something the Crows took lightly, so he could escape their retribution (read: avoid them killing him for failing in his task). After all, it was politically... discouraged to attack the Grey Wardens, even in Antiva.

The talks went well and, after swearing an oath of loyalty, he was released of his bonds. Some of them were against the idea of him accompanying them, understandably weary of having their food poisoned. That red-haired dwarf that fooled him into thinking he was dead and then took out all of his men before he even detected that he had moved from his spot even made a point of telling him he would cut off his hands if he ever did anything that may be interpreted as an attack on Kallian Tabris.

Ah yes, Kallian Tabris, quite a flower. He could not help but wonder how the fight between them would go if they were both fully-geared, not that he would mind a certain other type of... confrontation.

Of course, that was not something he had too much time to think about, because as soon as he was released, an arrow struck him from behind (arrow that had left the Dalish elf's bow) and his face hit the ground with more speed than he would have been grateful for. The pain only shot up when said arrow was violently pulled out of him. Then, he was pushed on his back and the white-haired warden commander knelt next to him before knocking all consciousness out of him by punching him in the face.

And that was why he was surprised to be waking up again, and the fact that it was to that same dwarf watching over him actually startled him, not to mention that it was past midnight and he could only see the golem, hounds, wolf and the elven archer still about.

"Chill," the exile said, coolly. "I had Wynne heal your black eye and part of the arrow wound in your back, but told her to still leave enough of the injury for you to feel the pain for a few days."

Zevran slowly and wearily began to sit up, barely preventing himself from instinctively looking around for a weapon. "So you ordered the hunter to shoot me..."

"His name is Theron. And yes."

"If I asked why, would you answer?"

"Yes."

"Why? Or was it because you get a kick out of things like this..."

Much to Zevran's surprise, he did not even blink at that. "Please, your innuendo will never work on me. But to answer your question, I told him to shoot you because you got Faren shot in the back."

"Ah."

"Yes, so I'll be frank. I will act as your personal karma meter. Whilst part of our group, I will personally see to it that, should you hurt any of my subordinates, you will go through much the same experience with all due haste. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal." The assassin had to admit that was remarkably sensible of him, even though he didn't relish the thought of having to deal with an ache in his back for the next few days. "And I suppose I shouldn't bother asking if you enforce the same policy on all the others..."

He maintained his perfectly blanck expression with little effort. "Exactly, you need not bother. Don't worry though, they won't move against you. Actually, you might make some actual friends here. But anyway, there is something else you will do for me."

"Does it involve oils?" the elf asked with a grin before he could stop himself, not that the other one even reacted to the obvious allusion.

"Ink actually."

There was a pause.

"Uhh... certainly my friend, whatever gets you going I suppose..."

"Right, you do realize that if you give me or anyone else a headache, I'll just ask Alim to magically give you one of your own, yes?"

"Duly noted." Zevran made a mental note to remember to tone down the innuendo... which was surprising because he had never met someone that could actually make him even consider that option. "So, what is the ink for then?"

"You'll write a book for me."

This time, the pause was longer. A lot longer.

"-. .-"

_Excerpt from journal of Senior Enchanter Wynne_

_15 Matrinalis, 9:30 Dragon:__ We have made camp again. The assassin seems to be behaving himself so far. I still question the judgment of our so-called brave leader in allowing him to join us. I know any help is welcome, and that the Grey Wardens always seek talent wherever they can find it, but still..._

_ We should reach Soldier's Peak in a couple of days. Tomorrow we will arrive at the entrance to the array of caves where Levi Dryden said he would meet with us. Hopefully we will find what the commander and the others hope to find there, some records or writings about how the taint might be calmed or some such. It is a long shot but..._

_ Speaking of that, I should mention Kallian's condition. Apparently, she has been suffering some adverse effects after her experience at the Circle. I did not get any details, but it appears to be related to being a Grey Warden and their ability to sense darkspawn. That and their nightmares. I now regret having actually come down on her for her bond with that dwarf last week. I also understand the commander's reaction a little better now._

_ I still think I should have been informed sooner, but I can also understand why that girl would want to keep it a secret. In fact, except for her, Faren, Raonar and Alim, no one even knew she was going through such an experience. Theron suspected it, as I understand it, but not the others._

_ The revelation was made today, because Alistair and Gwenith finally pried it out of them, and it was quite obvious there was something wrong anyway. The lass had woken up screaming before, but now she has begun screaming without waking up. Apparently, Alim and the exile have been forcefully pulling her out of her nightmares with magic for half of the past week. I understand she might start sleepwalking soon._

_ None of the wardens have said more than a few words since that discussion._

_ I suppose I should accept the fact that, as the exiled prince of the dwarves said before, perhaps I truly have no way of knowing what being a Grey Warden implies. Strange that I should learn that lesson form one so young. Even though he has been acting decisive and unyielding, as a leader should, Raonar seems to be more restless than before now. I wonder just how long he has been keeping the concern bottled up inside. And it isn't just concern over Kallian Tabris' wellbeing, but for all the others, and especially that of a certain someone else._

_ Faren hasn't slept in four days._

Wynne stopped writing when the first and second in command approached her. She was sitting on some furs just outside her tent when the dwarf and former circle mage stopped a few feet in front of her. So she set her quill aside and got to her feet.

"Is there something wrong?" she asked, but realized what a stupid question that was. "Pardon me, perhaps I should ask if I can help in any way."

"Yes," the exile said absently.

"Wynne... how good are you with sleep spells?" the elf asked her bluntly.

Contrary to what some may think, the woman was not as slow in her thoughts as she was on her feet. "You want to force that young lad into a slumber I assume?"

"Not just a slumber. I want him to sleep like the Stone itself," said the warrior, not letting any of his worry make it into the tone of his voice.

"But I thought Alim was quite skilled in such spells as well?"

"Yeah... but I can't seem to make them work. I want both of us, along with Morrigan, to try at the same time. And we'll have to take him by surprise because he refuses to go to sleep, not that he'd be able to do it anyway."

Wynne agreed and they all made their way to where the young lad was waiting, sitting on a stump and with his forehead held up by his fist. And when they were close enough, all three mages cast whatever self-empowering spells they knew and released a sleep spell at the exact same time.

The magic was powerful and concentrated, but when it reached the dwarf, it dissipated without so much as making him yawn. All it did was alert him and cause him to dart around and bring his arms in front of him in a cross, wrist blades already out and looking feral. He just slightly calmed down when he saw it was just them trying to get him to sleep.

Before he could say anything, however, Alim threw an arcane bolt straight at his head.

He recoiled and brought his arms in front of his face, but the spell did not affect him in the slightest. So Alim boosted his spell might to the maximum and cast a mind blast to stun everyone around him, which included Raonar, Wynne and Morrigan, so that they would not stop him.

So he cast a more powerful arcane bolt, then another, then the strongest one he had, and the castless rogue shrugged them off without feeling even the smallest jolt. He didn't even flinch so hard after the third or fourth time. He just looked very confused, especially after the blood mage started casting even more offensive things.

Eventually, everyone who had been stunned recovered their senses and glared at the elf in unison.

And when he spoke, they all were absolutely flabbergasted. "It appears Faren has become completely immune to all sort of non-elemental hostile magic."

"WHAT?" everyone yelled, Faren included.

"I cast my strongest arcane bolt at him, then I tried sleep, waking nightmares and, just to be sure, blood wound AND blood control," he showed them that his palm had been punctured, to let the blood out. "And none of them even remotely affected him. I think it might have something to do with what happened to him in the Fade."

Understandably, everyone was speechless.

"But... this is a good thing, right?" Faren said.

"Yeah..." said the other dwarf before turning around and leaving.

"-. .-"

Even Honor didn't have any idea what to do.

Raonar really was trying to meditate, but those that knew him could tell that he wasn't having an easy time of it. The most obvious hint was that the white light he was emanating was faint, not strong enough to come out through his clothes.

Alim had told him an odd story, one that he hadn't heard before. Apparently, the tale's protagonist was the child of an evil god and was struggling to keep his murderous essence at bay. Then, a mad wizard tried to steal his soul, and that led to a dream where said soul took the face of his closest loved one, his childhood friend, in order to protect him from the evil essence.

And now, from what Kallian was saying, when he and Alim entered her nightmares to force the Archdemon out, Faren was supposedly the one that kept appearing and protecting her from those dream horrors. Neither of the two could dispute the fact that this sounded suspiciously similar to that story. Unfortunately, Kallian also had the not very good symptom of starting to get her memories of the past weeks mixed up.

There was a sound like someone clearing his throat, and the warden's almost-meditation was broken off. So he gestured to the one behind him to approach, which he did. Zevran came up and stopped in front of him, after which he waited for the dwarf to meet his gaze.

The exile tried not to look too tired. "Yes? Please tell me you're not going to report some odd state of health too. I'm not sure I can handle worrying about any more people dying a slow and horrible death right now."

"I... That's... I assure you I am fine, for now at least, though I do appreciate the fact that you would feel concern for me after our initial... tensions."

He actually sighed in relief, leaving the elf somewhat stupefied. "Good... That's good."

"I actually wanted to ask you to accompany me to my tent. For something completely unrelated to sex of course... Not that I would mind if... Alright, bad joke. You can stop glaring at me now."

There was a moment when they just looked at each other. "And we can't discuss it here because..."

Zevran just gave an almost imperceptible nod in the direction of Faren, who was still sitting by the fire and poking at it, like he had done for the past hour... and the past three nights.

After a silent agreement, the Warden Commander followed the assassin to his tent, after which he waited until the elf told him he could go in. And when he did, he was met with the sight of Zevran's exposed back, as he had just taken off his shirt. There was a long, black, double-striped tattoo that probably went a lot lower than was visible. True to his word, however, the elf merely sat down on his improvised bed and picked up what looked like a flask of dark liquid. The next thing he did was let a single drop of that liquid fall into his cup of tea, after which he passed the flask, not the tea, over to his guest.

"Use a single drop, do you understand?" the elf said seriously. "This is a very potent sleeping draught. Put in too much and you can cause one to die in his sleep."

Without another word, the newest addition to the group drank down all of the tea in his cup and laid himself to sleep, falling into a deep slumber almost immediately, but not before hearing the warden commander's reply.

"Thanks Zev." It was very grateful and sincere.

Raonar didn't find it hard to admit that Zevran was proving to be very cooperative, even helpful, even though he did leer at everyone and made a point of riling Wynne up by asking her to let him lay his head in her bosom on a regular basis, not that he minded the entertainment overmuch. After all, some humor was welcome, especially now.

After leaving Zevran's tent, he went straight for the fire, where Faren was still sitting and staring at the embers. He barely even acknowledged the former noble as he approached and placed the tea kettle on the red-hot wood. Nothing was said as the tea heated up, or as it boiled. Neither of them did anything except stare at that tea kettle, until the exile picked it up and poured it into two cups he had brought along.

He silently passed one to the younger one and waited, occasionally taking a sip from his own. He couldn't tell how much time passed before Faren actually started to drink his tea, but he knew it was enough time for him to look at him and see just how red his eyes had gotten.

Faren took a sip.

Then another.

And another, in a really mechanical fashion.

He kept drinking until his cup was empty, and then he just kept staring at the fire, apparently oblivious to how the other one was studying him, looking torn. And the exile couldn't really count the seconds, but finally that guy began to sway. He dropped the cup and his eyes narrowed, then they were just half open and his consciousness at last began to drift away.

The only reason he didn't end up hitting the ground with his face was because he was caught in mid-fall.

And for a time, nothing could be heard except a lone cricket. But most of all, nothing could be seen in the darkness of that moonless night, except a dying fire, and a white-haired dwarf with his arms around another one. The former prince had drawn him close, until his head was close to his own heart, kept there by a hand that would refuse to do anything except rest on the side of his head and just hold him there. And all the while, the noble's other hand was clasped tight on the lad's wrist, to keep feeling for his pulse. He knew it didn't make any sense to be so worried, that he had just fallen asleep, but it's not like anything that had happened over the past two weeks made much sense.

It was only two hours later he finally gathered the courage to pick Faren up in his arms and carry him over to where his tent was. He went to it, and got inside. After that, he slowly put him down on those furs and blankets that served as a meager bed, that weren't even close to being a worthy enough resting place of him. Even so, the prince made sure to tuck him in as best he could.

The next ten minutes, his palm wouldn't come off the rogue's forehead, as though he was dreading he might suddenly catch a fever.

Of course, the logical part of himself naturally told him the obvious fact that his fears were irrational, but that didn't make him pull away any faster.

But as he was supposed to, he took all of those fears and worries and shoved them inside a box. Then he took that box and sent it to the appropriate drawer, deep, deep inside himself, there to wait until he found some reprieve, away from everyone else, whom he needed to show only unflinching resolve. And when that emotion cataloguing was underway, he finally mustered enough will to order himself to go about his own business.

So he just leaned forward and kissed Faren on the forehead before whispering something that only he himself heard. "Good night, little brother."

And after he left the tent, nothing was heard, for a time except a lone cricket. And in that moonless night, nothing was seen except the last sparks from a dying fire.

Nothing except a white light that appeared in the center of that encampment. It was faint at first, but kept growing stronger and stronger as that box descended into the depths of his soul, as calm returned and his power awoke, resonating with his every breath and thought. And that light reached its peak when there was nothing left in the conscious mind of the Warden Commander except determination.

If everyone was uncertain.

If everyone was on the verge of breaking.

If things looked like they were going to hell.

Than all he had to do was have enough resolve for all of them.

"-. .-"

_Excerpt from journal of Senior Enchanter Wynne_

_17 Matrinalis, 9:30 Dragon:__ I understand that waking Kallian up has become very difficult, enough so that both our leader and Alim came out of Kallian's tent with their clothes soaked in sweat this morning._

_ I am worried they may end up sick themselves because of the cold here, but I honestly have no better ideas. These mountains are very tall, enough so that there is actual snow on the grounds of the fortress._

_ Yes, we arrived at the fortress. It is tall, majestic, and seems to have escaped the centuries without getting ruined in the slightest. it was obviously built to last. Unfortunately, the Veil is very weak here and we had to fight through waves of undead as we progressed. And this was only in between odd flashes to the past. Apparently, the thin Veil 'recorded' some of the events of King Arland's time, those when the army attacked the keep and was almost annihilated by a handful of Grey Wardens, even though they were starved and weak, mostly thanks to the leadership of Sophia Dryden._

_ During one of the fights, Kallian practically had a waking nightmare and she fell when one of those things bashed her with its shield hard enough to dislocate her shoulder, even in spite of how both Faren and Gwen were doing their best to guard her. I had little trouble in healing her, but it seems she fell unconscious and is unable to awaken. Even now, that poor lad Faren is holding her. He really seems at a loss, though I suppose we all are._

_ Speaking of that, we are now inside the keep itself, in the central hall, namely where the Veil is thinnest. I might say this looks almost like a portal to the Fade, and demons can actually come through if they try hard enough, even without having to possess a mage. It seems the wardens of the past summoned demons to fight the army, only the demons turned on them all and began killing everyone indiscriminately._

_ The other odd part was that, when we got to this tear in the Veil, a number of demons and shades appeared and engaged us. They weren't too hard a battle, but Raonar... exploded._

_ Not outright of course. When he approached the place where the Veil was thinnest, I could practically feel a resonance, but it was very alert. The next thing any of us knew, a shockwave left his body, as if a mage had just cast a crushing prison on someone protected by a force field. No one was too severely injured, though I had to call upon the spirits to heal them all at once. Sten was quick to drag the commander away from there, even as everyone else was busy dispatching whatever specters they themselves were fighting. Shale managed to get the last of them._

_ Ah, and it seems the commander himself is finally waking up, thank the Maker._

"Ugh, did I just blow up?"

"Sort of..." Alistair replied.

"I see."

He surveyed the scene and studied how the tear in the Veil caused everything to look distorted. And it all looked and felt very familiar, enough so that he got up and began to walk towards it again.

"Are you sure about this?" the blood mage asked him. "You getting magically overloaded didn't look very healthy the first time, and I mean for us as well as you."

"It's a tear in the Veil, and so am I. Still, I think I can... understand my state better if I do this... Maybe even get an idea of how to help Kallian better."

"You're willing to risk death for this?" Gwen asked.

He actually laughed at that, the first time anyone had laughed in days. "What? You'll be here to drag me off again, right?"

No one said anything more, but they all looked at him as he took very slow steps. He was careful, because his aura became more and more intense with each half a meter he removed from the distance between himself and the rift. It was hard at first, but with each new step it seemed to get easier. His aura started to stabilize instead of losing its focus, and the mages could sense how the magic began to course through him differently from what they were used to feeling from him. So did Alistair.

But he only managed to keep it up for a few minutes before he staggered back and away from there. He was massaging his forehead now and actually needed to lean on Sten.

"So is magic also like the Blight in your mind?" the Qunari asked him. "A pestilence you wish to understand, so that you can more easily eradicate?"

"We'll discuss this later, kadan," said the Commander of the Grey. "Right now, we have to figure out how to close this tear in the Veil."

"As you wish."

"I can do it." Alim was suddenly the center of attention. "Don't stare at me like that," he gave the exile a meaningful glance. "I got the knowledge and power as... part of a deal I made some time ago." He then looked at Wynne. "And it wasn't a deal with a demon, Wynne. I know you are well aware that there are... other sorts of mortal-spirit... collaborations."

"I see," said multiple people at once. "And I suppose we'll have to fight whatever demons come through there, yes?" asked the almost templar. "And our brave commander will have to sit this one out because being so close to that rift will just make him explode again and possibly kill us all, along with himself, right?"

"I wasn't **that** bad!" There was an uneasy silence. "Was I? Fine, just get on with it. I'll see if I can do something about Kallian."

Alim moved to the first circle of power that had once been used to summon demons through rites of blood magic. Once there, he began to perform some elaborate arm gestures, his fingers gathering the strands of magic like a weave, knitting them together and patching up the crack between the two worlds, all the while being defended by everyone as everything from rage to desire demons tried to put a stop to that rite.

The exile didn't really pay attention to it, though. he was more busy growing more and more uneasy at how he just didn't seem to be able to reach Kalian anymore. He focused as best he could, trying to penetrate the deeper reaches of her mind, but he just couldn't. And he couldn't bear to look up, because he didn't want to meet Faren's hopeful gaze.

Then, for better or worse, an angry yell was heard, even over the noise of battle and magic, when Sophia Dryden, oddly enough, barged in through the door, screaming her probably dead lungs out. Or at least it looked like... a very decomposed version of the woman from the visions.

"You! Cease your spell! You would seal the Veil! You are minions of the Avernus, aren't you! The Avernus that lives in the tower has sent new slaves to try and 'repair' he Veil because he is too much of a coward to come himself!"

"Great-great-grandmother?' Levi gasped. "Is that you?"

Seeing that Alim had actually paused his veil-sealing ways and that practically everyone was staring at her, 'Sophia' scoffed. "Bah, this one knows you not, but Sophia is here also, in a way. But it matters not! You are in league with the Avernus, so you must be stopped before you finish your wretched magics and undo this blissful door to this one's realm!"

"Wait!" the white-haired dwarf finally shouted, loudly enough that one would think the intensity of his voice could have shattered glass. "What do you mean the Avernus that lives in the tower? Are you saying the old mage is still alive somehow?"

"This one will not answer your questions!" she practically screamed as she performed some off magical gesture and, suddenly, the Veil reacted, allowing even more demons to appear.

And the battle was joined, with everyone except Raonar, Faren and Kallian participating. And, much to 'Sophia's' surprise, killing those shades and demons proved to be quite easy for her enemies, mostly because Alim was quick in casting a well-timed Winter's grasp on the rage demons before they could spray fire everywhere.

Sten and Gwen made a point of staying well away from anyone else, since their large swords needed a wide berth, while Wynne kept her eyes on them. Meanwhile, Alistair acted as Alim's shield, resisting even his magics somewhat now that he was clad in a full set of Templar Armor that they had 'rescued' off a dead Templar in the Circle Tower during the previous month. Theron and Leliana made sure to rain arrows down upon anything in range, taking care not to accidentally hurt their own people of course. Morrigan was also quite helpful. She was in spider form, mostly suspended in the air and just hanging off the ceiling by one thread of spider silk, as spiders tend to. If her fangs and eyes showed right, she actually enjoyed entangling all of those things.

And when 'Sophia' saw that she stood little chance, she called some more rage demons to cover her escape and began to back off.

That was her mistake, because that meant she was now quite far away from the tear in the Veil, far enough for the dwarf noble to not have to deal with the likelihood of death by magical overload-induced explosion.

In just a few moments, Damon and Rinne had bitten onto her legs, around her ankles where her boots were thin enough to fit inside their mouths. Their teeth didn't go through the dragonbone plate, but it worked enough to keep her in place while Theron's wolf bit onto her shield and began to tug on it.

And the only reason she did not use her sword arm to counterattack was because Maric's Blade had already gone through her throat and come out through the back of her neck.

"Sorry," said the leader of the 'intruders', "but, unless you were having an insane rant, if Avernus really is alive, he might have what we need, or at least know if there are any records that could help us. So I don't have time to waste with you."

The battle was soon over, and Alim finished closing off the Veil not long after.

"-. .-"

It had been an hour since they had arrived in the tower and found Avernus' research and the mage himself. Oddly enough, he had managed to use blood magic to survive for centuries, even despite how Grey Wardens are supposed to die in their forties. Regardless, the important thing was that he was alive and possibly able to do something to help Kallian recover.

Of course, most everyone was taken aback by what kind of research that mage had undertaken. Experimenting on humans, on Wardens, in order to uncover the secrets of the taint and how it could be used beyond sensing darkspawn. Apparently, he had spent weeks electrocuting them or casting who know what other types of spells at them.

Still, the Warden Commander could well see that quite a few of those in the group were more preoccupied with hoping Avernus' research could actually help the city elf get better. Alistair and Gwen did say that Kallian would probably not want to condone such experiments, but it's not like they were about to just let her succumb to whatever was happening to her.

And finally, the old mage himself finished his inspection of the subject and gave his verdict.

"-. .-"

_Excerpt from journal of Senior Enchanter Wynne_

_18 Matrinalis, 9:30 Dragon:__ I admit I had all but lost hope in that young girl's recovery, but it seems that we were able to correct her condition in the end, though it may have come at too high a price. Granted, said price was paid by people that lived and died under torture centuries ago, but still..._

_ We encountered a peculiar sight in Soldier's Peak. Not only was the former Warden Commander Sophia Dryden walking about, possessed by a demon, but we even found an actual survivor form the times of King Arland's rule. Said survivor was a blood mage by the name of Avernus. He seems to have extended his lifespan well beyond what natural order would normally allow, and let us understand that he either consumed demons or leeched energy from them, if any of those are even possible. I suppose my... personal experience... should be enough supporting evidence. And if one mage can slay a demon, why shouldn't he be able to assimilate one without becoming an abomination?_

_ This Avernus was able to modify an Alchemical Concoction he had developed and had Kallian drink it. She awoke soon after, though that poor lad Faren hardly let anyone get near her, so tight he was clutching onto her. Still, he seemed to respond quite well to Zevran's teasing, all things considered, and she looked so relaxed and at peace. it really warms these rickety old bones to see such a touching sight as that. I will have to apologize to the lass for presuming to interfere with the two of them._

_ Of course, that will only happen once they actually decide to come out of that room we left them in. All of us are currently resting in one of the tower chambers, except for the Warden Commander and Alim, who said they had some things to discuss with Avernus, to get him to see the error of his ways, among other things, or so they seemed to suggest when they left and told us not to bother them until they come out._

_ Too bad Levi Dryden didn't find what he came here looking for._

"-. .-"

Things had gone pretty well. With Alim's help, and authority in matters concerning blood magic, the exile had convinced Avernus that he should find more humane ways to help the Wardens. Unfortunately, he had to admit that, in the end, it was his very research, horrific though it was, that ended up saving Kallian's life. But there were two main other things he wanted to discuss with the elder Warden.

"Alright, so you're saying Kallian will go through some physical changes and instinctively discover how to use some strange new abilities?" asked the dwarf. "And her memories will get straight again?"

"Her memories... perhaps. As for new powers, indeed, that was the purpose of my research, as I said," Avernus confirmed flatly. "She will be the first Warden to truly tap into the true power of the darkspawn taint. A shame I was not able to fully realize the theory's potential."

"I see... Well, what if you had help? Or someone to pass you knowledge on to?"

The old man seemed a bit surprised by that question. "I admit I did not actually consider it as a viable prospect. Still, it would have to be a Grey Warden, because I will not pass my secrets to anyone else. And, naturally, he will have to be at least mediocre as far as knowledge of blood magic goes."

"Yes, I figured as much..."

"Wait," Alim Surana broke in. "I do hope you don't intend to have me stay here..."

"Of course not!" the exile was quick to assure him. "You're like my personal powerhouse. But, unless you forgot, you're not the only blood mage running around, and definitely not the only Circle Mage with blood magic that I know of."

The elf's eyes widened. "You don't mean..."

"You still have the phylactery, right?"

"Yes... But he's not a Grey Warden... And unless you figure out how to make him one-" He suddenly stopped when he noticed that the prince was grinning and stroking his beard in an all too familiar fashion.

Then, the dwarf took out his Grey Warden Pendant. "If all of us gather the blood in our pendants, it should be enough for one joining right?"

Alim had to admit he hadn't even thought of that, so he could only nod. At least if that idiot became a Warden he could be kept under closer scrutiny. All that was left was to track Jowan down.

And now was the time for the second order of business.

There was a moment of silence, since Ferelden's current Commander of the Grey more or less dreaded to broach the second subject. Still, he knew he had to do it anyway, and it was fine even if he did learn something... unfortunate as long as Alim was the only other person who knew. "Alright, then there are a few more things we'd like to ask you. And they're not exactly related to your research..."

_The review space is waiting as always!_


	33. Warden Arc 3: Not Really Sidetracked

**Chapter 32: Not Really Sidetracked**

"-. .-"

_Excerpt from journal of Senior Enchanter Wynne_

_06, Parvulis, 9:30 Dragon:__ We are finally on the road again, though I am not sure if I should feel relieved or disheartened. I must admit that marching like this is a bit of a chore for my old legs but at least we are away from that secluded keep. While the others may not have felt too uneasy there, I find that I wish to be as far away as possible from a place where I know someone once conducted experiments on live human beings (this being also the reason why I waited until I was away from there so that I might write down an account of recent occurrences in peace)._

_ The keep itself is nothing short of marvelous. From what I understand, at least according to the assessment of our warden commander, the castle may have been built by dwarves. It was constructed over a period of ten years immediately after the end of the second Blight (the one headed by Zazikel), at the behest of Warden Commander Asturian. Since the fortress is standing even now, so many centuries later, with barely a sign of wear, this assumption may very well be true._

_ I also could not help but notice the glint in Raonar's eyes when walking around the grounds and the corridors, inspecting everything in sight. I do believe he is very pleased with having acquired a castle, not to mention a whole clan of willing volunteers to keep it nice and tidy, though I will get to how that happened later. He also discovered a chest that held the powerful sword of Asturian himself, which Theron claimed, as well as an enchanted belt that Kallian was given._

_ Kallian's recovery took longer than expected, and I believe her memory still has a few holes or mixed up details, though she should be perfectly fine soon. After we cleared up all the corpses and burned them, we managed to actually restore a few of the keep's many chambers to usability. All that was needed was a bit of cleaning and some of the sleeping quarters became usable. It definitely beat sleeping in a tent at least. It was also interesting that the castle was remarkably well insulated, and there was very little humidity and, for that matter, mold. _

_ Kallian was almost forced by the commander to stay in bed until Alim and I deemed her healthy enough, an order I happened to agree with. He also realized I deliberately delayed the lifting of her bed arrest for two days, though I didn't know why at first. Of course, it became clearer soon after. I noticed how he often found reasons to send that young lad Faren to check on her or bring her meals to her bed. I casually asked him if he enjoys being a matchmaker and he actually winked at me, of all things. I can't help but think he and Zevran have some things in common._

_ Regardless, it was not just that girl's condition that kept us at Soldier's Peak for so long. The other reason was the decision to wait until the Drydens settled in. Once Levi Dryden resigned himself to the fact that he would never be able to clear his great-great-grandmother's name, he figured he may as well get something out of that whole mess, especially when our fearless leader suggested a fairy beneficial arrangement for both sides. _

_ Apparently, the Drydens were allowed to use the keep as a headquarters of sorts. Since it can only be found through an array of convoluted tunnels and is quite high up in the northern mountain range, it is unapproachable by bandits. In exchange, they keep the castle in good shape and perform other services, some for free, others at a discount._

_ During the second week of our stay there, I learned why exactly our commander decided to stay there for so long. While I know that the time he and Alim spent locked up in Avernus' tower was one of the reasons, (just to 'discuss things' but without allowing anyone else in) there was another one. Apparently, one of Levi's brothers is a very skilled blacksmith. Once he had his forge going, Raonar went over and had himself thoroughly measured so that Mikhael could forge him a suit of dwarven massive armor. He also told Faren to get himself measured as well, despite his protests that he didn't like plate armors._

_ I personally found the image of Raonar scolding Faren for being stubborn (while patting him on the head like he was a child, all the while squinting both eyes and showing him the brightest smile I have ever seen him put on) to be most amusing, and the latter's pout didn't really improve his situation. Said suits of armor, along with whatever else the other requested, will take a few weeks, maybe even over a month to make. During that time, the man will also have to repair the armor that the possessed Sophia Dryden wore (and make it match Gwenith's physique, since the armor was built for a woman's frame). _

_ To not waste time waiting for the new equipment, the decision was made to go ahead with our business. And so it was that we all were split into three groups for different purposes._

_ Our fearless leader took the two lovebirds along with him, plus Leliana, Zevran and his hound, and departed for Denerim in order to get a feel of the city and what the nobility is up to. That and to start on that ever so secret business he has to take care of there. Kallian lived there her entire life and claims to know every back alley. She said she used to sneak out of the Alienage even at night to go exploring, despite it being forbidden for elves to do so._

_ Alim, Morrigan, Sten and Theron, along with his wolf, went off in search of Jowan. I am unsure how they plan to find him or how he even escaped Redcliffe castle in the first place, though I have my suspicions. Sten seemed a bit put out by this task that, in his view, does not contribute to stopping the Blight, but he stopped his protests when our so-called brave commander glared at him and told him just three words, which were "Stop whining Sten."_

_ As for Gwen, Alistair and myself, along with Damon the mabari hound, we are headed to the South Reach Bannorn, to meet with Arl Bryland, one whom I believe is one of Loghain's adversaries in this civil war that seems to be brewing. He is also a relative of sorts to lady Cousland herself. I do not think any battles have been fought yet but if the rumors we've heard are true, it will not be long until they start._

_ Shale was left behind at Soldier's Peak to help with the restoration, although the real reason was that a golem stomping around in Denerim would have drawn too much attention._

_ We are set to regroup in the capital within the next two to three months. In the meantime, I was actually asked by our white-haired dwarf to supervise Alistair's 'studies', since he won't be around to do it himself. Come to think of it, that's probably why Alistair scampered off, not that he can get away from me. It seems my 'teacher voice' will get some practice after all._

"-. .-"

10 Umbralis, 9:30 Dragon

Lady Gwenith Cousland, last known surviving heir of the Coulsand line (as far as she knew at least) and one of the few Grey Wardens that survived the battle of Ostagar had gone through so many unusual experiences over the past few months than what most people live their entire lives without even considering. She had had her whole family killed or gone missing, had almost died, had been brought back from the brink by a Witch of the Wilds that might not be a witch at all, she had fought not just other people and darkspawn, but also wildlife, undead and abominations. She even almost had her life force devoured by a demon. Yet despite all of these things, there was one particular element of nature that could still annoy her.

The rain.

One thing about Autumn was how it often rained and, unlike during the summer, the clouds didn't disperse quickly. Instead, they gathered menacingly, then started hitting the earth and buildings with a soft raindrop patter, a patter that increased in intensity until it poured enough to turn the ground into ankle-deep mud. It was during this type of damp, rainy afternoon that she, Alistair and Wynne, along with Damon and their pack mule, walked through the gates of Denerim mostly undisturbed.

All three of them were wearing thick, dark grey cloaks over their armors and daggers (the really large and heavy gear was stacked in the load that the mule carried, but they still put on some suits of chain or scale mail before entering the city). The poor garments did their job in obscuring their faces and the fact it was raining allowed the three humans not to look too suspicious.

Unfortunately, since it had been pouring for hours, the cloaks were no longer as effective at protecting them from the water, hence they were all soaked wet to their skin. At least the guards didn't seem to be in a state of high alert. They looked with sympathy at the poor, soaked travelers if anything. Only Damon didn't seem too perturbed. He actually looked like he enjoyed shaking the water off of himself every few minutes. Gwen also realized he was probably excited to finally be close to being reunited with the other mabari war hound.

That thought reminded the woman that she didn't really have much clue as to how they were going to find the others in that huge city, and the rain already made their progress hard. Walking into the nearest inn would also not be very discrete, since her and Alistair's descriptions were probably known by the city guard, the same way they were known in Lothering. That dwarf leader of theirs did say that he would go under the alias Duran while in the capital, since he wanted to stay 'dead' as far as everyone went, so asking about a dwarf by that name shouldn't prove overly dangerous. It also helped that there were no known Grey Wardens bearing that name.

Gwen groaned. She didn't like this skulking about. She was supposed to be a noblewoman. The last time she was in Denerim, she came in a carriage and dressed in fine clothing, not by sneaking in like some criminal. Stupid decree that proclaimed the Grey Wardens outlaws.

Since inns were out of the question for now, the travelers made their way through some of the muddy alleys until they finally reached the paved streets that led to the marketplace. once in that district, they would start to casually ask the traders about the goings on. Even with the rain, the merchants would surely be attending their stalls, or at least some shops would be open.

Her advance was stopped when Alistair called out to her to wait. Turning around, she spotted him looking at what looked like a poster that had been glued onto the side of a townhouse.

She figured that standing under the eaves of a building would at least help her avoid the rain for a bit, so she walked over to see what that wayward prince wanted. He seemed to be reading a notice, but there seemed to be more announcements glued onto the wall, so she chose one and read through it until Alistair got around to telling her what was going on.

"_All hear this,_

_Whoever finds any sort of information on the Dark Wolf is requested to report to the nearest guard post immediately. The Dark Wolf has been running rampant throughout Denerim, committing various acts of burglary, from pickpocketing to house invasion. He is known to be responsible for the loss of some very important heirlooms that belonged to some of our most esteemed knights and lords."_

Gwen skimmed over to the end and noticed that the Dark Wolf had a bounty about as high as that of the Grey Wardens themselves. That was odd because the sum was still to high, even with all the charges listed on that announcement. This might mean that he somehow slighted the 'higher authorities,' as in the Regent in some way.

Her musings were broken when her companion finally spoke.

"Don't believe the lies, friends of the Grey Wardens assemble, the hidden pearl holds the key to resistance, the griffons will rise again." Alistair read those words in a completely bland tone, as though the text lacked any sort of punctuation.

Gwen had to suppress a snicker at his antics. "What's that? Some sort of announcement? Sounds like a coded message."

"It's made to sound like some sort of group that believes in the innocence of the Grey Wardens," the man guessed as he wrung out some of the water that had entered his cloak. "Maybe the others left it here as a clue for us."

Damon sniffed the paper but gave an inconclusive snort.

"The hidden pearl might hint at a meeting place," the lady thought out loud. "And that last part might be a password."

"I'm not sure," said the man. "This isn't the only poster of this kind I've seen. And it's odd that the guards would just leave it here, don't you think?"

"With all the soldiers preparing or already off for the civil war, perhaps there aren't enough guards to patrol the city and take all these posters down," Wynne suggested.

Gwen seemed to consider things for a bit before speaking again. "The pearl part might mean **The** Pearl, a brothel near the docks. Maybe that's where we should go." She didn't immediately see the odd look that Alistair gave her because of his hood, but she did eventually. "Don't look at me like that! I heard about it in passing when I came here with my father for the last Landsmeet."

Alistair grinned wickedly. "Right, though I didn't really ask and yet you're awfully defensive."

It would take a few hours before Alistair's shoulder stopped hurting, so hard did she punch it (and the fact that he immediately forgave her when she asked him made her feel really guilty about it. Maybe she did have some rough edges to deal with and it wasn't just Raonar, pardon, Duran talking nonsense).

"-. .-"

Gwen had to admit that the Pearl looked better than most inns she had been in, even on par with the Gnawed Noble tavern. Even the antechamber was well built, walls made of stone and patched with hard and thick wood on the inside. A door led to the 'pub' part of the establishment, with the obligatory bar, bartender and waitress that kept walking back and forth, taking or delivering orders. That chamber had two other doors, each leading to a corridor that gave access to several rooms.

Sanga, the mistress of the Pearl, was quick to offer her services, so Gwen had to smile and say she wanted to look around and see if the rooms are actually to her standards. Sanga had no problem with that and let the newcomers mind their own business before turning to the waitress and telling her that some woman named Isabella would soon come back from her misadventure with some elf girl so she should have their usual drinks ready by then.

After inspecting the rooms, except for those that had the 'do not disturb' sign on the doorknob (and inside of which one could hear what should not be disturbed), she and Alistair knocked on the door to the quarters on the far end of the corridor on the right. (Damon had to wait outside because no dogs, save for those that were owned by the Pearl, were allowed to enter, and Wynne figured she was too old not to stand out in a brothel).

Some shuffling of feet could be heard inside before a note slid out through the space beneath the door. Gwen curiously picked it up and held it so Alistair could see

"What's the password," Alistair read aloud.

Gwen didn't have to think much before answering. "The Griffons will rise again."

There was a pause, after which the door was heard unlocking. Nothing was said from inside, so the woman turned the doorknob and carefully pushed the door open (this could very well be a trap after all), only to see a small, light brown dog waiting on the other side and panting as it looked up at them. The next moment, it ran off to the sleeping quarters (the quarters were composed of two rooms, one with a table and some couches, most likely for games, and another one at the back, where the bed or beds were located).

The travelers entered said bedroom. Alistair valorously would not allow her to be in front, just in case. They ended up walking past the dog that had stopped next to the entrance (and not noticing the other one hidden to its right). Oddly enough, no one was there, and they only noticed what looked like a note on the table because the situation was unusual enough to warrant a more thorough search.

It was Alistair that first read the note. After he did, his shoulders slumped and he handed the piece of parchment to his companion while refusing to turn around.

Gwen would immediately understand why her fellow warden was so put out.

_"Yo!_

_So you actually walked into that trap eh? Very bold of you! You did know it was at least probably a trap right? If you didn't, that would be just sad._

_Just so you know, that poster was actually put up by some guy named Paedan, one of Loghain's better trained men, as a trap for Grey Warden supporters. They had the misfortune of 'encountering' some real Grey Wardens. Said Wardens actually had to compensate Sanga for the mess and the extra work her 'cleanup crew' were landed with, can you believe it? Life is just so unfair!_

_Anyway, if you find this particular message, let said Wardens congratulate you for being more than one and a half months late in getting the chance to know this Paedan fellow (this note was written less than a week ago. It is the latest in a series of messages that get replaced every few days with a more recent one. I know, very thoughtful of said Wardens.)_

_With the most unconditional of love,_

_He-whose-name-you-have-probably-already-guessed._

_P.S. Said Wardens knew, of course, it was a trap but walked in anyway! Isn't that awesome? Too bad they were forced to defend themselves. Idiot Fereldan soldiers and their blind obedience, getting killed over this mess._

_(this is where you imagine He-whose-name-you-have-probably-already-guessed sighing in a very dejected fashion)"_

Gwen and Alistair didn't really need to see nor hear the magic that flashed behind them to know just who it was that had been waiting for them. And it wasn't her, but Alistair that whined more audibly after turning around. "Great, just who I was hoping to see first..."

"I knew we should have had a betting pool," Alim said as he was leaning with his shoulder against the side of the door. He was dressed in regular clothes.

"With Alistair's 'intellect' pervading everything around him, 'tis not at all surprising that they would just barge into this obvious ambush," Morrigan replied with her smuggest half-grin-half-sneer. She was wearing the same old wilds robes. "And everyone knew this so of course they would not hold such a betting pool if they all shared the same opinion."

"Hey! You know I'm standing right here!" the almost templar protested in mild outrage.

"Truly?" Morrigan asked, looking totally innocent. "I would never have guessed."

Gwen had to suppress a sigh of her own and spent the next few minutes listening to another Alistair-Morrigan rant before she could finally suggest that they meet up with the others. What worried her most was that Alim seemed to take notes as he listened to their argument. She would later find out that the two shapeshifters had only been waiting there for about an hour and would have left soon, after leaving a different message, with some directions to a meeting place.

"-. .-"

An hour later, the rain was still pouring. Not as strongly as before but that did little to satisfy the sulking Grey Wardens because they were already soaked from their earlier trek. Morrigan and Alim had returned to their diminutive dog forms and were leading them to what they described as a brewery that opened shortly before their own arrival there. Said brewery also had a number of sleeping quarters and all of the others had apparently turned that place into a sort of base of operations.

Gwen thought it was a bit rash to stay in one place for so long, since they couldn't really be sure of who to trust. Still, she decided her questions would wait until she actually had someone to voice them to, so she increased the speed of her walk. Alistair and Wynne did the same and, eventually, they made their last turn and reached their destination.

The building was not too small but not to big either. There was the regular sign of an inn above the door, as well as a wooden plaque with a pint carved onto it. She couldn't see the name of the establishment anywhere, but there was a small stable next to it where they led their pack mule (two oxen were also there). Once that was done, they finally went through the front door.

Much to their chagrin, Alim and Morrigan, still dogs, shook as hard as they could, curiously sending most of the drops in their direction. And as if that wasn't bad enough, Damon followed up immediately with his own performance, making Gwen actually feel glad she was already wet. Only after that did they take their cloaks off and noticed that they were in a sort of hallway, with no one else there.

Alim and Morrigan at once returned to their regular forms and led the others inside.

The main 'hall' was not too large, but definitely more spacious than one would suspect upon looking at the building from outside. A bar was on the right as one walked through the door, behind which several large barrels of different kinds of ale were lined up. Besides the chairs at said bar, there were also several tables spread around, though half of them were vacant. As one would expect, the smell of all kinds of drinks filled the air, but the fragrance was not at all hard on the nose. It actually felt inviting in a way.

A fireplace was on the left, while a door to the side of it to some other room or corridor. The stairs alongside the wall right next to the front door seemed to lead to the second level, where some modest sleeping quarters were probably located.

As soon as they entered, the woman behind the bar noticed them and came up to greet them with a sincere smile. She looked quite pleasing to the eye, even Gwen had to admit, and had long red hair, though not exactly as long as hers. She wore a regular dress and a apron stained in several places. In short, she was a pretty redhead that otherwise looked exactly as one would expect the manager of a brewery to look like.

It was Alim that she addressed, quite casually in fact. "Ah, welcome back! I see the rain didn't touch you much, as usual. Who are your three friends?"

"Hello again Bella, still as lively as always?" the elf replied with a smile before he leaned close and whispered something in her ear. Bella's eyes widened for a second, after which she shot the three strangers a glance, as if she was measuring them up. "Alright. Follow me then."

Wynne, Alistair and Gwen exchanged glances but just followed after the woman, who led them up to the bar, after which she just went over to the back for a short moment before emerging again. "Your things will be brought in shortly and your mule taken good care of," she said before throwing the elf one last glance. "You know where your friends are at. If you need anything, pull on that string that rings this bell here and I'll be right over. I'll trust that you weren't followed by any trouble."

As Alim led them up to the door next to the fireplace, Gwen was wondering if this Bella knew they were Grey Wardens and, if yes, how it was that she was so willing to accept them as arguably long-term guests (and if she could really be trusted). Regardless, they all kept silent until they went through the door into the other chamber.

Oddly enough, the room was better furnished that the actual brewery hall itself. It had a square shape, with a fireplace right on the opposite side of the main entrance they had just walked through. Facing the nice fire were two large armchairs with footstools in front of them. In the middle of the room was a round table with two couches and two chairs around it, placed on opposite sides of their counterparts. Gwen noticed another wooden door on the right wall, as well as a set of stairs. There also seemed to be a chess table with the required seats further aside, as well as an extra couch alongside the wall on the left.

Several unimpressive paintings or lamps were scattered around the room, next to the windows or above them.

The furniture itself wasn't much to look at, but to a weary traveler that had spent days marching and the last hours being rained upon almost incessantly, it looked like a dream come true. That was ironic, because the first person to go ahead and sit down was Alim. He winked at the newcomers and let himself fall on one of the couches next to the table (the one that had its back to the fireplace), after which he made an elaborate gesture that indicated to them to sit down as well.

Not waiting to be motioned again, they all walked up to the table and let themselves sink into the soft furniture. Gwen noted that the comfort level wasn't really close to what growing up in Highever Castle got her used to, but it was decent. Meanwhile, Morrigan had transformed into a black cat and jumped atop the fireplace, next to a vase, to sleep.

Alistair sighed in satisfaction and let his head hang back, but that was only after he took off his leather boots. "Ah, this is more like it. Not as good as the quarters we had in South Reach but this sure beats sleeping on the side of the road, especially on such a weather."

Wynne and Gwen had already helped themselves to the cookies that were on a tray on the table.

"Maker, I didn't realize it before but I'm starving," Gwen said with her mouth half-full.

The elf mage had his arms crossed and was grinning at her. "Actual food will be brought in soon enough, so just make sure you leave some cookies for Sten. You know how he likes them almost as much as he likes that sword of his. And you know what happened when he lost the sword."

"I wouldn't joke about such a thing if I were you," Wynne admonished with her teacher-to-apprentice look that never really worked on Alim to begin with (he shrugged in fact).

"Anyway,' Gwen broke in. "How did your search go? And where is everyone else?"

"Well," the elf began. "We found Jowan more or less quickly and came to Denerim after we dropped him off in Soldier's Peak. Theron, Sten, Morrigan and I arrived here about two weeks ago. Those two guys are upstairs, sleeping and polishing their sword, respectively. And before you ask, this place was already set up when we got here. the only things that hadn't been brought in were the couch next to the wall and the chess table."

Before he could continue, the door opened, (not the entrance, the other one), and through it came a blond elf, with a slender but muscular constitution, as far as elves could be muscular at least. He had only a towel wrapped around his nether regions and was scrubbing his recently washed hair with another one. As such, the long, black tattoo on his front could be seen. It was like two black stripes, perfectly aligned with each other as they flowed down from his left shoulder over his chest and down the left side of his abdomen. The end of it was obviously in areas lower than what the towel allowed to be seen.

There was a moment of silence before he actually noticed that the room was not empty and he grinned at the new arrivals. "Ah, my friends! You have arrived! Now all we need is some aphrodisiacs and a corrupt politician or two and we can get this party started! Too bad our fearless leader is ever so incorruptible. He's already a sort of politician so it really would take just a small step on his part to fill the void that this reunion of ours is plagued by."

There was an awkward pause as Zevran stared wistfully at the ceiling, lost in his fantasies.

And only after that did Gwen's brain recover enough for her to snap her gaping mouth shut and look away from the quasi-naked assassin. It didn't help that Alistair seemed to be just as flustered as she was. Still, at least **he** managed to get a line out. "Zevran, don't you know when to put some clothes on?"

Zevran Arainai leered at him and gave his brightest smile. "But where would be the fun in that, my dear Alistair? Would you not like me to give you a massage instead? I noticed you look ever so tired."

Before Alistair could properly show how that mental image horrified in, Alim chipped in. "What, Zevran, you want to carry out some more research for your book?"

"Ah, you have me there!" the Antivan admitted.

"Book? So **you** are writing a book? Do I really want to know?" Gwen asked, grateful form something that could lead the conversation to safer waters. She then realized they might not be safer waters at all.

"I fear I might not wish to find out what that book is about," Wynne muttered with a shake of the head.

"That was one of the conditions for my survival and acceptance into your group, did you not know?" the Crow inquired with a raised eyebrow. "Ah, I assume you forgot to ask. Our beloved leader's presence has that sort of effect on people, makes them lose their train of thought."

"Right," Alistair intervened, apparently impatient. "We were talking about a book. So, what book do you have to write?"

It was then that another voice was heard, startling the humans in the chamber as it was revealed to originate from one of the large armchairs in front of the fireplace.

"She can have different effect if one were to spend enough time on extra preparation. While the first way leads to instant results, the second way can create something that lasts far longer and evolves more slowly and thoroughly. She will know immediately how to spread the moment she touches one's tongue. The feeling will be faint at first, allowing one to relax and lean back in one's bed, waiting for calm to sink in while she spreads through one's mouth and begins to numb one's senses as she reaches underneath the tongue and up through the palate.

The feeling will then proceed down the larynx and into one's lungs, making breathing slower and inducing a feeling that is at once relaxing and arousing. One will feel beads of sweat forming on the brow and biceps, and the back, as she goes deeper and lower. Heartbeats will escalate as though lust had suddenly started boiling, and will keep racing as she goes ever lower, until she has reached the navel and begun to induce a tickling sensation around the abdomen.

By this point one's hands will already be clinging to whatever is on hand, whether bed sheets, pillows, one's own clothing if still worn or if the garments are within reach and not thrown aside as they should have been once one let himself lay on the bed. She will be unstoppable by this point, possibly having already sent one's body into gasps and the lungs into something akin to hyperventilation. As one struggles, she will become even more hungry in her progress. She will go lower, until not just the arms, lungs and belly but the thighs themselves, and then the calves and all the way to the tip of one's toes will start to feel as though they were burning on the inside.

She will keep at it until one can no longer tell if the heat comes from within or outside, and one will be reduced to sighing and moaning softly because she will have already taken everything else out, leaving one with nothing but one's last breath. And even that she will consume, until all that is left is one's unmoving body."

Alistair, Gwen and Wynne were staring at the dwarf noble as though their eyes were about to come out of their sockets. As he read from that book, or journal, or whatever it was that he had in his right hand, he slowly got out of his chair and stepped into view, until he was leaning with his right shoulder against said armchair. He had a cup of steaming hot tea in his other hand, but he did not take a sip out of it as he read that passage, all the while keeping an eyebrow raised an a general expression that suggested he was academically reviewing a book for possible publishing.

Once he was finished, he looked directly at the Antivan Crow, who had meanwhile sat on the couch right next to Wynne and was grinning at the Warden Commander with utmost mirth.

And then, the exile finally addressed him, his tone kept ever so mild. "Zevran Arainai. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that you managed to turn a codex of poisons and their antidotes into something that sounds like a porn novel."

There was a pause.

And the humans on the couch seemed to have finally recovered enough of their wits to stare at each other for a bit. Wynne also finally noticed that Zevran was actually in the process of putting an arm around her so she had to shoot him her most menacing glare before he silently drew his limb away and gave a sheepish grin.

And Alistair at last broke the stunned silence. "Wait... WHAT?"

"**She **is the poison. This passage describes the effects of concentrated venom," Raonar absently replied. After that, he finally seemed to notice them. "Oh, right! You're here. Welcome to Warden's Rest! The name isn't official yet, what with the bounty on our heads, but it'll be nice when that business is cleared up. I see you are soaked wet. You can take a bath in that room that Zevran just came out of, with fresh hot water of course. You can even have one together if Gwen agrees, Alistair."

There was another pause, during which everyone was staring at him, except Alim and Zevran. The former was barely containing his snickers while the latter seemed quite fascinated with Lady Cousland's dumbstruck look.

So the exile had to do the necessary thing and speak again. "What..."

The two young humans looked at each other and sighed.

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised," both of them chorused in resignation.

As fate would have it, that awkward situation would be dispersed by what sounded like a knock on the window. Everyone turned their attention towards it before the knock came again, in a sort of rhythm.

Alim glanced in the commander's direction and, when he got a nod of permission, unlocked the window from afar with a casual wave of his hand. Once that was done, the window slid upwards enough for another dwarf to jump inside. He was wearing a cloak similar to the ones that Gwen, Wynne and Alistair had, although it as smaller, to fit his size.

Once he was inside, he quickly shut the window and threw back his hood before facing the others. "Oh man, I know I said it before but rain sucks."

Gwen was glad to finally see someone sane. As far as that whole band of oddballs went, Faren Brosca could easily be seen as the most down-to-earth, at least in her opinion, not counting Alistair and herself of course. Wynne would have been a good candidate for sanest person of the group, but after hearing about how she joked about waking up in bed with men younger than her, she wasn't so sure about what to think anymore.

The red-haired dwarf smiled sincerely when he saw them. "Wow! You guys are back! That's great!" He then laid eyes on Zevran and raised an eyebrow. "Parading almost naked again? Don't you think it's getting old?"

The assassin smiled wickedly. "Not as old as you walking around the city with that feisty beloved of yours and robbing everyone blind, my lord Dark Wolf."

Gwen choked on the crumbs of the cookie she had started to eat for some reason. It was about a minute later, during which Alistair dutifully tried to assist her by tapping on her back, that she could breathe again and realize her initial assessment of Faren's sanity may have been pemature. "Dark Wolf? That guy the poster talked about, that's **you?** What in the world have you insane people been doing these past two months?"

"To be fair, the poster **probably** means both me and Kal," the dwarf responded with a shrug. "They just never figured out that there's two of us." He looked around and seemed to remember something. "Speaking of that, where **is** Kallian?"

Gwen, Alistair and Wynne almost gasped in fright when yet another voice was heard for the first time in that room. "I left her with Isabella. They seemed to be having a great time together."

Once their wits settled, the newest arrivals realized it was Leliana. Apparently, she had been sitting in the other armchair in front of the fireplace, with her legs up on the chair itself so that she would not be immediately seen. (They would later learn that she had been using all of her willpower to keep her laughter as silent as possible. After all, it was hilarious how no one even began to realize she was there as well. Art of blending in indeed.)

She had now risen from her seat and turned to face the short rogue. Gwen noticed that Faren was frozen in shock.

His eyes widened and he almost yelled at Leliana. "You... you left her with that pirate woman **alone?** Sodding ancestors, how could you possibly do that! Who knows what that crazy woman will do! She might get Kal drunk, and then invite her to her ship, to 'see what's below deck.' She's like a female version of Zevran, dammit! The only difference is that she's actually attractive!"

"Now that was a low blow!" the Crow protested with a mock glare that Faren just ignored before he shuddered and, without another word, jumped out the same window he had come from and disappeared into the evening.

And there was silence before the only remaining dwarf broke into a laughter strong enough that he had to hold onto his sides (he had foresightedly handed his teacup and Zevran's work-in-progress poison codex/porn novel hybrid to Leliana). Only after he settled down and wiped a tear from his eye did he succeed in putting a few words together. "Ah, he's so delightfully adorable, all worried about her like that."

"I wonder what people would say if they knew the feared dark wolf was actually this unusual couple," Zevran quipped.

it was then that Wynne's elderly instincts kicked in and she finally grabbed onto the line of conversation that interested her. She talked in a strangely sharp voice. "What is the meaning of this? Is this the 'Grey Warden business' you talked about? Stealing in the middle of the capital? And you actually corrupted those poor children into becoming thieves? I never thought a Grey Warden could be so self-serving!"

"Careful Wynne," the silver-eyed man cautioned seriously. "I did have a talk with you about lecturing people on being Grey Wardens. That still stands."

The woman frowned and pursed her lips. "Very well, I shall take back the Grey Warden part. But the rest still stands. How could you condone such actions?"

"Well, to be fair, I found out about the Dark Wolf thing when they were already at their second heists. That's their second heists, respectively, and they each did a major one more each, meaning a total of six so far. And that's in addition to all the pickpocketing in the market district." He outlined those happenings in a very casual tone. "Whatever goods were stolen belonged to bigot nobles and self-important fools that had too much wealth to spare anyway. And we could really use all the help we can get. This **is** their country we are trying to save, even while they do nothing but ruin it with their civil war."

Wynne looked like she wanted to say something but he raised both hands to stop her. "I trust them to be careful. It was their idea and they went through with it to 'surprise' me, so you can't accuse me of corrupting them. Besides, the money for this furniture had to come from somewhere."

Gwen didn't notice Leliana grinning madly because she suddenly found herself staring at the pieces of furniture in that room in turn.

But before they could ask what one earth he was thinking when getting involved in such affairs, he gave them another bomb. "Oh, and they stole Teyrn Loghain's Crown from his seneschal too."

Gwen would later learn that Zevran had been staring at her open mouth the entire time.

As far as that very moment went, however, she and Wynne looked about ready to explode, so they didn't really notice the marveled, almost worshipful look in Alistair's eyes when he heard those words.

It was only when the templar spoke that the room finally saw its first real argument. "Are you serious! That's amazing! I'm all for that!"

"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAT!"

_Please do review!_


	34. Warden Arc 4: Panic Attack

**Chapter 33: Panic Attack**

"-. .-"

_Excerpt from journal of Senior Enchanter Wynne_

_10 Umbralis, 9:30 Dragon:__ Well, I must say that today was a day that went by in the most unusual of ways, though I suppose I should not be overly surprised knowing these children, or at least our fearless leader in particular._

_ It is quite late in the night now and I am sitting in a fairly comfortable room at an inn that our brave commander seems to own jointly with the proprietor, Bella. Yes, oddly enough, he is half-proprietor to what I understand will be known as Warden's Rest once this whole outlaw business is resolved (the name was Bella's idea). _

_ As I understand it, Bella was the waitress at the tavern in Redcliffe, before the commander arrived and helped drive the undead back. He gave her enough gold to leave the village and start anew here in the capital. She proved to be quite a spirited and resourceful young lady and had already started a brewery when Raonar, Kallian, Faren, Zevran and Leliana arrived in Denerim._

_ Once in the city, the group wandered through the market district where they met Bella by chance. Since no one knew they were Grey Wardens, as Gwenith and Alistair were the only ones whose likeness had been passed on to the city guard, they had no problems in accompanying her to her establishment. What followed over the next few weeks was not explained in detail, but I gather that our dear dwarf invested part of the funds gained from the Redcliffe treasury into her upstart inn._

_ Before long, they were able to purchase the buildings on either sides of the brewery and set up sleeping quarters and the common room that we spent the evening in today. Said common room has been a sort of headquarters for our friends as they waited for everyone else to arrive. The wardens themselves kept a mostly low profile while Bella was more than eager to handle the business. I believe all of the profits go to her while we get to stay free of charge, tough we still have to pay for the food._

_ The 'heists' conducted by Faren and Kallian did manage to yield quite a bit of gold, I admit. I do not exactly condone thievery but I will concede to the point that our quest does need every resource we can muster. Hopefully, whatever nobles were the subject of the burglaries really were bigots, and that this Slim Couldry that has been giving those two various tips really is trustworthy._

_ The commander also made an off-hand mention of the fact that Faren and Kallian were thieves long before he even met them and that I should 'stop being so stupidly judgmental and think before I accuse him or anyone else of corrupting them.' I conceded to his argument but still, he didn't need to be so... I can't even think of a word. He said it all so casually, with no sort of aggressive emotion in his voice, and yet the choice of words was not the nicest I could think of, to say the least. I think I'll just stop thinking about it before my headache gets any worse._

_ He also admonished Gwen for being so cross with Alistair for saying he was all for stealing Loghain's crown, saying that she should just lighten up a bit and stop yelling at Alistair before she chases away the one man that would give anything for her... while Alistair was sitting RIGHT THERE next to her. Again, he spoke in a completely casual tone, not even lifting his eyes form that book Zevran had been writing, meaning that he didn't see Gwenith blushing and looking very uncomfortable. She excused herself soon afterwards and went to take a bath of her own, at which point Alistair also left for one of the vacant rooms upstairs._

_ At least we were able to summarize what had happened with our visit to South Reach Bannorn. Arl Bryland was already part of the Banns that oppose Loghain's regency. We visited him in hopes of rallying some political support against the Teyrn and spreading the word that the Couslands were not really plotting with Orlais as Howe claimed. Bryland did vow to use all of his connections to expose Arl Howe for the murderer that he is but Highever remains firmly in his grasp still. We also informed him of Arl Eamon's poisoning._

_ Theron arrived late in the evening, saying that it was safer if his wolf wasn't seen traveling with him in broad daylight. He also obviously doesn't like humans much so he enjoys quieter times. I gather he has been jumping from rooftop to rooftop while Anor, the aforementioned wolf, skulked about the dark alleys. The only downside was that I had to heal some wounds, including a particularly nasty arrow injury in his left thigh. Apparently, he decided to ambush some bandits that had set up an ambush of their own in the area close to the docks._

_ The Dalish hunter should be resting, like most everyone else. The only person still downstairs is the commander himself. He said he would stay up until Faren got back, at which point he'll switch watch shifts with Sten and Zevran, plus one of the hounds, either a mabari or the wolf. Even though we should technically be secure here, he said he'd rather be on the safe side._

_ I do worry. It is quite late and those two lovebirds still haven't returned..._

"-. .-"

Alistair really was looking forward to a nice, hot bath for once. After being on the road for over a week and having spent the past two days walking through pouring rain and on muddy roads, he really could say there was nothing he wanted more than a bath, for the moment at least. Of course, being the gallant knight that he is, he let Gwen go first while he went and inspected what would be known as his room for as long as it took to handle whatever Grey Warden business that dwarf leader of theirs had in mind.

Gwen had gracefully stopped by not long ago and knocked on his door (which he was to share with Theron) to tell him he had the bath all to himself. So he finished taking off his chainmail shirt (his templar armor was in a pack next to the bed. He hadn't worn it in days, since traveling while heavily armored isn't exactly feasible, considering the weight of that thing).

Now he was wearing some regular trousers and a shirt and was making his way down the stairs when his attention was drawn to the door that led to the brewery chamber itself. It opened rather abruptly to allow a very peculiar sight to come in.

Faren was carrying Kallian in his arms. He had a look that spoke of embarrassment as he barely gave a glance to the other dwarf in the common room. Kalian herself had her arms wrapped around his neck and her head on his shoulder, but what was more unusual was that she seemed to... not exactly be herself. The dwarf shut the door with a light kick and just made his way directly towards the stairs. Alistair found himself staring with both his eyes wide as the castless rogue carried a giggling city elf past him.

As he walked up the stairs, Faren gave him no more than a passing glance. After that, he kept walking until he reached the second door on the left, at which point he used all of his dexterity to turn the doorknob without dropping the apparently drunken young woman.

A while after they disappeared inside that room, Alistair heard what sounded like something collapsing onto a bed, then some sheets ruffling and Kallian apparently whining that she didn't want to go to sleep yet. The almost templar didn't really realize it but he remained rooted to that spot and staring at the wooden door until it opened to let Faren out. Kallian's tired moans were much more audible during the short while that the door was open.

"Sleep it off, Kal..."

And the door closed.

Alistair kept looking at the dejected dwarf as he let his forehead lean against the door with a bang before sighing hopelessly and just standing there, oblivious to everything else. Then, to finally snap his watcher out of his daze, the redhead slowly turned his head to face him, though his forehead never broke contact with the hard wooden surface.

"Don't ask," he said flatly before slowly walking off towards the room farthest to the back.

Alistair made a brief rundown of his life so far and realized that he had never quite seen such a sight before... not that it hadn't been interesting, because it had. Still, realizing that he wasn't going to figure anything out just by standing there, he decided to go about his business. That said, he descended the rest of the stairs and turned towards the door that was located more or less beneath the staircase.

He stopped a bit to stare at the only person currently keeping watch in that chamber (if one didn't count Rinne, who seemed to be sleeping anyway). He was sitting in the middle of the ouch, the one with its back to the fireplace, and meditating in a cross-legged position. His eyes were closed and his hand set on his knees, but his back was held upright and, as always, some magic was coming out though his skin like white rays of light. It resembled the aura of Shale's crystals in a measure and Alistair also thought of what sunrays look like, when they slip through the cracks in the clouds.

He still didn't really know why that guy even did those meditations exactly but he didn't feel particularly inclined to ask right now. The bath took priority, and so did his blisters. As such, he stepped through the door to where his tub filled with hot water was waiting for him. And it looked so inviting. He thought he'd just jump straight into it, only he noticed a particularly critical detail just before he finished taking his clothes off.

He'd forgotten to bring his change of clothes along.

"Maker's breath..."

Alistair slapped his own forehead for being so oblivious and started to put his clothes back on with all haste. He had to move fast and go back to his room and bring along his other clothes before the water went cold. So he pulled his trousers back on and was half-way through doing the same to his shirt as he reached the door and stopped in his tracks when he heard someone hopping down the stairs.

His templar sense kicked in and he felt how the so-called fearless leader stopped doing whatever magical thing he was doing. Then, surrendering to his indiscretion, the human peeked into the room through the keyhole, just in time to see the other dwarf drag his feet to the same couch that the other sat in.

Then, he sat down abruptly before slamming his forehead against the table.

Hard.

"-. .-"

_Energy is constantly moving, shifting, coursing, flowing, never static, but neither is it chaotic. It sticks to a sort of pattern, like it chooses a blueprint and models itself according to it. In the case of living beings, the blueprint is known as the soul._

_ The soul contains the will of a person, and that will, in turn, determines the direction in which our attention and, thus, our energy flows. On this note it was that I begun to master the magic I can access through the conduit to the Fade, this breach in the Veil that I carry inside me. I thought I understood it as I became able to shape it to my will, to force it to course through my body and enhance my power._

_ As it happens, 'force' was the key word, and apparently... a mistake._

_ So far I've been occasionally gathering the energy coursing through this tear in the Veil in specific areas, like my fists or my legs, in order to give myself momentary boosts in strength or, in the case of punches, impact. Unfortunately, this always left me with mild to severe muscle trauma that had to be healed afterwards, though I have a good enough resistance to pain that I was able to hide most of it. But since healing magic doesn't work on me except on rare cases when I get lucky (twice in several months so far... and that's sad), this is really annoying... and something of a liability. _

_ It also seems that potions don't really manage to do anything about this side-effect and I have to perform that exercise that Honor taught me, the one where I stabilize the Veil enough for him to directly intervene and fix me. And that takes a while, not much, but time during which I can't do anything else because it takes ALL of my attention._

_ But then there was that whole event with the thin Veil in Soldier's Peak. _

_ When I got close enough to that area, I began to feel magic filling me, more and more, so I tried to suppress it by reflex. Apparently, this was a really bad idea because I only ended up creating a disjunction that divided the magical stream into two opposing forces... which collided and caused me to become magically overloaded enough that I let out a really nasty shockwave, as though someone had just cast a crushing prison on me while I was under a forcefield. _

_ I didn't immediately understand what happened but, after I and Honor had a little talk in a dream of mine (damn that cane of his and his habit of smacking me over the head!), I began to figure out what I was doing wrong._

_ It seems that the idea itself of forcing the magic to abide by my will is the cause of the disjunction and all of the really nasty muscle degeneration. Since magic courses through me because of my very nature (well, what has been my nature ever since that whole mess in the Deep Roads), forcing more of it to do anything ended up causing similar collisions, only on a much smaller level than the one in Soldier's Peak, hence the pain._

_ So I decided to do things the other way around and, instead of forcing the magic to do anything, I began to encourage it to do whatever it wanted, so to speak, when I did use it. And what did the magic do? it took my soul and ideas as the blueprint and began to act in a much more orderly fashion. Still, I'll have to find a middle way if I want to make it do what I want it to._

_ This also let me more easily approach the templar training Alistair introduced to me before our group split up into three, though I think my own abilities are progressing... differently. _

_ The only thing I've been able to actually do right was the area cleansing, which I understand I actually did by accident once before, during the Joining. I can't seem to manage to drain mana, though I think I might be able to do the opposite if I really tried. And I can't even begin to imagine how on earth Alistair can perform that holy smite thing of his. It's just too wicked for words, like a big shockwave that throws everyone off their feet while blowing the senses completely out of the center target itself._

_ And it can be done remotely, which is just pure recipe for awesome. Harmless chantry-raised bastard my ass. I really, really need to learn how to do that._

_ Anyway, my meditation has also become easier to do since I changed my approach. I wonder how long it will take for the others to ask me just what I'm doing and why I become all shiny like this (well, brilliant would be a better word really)._

_ But it seems a certain someone has trouble sleeping..._

The dwarf noble let the Veil calm down and stopped his meditation, which also meant that that he stopped shining. Once he did so, he relaxed and looked in the direction of the stairs, only to see a certain someone absently hopping down the stairs as though he couldn't decide whether he really wanted to reach the last one or not.

Of course, earlier, even while performing the magical exercise, Raonar still studied Faren as he came in and carried the... indisposed Kallian Tabris up to her room (and the situation was made even more hilarious by how Alistair happened to just be coming down the same set of stairs). Currently, the same young guy had come down and was practically dragging his feet towards the couch the only other person in that room was sitting on.

The exile tilted his head and studied the remarkably crestfallen expression on Faren's face and how he almost had his head bowed low enough for his eyes to be invisible behind that odd frown of his. Nothing was even said until the latter eventually reached that couch and sunk into it.

And then, being the short dwarf that he was (Raonar actually was visibly taller), it didn't take too long before the way he let his head hang forward concluded with his forehead slamming against the table.

Hard.

And he didn't sit up. He just sat there, with his headdesk (well, headtable) still in effect, just waiting.

But neither of them said anything, at least not immediately. The noble took a more casual posture and picked up a nice glass in his right hand and poured some wine into it (Leliana had picked out the wine earlier that day), after which he leaned back and put his feet one on top of the other, the left one's heel resting on the table. He was thoughtfully shaking the glass and looking at how the wine began to move in a sort of whirlpool when Faren slowly twisted his head in order to look in his direction, though his forehead remained glued to the table the whole time.

So the prince stroked his beard with his free hand before he put on his signature grin and finally broke the silence. "Premarital problems?"

The fact that Faren didn't give one of his deadpan responses was proof enough that that was definitely it. And the way he deliberately lift his forehead a little, only to slam it against the table a second time, and then a third time, was even more of a confirmation.

"Wow, that bad, huh?"

There was just silence.

So Raonar took an inaudible sip from his glass of wine before speaking again. "So... how come Kallian's so dreadfully indisposed anyway? I thought she didn't get drunk that easily."

Faren's forehead never got unstuck from the table. "You know how Kal's been practicing dueling with that Isabella? The original deal was that that pirate woman would train her if Kal agreed to tell her how she managed to steal the winning cards from her during that game of Wicked Grace a month back..."

"I see..."

"Well, Kal beat Isabella at swordplay today, so Isabella said it was time Kal made good on the deal and showed her... so Kallian said that, instead of explaining it, she'd play Wicked Grace with her until she can figure it out on her own."

"I see..."

"So they got back to that Pearl and started to play while drinking... and according to that owner Sanga, they started to spike each other's drink at some point... with something that makes you get drunk all the faster... and kept at it for hours... and there you have it."

"I see..."

"Is there **really** nothing else you can say?"

"Is that a trick question?"

Faren's forehead never got unstuck from the table. "Can you be any **more** annoying?"

There was a pause.

After which the exile blinked and just said. "Of course!"

Faren slowly lift his forehead a few inches above the table.

Faren waited.

Then he slammed it against the table again.

Hard.

And again, said forehead never got unstuck from the table. "Sodding Stone, how did this happen?"

"Oh seriously, this is hardly a good enough reason for you to sulk like this," the other one admonished, not really meaning it in any other way than for it to be amusing..

Faren slowly twisted his head in order to look in his direction again, though his forehead remained glued to the table the whole time. "That's not it."

_There's a story in there somewhere_ thought the noble. "What is it then?"

And again the forehead would not get unstuck from the table. "She slipped up and blurted out that... that... oh Stone, why? How can this be happening? Why now of all times? Why?"

Now Raonar was pretty sure he'd never seen Faren looking so utterly hopeless before. He sighed and contemplated his red wine. "Should I start guessing? Just say what's bothering you. That **is** why you came down here, right? So stop waiting for me to pull it out of you and talk."

With headtable still active, the duster muttered something under his breath.

"I didn't understand a word you said."

"I said... I think she wanted it to be a 'surprise', to just... without me knowing what was in for me... She... Kallian... wants me to... wants me to..."

"Yes?"

Faren's forehead rose about three inches.

Then it came down upon the wooden table.

Hard.

Hard enough to cause the bottle of wine to almost fall over, the only reason it didn't being that that outcome was foreseen by the other dwarf who caught it in time, though he had to admit to himself that seeing the wine splatter over Faren's already red hair would have been amusing. And the image of Rinne and Damon jumping him and licking the taste of wine off him for days afterwards was even more hilarious.

And what made it even more ludicrous was that Rinne snorted as she sat beside the couch, precisely as he was visualizing that, though she didn't really react in any other way.

Then, with great pain and sorrow, Faren talked as though his life was over. "She wants me to go meet her folks."

There was a pause.

And the prince was looking at the castless with what could only be described as a very, very intrigued smile. "... **That's** why you're so nervous?" _Though nervous is a really huge understatement right about now, more like desperate. _"I think that's great news!

Truthfully, there was a particular reason why he thought it was a especially good idea. From what word on the street could tell, the Alienage was under heavy scrutiny ever since the fiasco with the murder of the Arl of Denerim's son several months back. There was even talk that it would only take a single more obvious theft or crime committed by an elf to warrant an actual purge of the Alienage. So basically, if Kallian was to take Faren to meet her family, she may as well do it soon, or she might lose her chance if that section gets closed off.

And that was when Faren's head shot up and he immediately turned to his listener, utmost unrest filing his every gesture as the absolute, irredeemable horror of reality sunk in completely. And the fact that he was fidgeting frantically made the whole display hilarious enough that the exile could only stare at him with eyes wide. That whole moment was just too interesting to ruin by laughing, and his brain agreed with him.

Because the young redhead entered panic mode. "This is a disaster! A horrible, horrible disaster!"

Raonar stared at him.

"Man, you have to help me! I have no idea what to do! What are those people supposed to think when they see me? Bad enough that I'm not even an elf and this is the first actual relationship I've been in but I'm a sodding thug! I have no idea what to do! I mean, I... I have no manners! I swear and curse! And I pick my teeth with my knives for crying out loud!"

The prince still stared at him.

"She wants us to go to her folks tomorrow! TOMORROW! Sod man, I'm bloody terrified! I can take on a ogre without batting an eyelash, or a whole pack of emissaries but this... this... this is just horrible! This is a disaster! A disaster! This is just a horrible disaster!"

Raonar was still staring at him.

So Faren turned back to the table and brought his forehead down upon the tough wooden surface.

Hard.

Some more wine was drunk from the glass, after which the eldest of the two dwarves reached out with his other hand and began patting the broody one on the head, a wide grin completely visible even under his mustache. "There, there..."

And again the forehead would not unglue form the table. "What am I going to do...?"

Raonar let his hand stay on Faren's head while he drank the rest of his wine. After that, he grabbed him by his braided hair and tugged on it, pulling his head up. After that, he let go of his hair and put his arm around his shoulders. "Knock it off, you'll do great." The exile knew enough about reading body language to sense that that guy had relaxed a little, though he probably didn't realize it himself.

"Either that, or my life is over..." the duster said, almost shrinking as his shoulders slumped and he suddenly looked really tired.

"Did you tell her you love her?"

There was a pause.

"She knows..." he answered lamely, looking to the side.

Raonar shook his head but still smiled. "You know, 'I love you' are such simple words. Three syllables that don't even take half a breath to pronounce. And yet, people seem to be very afraid to say them for some reason, as though they think they'll lose something by doing it. Those more misguided will think the other doesn't deserve such an open show of affection, while those more insecure might not be certain of their own feelings. But you two don't fit either category. So you know the real reasons people like you two are reluctant to do it?"

"..."

"Well, two reasons could be it. One of them is the fear that the other might not return the feeling, so the one in love doesn't speak out because he or she doesn't want to get hurt, not realizing that just living with that unrequited love will eventually turn out worse because it blinded them to everything else, including some others that may be more worthy of their affection."

"Kal and me don't have that problem..."

"Exactly," the prince said simply, though he decided not to mention how her soul assumed his form to protect her from the Archdemon during her... illness. "Which means that you two belong to the second category."

"... what's that."

"Well, the second possible reason is that one doesn't want to say it is because they want to be told 'I love you' first."

"Oh..."

The Warden Commander let his subordinate ponder on that for a bit before he approached another issue.

"Did you talk to her about her family?"

An emotion other than desperation and confusion finally forced its way into the redhead's expression, that being surprise. "Uuh... no actually... I only know that her... fiance was... killed, and that she... has a cousin that..."

"- was abused by a now dead human despot," Raonar slammed, finally chasing away Faren's sadface and leaving him gaping. "What? You thought you were the only one who knew? You think I don't talk to people? Unless you didn't notice, I have this thing about always wanting to stay informed."

"I... didn't know she talked about it to anyone else..."

"So what, you're surprised I coaxed her into talking to me about it? You do realize that making people want to spill their guts is a primary talent of mine, right?"

"You're evil," the rogue complained in mock disgust, though the other one felt him relax more as he gave his shoulders a squeeze.

"So, what are you going to do?" the exile sad, returning to the original topic. "I mean, it's clear that you **do** want to meet her family, so it's just a matter of what you do once there, right?"

Faren looked mildly shocked. "How the sodhole did anything I said even suggest I wanted this to happen?"

"Well, you didn't specifically say it," he allowed, "but you never asked me to give you a way out either. If you really wanted to avoid them, you would have asked me to give you some all-important task to accomplish so you could have an excuse not to go."

Faren just stared at him.

"Instead, you gave me a full rundown of those aspects of your personality that you think you are lacking in. So let's see... You have no idea what to do? Nobody ever does when someone drops this kind of ball on them... unless they're really paranoid and prepared for this kind of situation in advance. Don't give me that smartass look. Now what was your second concern? You have no manners? Really? Kallian's cousin uses the words 'Andraste's ass' on a regular basis and drinks herself silly at least once a week. As for whatever slurs you blurt form time to time... they aren't that horrid actually. And as far as picking your teeth with your knife goes, 'thugs' don't usually pick their teeth to begin with, so... I'd say you'll do just fine. Plus, your teeth are just fine, whiter than Alistair's even, which is saying something."

The noble still had his arm around his shoulders so he felt the younger one relax even more, though he one looked a little embarrassed now and was scratching his head, trying to avoid his gaze. Thinking about it, Faren behaved in a unique way when he was talking to him than he did around everyone else. Usually, he snarked deadpan responses or did mock-imitations of everyone else, aided by his uncanny ability to mimic voices. All in all, he seemed quite self-assured, something that vaguely reminded him of Trian, but he didn't have the same gruff attitude.

That all didn't apply when Raonar was involved, especially when no one else was around, or if Faren thought no one else was around. He seemed... more open, but also much less self-confident in a way. The prince was no fool, of course, so he recognized this as a consequence of the fact that he was probably the one person he really trusted, not just since that Fade dream but as far back as Ostagar. Raonar didn't really know what it was at first (and Kallian actually misinterpreted it as...'forbidden love', oddly enough, which was downright ridiculous), but he managed to understand the reason after what Faren told him once out of the Tower.

Even when thinking about it, the prince had to use all of his discipline not to cringe. What Faren went through when he was 14 really was one of the most traumatizing things someone could ever go through, which was made even more troubling by the fact that Faren himself hadn't exactly been the actual victim during that whole mess.

Normally, when going through something like that, a person would not manage to end up unscathed. They would change, or lose part of themselves, or give it up willingly in order to survive, maybe even renounce their morals in order to at least hang onto some semblance of sanity.

Faren hadn't done either.

Yes, Faren had done something different. The very instant he walked in on that scene, he retreated into himself and surrounded his soul inside a shell made of the only thing that drove him forward, that being the desire to keep his loved ones as safe as possible. Essentially, he forcefully pushed his soul into stasis and surrounded it into a shell made of just that one desire, to protect his sister and mother at all costs. With only that left, he did what he had to and became that scum's lackey, because he didn't see how he had anything else left and it was the only way to stay sane (not that he intellectually understood this, it was just psychological survival instinct)

After that, his wits allowed him to play the sort of thug that Beraht would think was perfect for shaking down merchants but not the most suited for 'taking permanent care' of those that crossed him. So Faren had actually managed to not murder anyone while under the crime lord's heel. He did have that sort of jobs once in a while, but he usually managed to pull off a con believable enough that Beraht would get off his back (as believable as pretending you're going to kill the prince of Orzammar while secretly plotting to help him, which worked).

Still, who he really was, that kid of under 15 years of age, had been in stasis ever since. That is, until the two of them met, though the dream in the Fade was the final blow that shattered that shell and let him back out. And apparently, that kid liked Raonar. A lot. It was the kind of attachment young people wind up with when they find someone to look up to. And now, he seemed to even be growing up into a fine young man.

On the one hand, this gave the commander a warm feeling. On the other hand, he feared it may have made Faren a bit too emotionally vulnerable and might end up backfiring when the time finally came for him to learn that information that might make him hate the exile (in the latter's opinion at least). All in all, the prince of Orzammar was determined to watch out for him as best he could manage and could only hope that he wouldn't end up hurting him more.

Yes, making things worse than they were really was the one thing that the dwarf noble dreaded. So he could at least allay as many of his fears in the time he had. "Kallian's not your mother, Faren," he said softly.

The duster flinched a little, but did nothing else.

"You're worried for her, aren't you? You saw what drinking did to your mother and you're already afraid Kallian might end up destroying herself like that."

The younger dwarf's gaze became a bit more distant.

Yes, as he expected, this was his real worry. "That's not going to happen to her. Your mother only fell apart like that after your father left because she thought she had nothing left and because she couldn't bear always thinking about how she couldn't do anything for you and Rica anymore. Kallian's just young, and she hadn't had a good ale in ages before we got to the city. Cut her come slack, and cut **yourself** some slack for that matter, or you'll grow wrinkles even before Wynne gets her first real set."

Faren couldn't suppress a smirk when his mind conjured up the image. Yes, this talk was working at least.

So the dwarf noble drew his arm back and lightly punched Faren's shoulder. "Really, nothing of what you said is a reason for you to worry about. Now go on, get upstairs and get some sleep. That's an order."

The younger one released a deep breath but did as he was told. "Yes sir."

He walked with a bit more confidence now, but he looked like he could use a bit more encouragement. So when he had reached the stairs, the white-haired one called out to him.

"Faren."

He stopped, but didn't turn around.

"You're a good kid. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise unless you witness them convincing **me** it's not true."

The duster seemed to straighten up, but he still didn't turn around. He just went on his way, up the stairs. And when he had almost reached the last one, the exile told him one last thing. "Oh, and wake Alim up and tell him to get down here, will you?"

"Yes sir."

Oh yeah, he was smiling alright, his voice gave him away just fine. Now all that was left was to take care of that person listening in...

"-. .-"

Alistair was currently leaning with his back against the door to the bath he was still inside of. He had his arms crossed in front of his chest and was looking down, thinking about the scene he'd just shamelessly spied on. He usually prided himself as someone that took his duty seriously and respected other people to the best of his ability, but he just found himself listening to that conversation as it unfolded, although, to be fair, Faren was probably being loud enough for even those upstairs to hear.

He didn't really understand it immediately, but he came to realize he envied what those two had. He had never really seen that sort of friendship anywhere and he was a bit sad to say he had failed to actually reach a stage in his relationship with Gwen where they could be so open with each other.

No, that wasn't exactly fair to say. Gwen had talked to him, listened to him brooding over Duncan and all the other Wardens, provided him with her comforting presence whenever he needed it. On the other hand, she had a really fiery temper, which could get downright scary at times. It also didn't help that she wielded a greatsword almost as big as **he** was. Alistair was sad to say that he felt intimidated by her somewhat, even though he was certain he could take her in a fight... probably... if he wasn't fettered by his reluctance to hit her.

That was also the reason he hadn't gathered the courage to seriously try and get her to talk about her own family. He lamely tried to broach the subject once, and she just went quiet and her eyes hardened. After that, she bluntly changed the subject. Even after the incident with the demon in the Fade, she still didn't seem to want to talk about those things. She did seem a bit more focused and relaxed, but her temper was still quite volcanic.

Then there was what happened just a few hours ago, immediately after she 'threw a fit', as the so-called commander himself called it, after he said he was all for stealing Loghain's Crown. Looking back, Alistair still thought he'd done a good enough job of making it clear he was joking... partially. Raonar had been quite harsh and told Gwen she should lighten up before she alienated him (Alistair), while the latter was sitting right **there**. Gwen did, astonishingly, look a bit... taken aback, ashamed maybe? Whatever it was, the look on her face wasn't what he expected, though he couldn't really get a feel of her state of mind very well because she excused herself soon after.

In some measure, Alistair was a bit pissed at the current commander for being so blunt with her, even though what the latter had done could have been interpreted as a favor to him. The fact was that he had said that to Gwen so casually, not even lifting his gaze from the early draft of the first chapter of the Tome of Zevran (the almost-templar was determined to turn that name into a running gag). He realized that was part of the reason he decided to eavesdrop on his and Faren's conversation just now. Alistair wanted to see if that dwarven prince behaved like... like **that** with everyone else too. He really couldn't think of a suitable word to describe him, and he knew that thinking of him as a jerk wasn't right. He had put too much effort into saving Connor and Kallian after all, so that was excluded.

In the end, all Alistair knew was that, if anything, he would really like it if he and Gwen could be as open and comfortable around each other as those two, or as Faren and Kallian for that matter. What were they doing wrong? The man could only wonder if things would really get that much easier if he just told Gwen he loved her. That she loved him back was probably true. All the signs were there, those he could see at least, but he just didn't seem to work the courage to blurt it out. He was now asking himself why that was and which of the categories mentioned by Raonar he belonged to.

As fate would have it, he would have to put off trying to find an answer to that question because, very suddenly, the door disappeared. Or, more precisely, the door was swung open faster than he could realize it and, having lost his support (since he was still leaning against it), he was quite effective in ending up all over the floor. He even hit his head a bit too hard when he fell on his back, meaning that he cringed and shut his eyes while he rubbed the place that now hurt and throbbed.

Eventually, he managed to open his eyes and found his commanding officer standing right next to his fallen frame and studying him, all the while twirling one of the long, braided mustache ends around his index finger.

Alistair could think only one thing. _Drat._

"You'd make a really lousy spy," the exile told him, tilting his head to the side and raising an eyebrow. The human let his head just lie on the floor and closed his eyes in resignation at having been found out. And why had he been found out again? It's not like it was his original plan to eavesdrop on the two.

Alistair began to push himself to his feet and was in the middle of dusting himself off when he noticed Alim coming up from behind him, looking tired and very, very sleepy. He even yawned but his emerald eyes were sharp as they immediately took in the whole room, not just the sight of the two of them.

But it was the short warrior that spoke again. "Alim, do you know any restorative spells that can cure hangovers?"

The templar looked at him like he had just grown a second head. Oddly enough, however, the mage just pressed an index finger against his chin and looked dead serious as he gave his reply. "Indeed, it was a spell handed down amongst the apprentices in the Circle Tower, very useful for keeping one's head straight during the boring lessons of Monday mornings after our... misadventures in the tower's brewery that happened every other Sunday night. Why? You don't look drunk."

"Kallian might need one tomorrow," he said with a dismissive wave.

"So why did you have Faren call me down here?" the magus asked, though he did not sound at all annoyed.

"Well, for one, Alistair's tub of water probably grew cold while he was eavesdropping on me and Faren's little chat."

Both of the elf's eyebrows were quite a bit higher than they usually were. "Right... this being the secondary reason... and the real one is probably the fact that you plan on finally informing Alistair what your Grey Warden business is here in Denerim."

Alistair could safely say that had gotten all of his attention and that the headache he got from the earlier fall was now completely forgotten. "I was wondering what we were here for, not that I mind, of course, what with me planning on visiting my supposed sister and all..." he trailed off. "Right, so why are we here?"

The dwarf grinned in a very sly fashion. "Keep in mind that Duncan said you'd probably be unable to keep your mouth shut about it so I should probably tell you last."

"He really said that...?"

Apparently, the fearless leader recognized his embarrassment for what it was, because his eyes narrowed somewhat. "Yes. So I'm giving you the chance to perform an exercise in secret keeping, since Alim here is the only other person who knows, for now."

The human looked at the dwarf, and then at the elf, and saw that they were gazing at him with a very no-nonsense look in their eyes. So he just nodded, even though he couldn't help but feel a bit cornered.

_The review space is quite eager to be of use!_


	35. Warden Arc 5: A Prankster I Am

Author's Note: I know I told a few people that I might be getting to the Orzammar plotline by the end of this chapter, but I was originally just going to cram in a bit of that at the end. Then, the tone of the chapter turned out to be incompatible with that plan. Dont worry though, the next chapter will definitely kick off that part of the tale that we are all loking forward to.

Disclaimer: Bioware, of course, ownes all the characters and the setting.

* * *

**Chapter 34: A Prankster I Am**

**"-. .-"**

_Excerpt from journal of Senior Enchanter Wynne_

_01 Verimensis, 9:31 Dragon_:_ I never dared hope I'd actually get to celebrate the first day of the new year in Denerim, out from under the watchful eye of the chantry's templars, but neither did I suspect I would end up spending the day feeling so uneasy._

_ Although uneasy would be an enormous understatement at this point._

_ The only reason I am even writing these words down right now is because I found nothing that comes closer to making me forget how nervous I am. Nervous and, I admit, a bit apprehensive at having been the only person that is not going to take part in today's... events... about which I have been forbidden to write anything down, three guesses by whom._

_Still, since I have nothing better to occupy my troubled mind with, I suppose I shall summarize what happened over the past three weeks (again)._

_ Our so-called fearless leader managed to strike a bargain with Sergeant Kylon, the one in charge of the city guard patrolling the part of the city North of River Drakon. Well, bargain is not the correct term. Apparently, Raonar made a few trips to some inns and taverns, including The Pearl, and solved some 'problems', which mostly consisted of using his seemingly infallible reasoning and charm to just convince some troublemaking mercenaries to stop causing trouble. Granted, one band of mercenaries tried to accost him and Alim when they met up with Kylon in an alley. It... didn't end well for them._

_ Neither the commander nor his second-in-command actually killed any of those men. Apparently, Alim put most of them to sleep quite surreptitiously, while the rest were almost casually knocked out by Raonar himself, with Kylon's help and that of his mostly useless subordinates. After that, the thugs were disarmed and escorted to the prison, where they spent a few nights in order to clear their heads._

_ Regardless, the fact is that Kylon assured us the city guard will mostly leave us alone and that he will even try to combat the slander made against the Grey Wardens by Teyrn Loghain. This basically means that we need only be careful of the Residence District and the Palace District._

_ Of course, we might have a lot to deal with the guards in the very near future, but I'll get back to this later._

_ Back when Kallian got Faren to go meet her family, I remember how incredibly nervous the lad was. They left in the afternoon and came back the next morning, both of them quite jovial, though Faren looked like he hadn't slept that night, unlike Kallian herself. I never got around to indulging in any gossip about it, and Leliana was a bit put out for a few days at how they refused to tell her all about it, but I gather that it went better than either of them expected._

_ Alistair also had a trip of his own to make, to visit his sister. Goldanna I believe was her name. Gwen accompanied him. They came back just about an hour later and Alistair was looking quite depressed, while Gwen was a bit angry. From her description, Alistair's supposed sister was not the nicest of people and told Alistair that she didn't see how his being his brother was any help to her unless he was ready to help out with gold. _

_ The fact that Gwen sounded a bit too biased aside, I did not exactly get a chance to learn exactly what happened and I probably never will because it likely no longer matters. No sooner had the two of them come back that our brave commander asked them how it went. And once they gave him the rundown, he became... annoyed._

_ Simply put, he grabbed Alistair by the wrist and dragged him back to Goldanna's home, returning an hour later, without him. I, of course, asked what had happened, and he said only that he 'helped' both of them get over themselves and talk like civilized people. The only other time I heard him mention the event was when he quaintly told Gwen she should have kept a more open mind and tried to get Alistair to man up._

_ Alistair himself finally got back to the inn late in the evening. If I were to gauge his mood, I would say he looked half amazed and half grateful. I talked to him about it the next day and he said that... his five nephews are all very spirited, even though their mother barely had enough money to put food on the table._

_ 'Had' being the key word. Raonar left Alistair with 50 gold before he left, gold that he was to decide whether to give Goldanna or not. And he did. And to top it off, a few days later, Bella, the mistress of the as-yet unnamed Warden's Rest, just 'happened' to decide it would be so much easier to employ an extra someone to do the washing and generally help out..._

_ I believe Goldanna's children are building their second snowman this very moment, right outside, and that Goldanna herself is earning five times as much as she managed before._

_ Regardless of what I think of Raonar's attitude, I have to admit he goes out of his way to make sure things work out for the best. He seems so very different from the child I remember, the small dwarven boy that, according his elder, eagerly believed the Royal Palace had a secret section guarded by a live dragon. I even made an offhand mention of that and he shrugged, saying that he had solved that mystery years ago. Of course, he didn't say whether the legend turned out to be true or not (did I mention how he can be immensely frustrating?)._

_ Again I am amazed at how this establishment has flourished. Bella was wise in acquiring a property so close to the city gates, as it means that travelers will easily consider making a stop here. And with all the 'funds' that Faren and Kallian have been 'earning' from the many 'people that like to flaunt their wealth around the market district', this inn hasn't been doing bad at all. And since the guards now have no intention of trying to claim the bounty on the Wardens, Bella doesn't have to worry about retribution for housing us either, not that many, if anyone, actually knows about us staying here._

_ The only other thing deserving of mention is the occurrence at brother Genitivi's home. Brother Genitivi is a scholar known to have traveled to many places, from the Brecilian Forest to Orzammar, and he is the one said to have been trying to find the urn of Sacred Ashes. He was absent from his house, but his apprentice, 'Weylon' was not Weylon at all, but a blood mage in disguise. The fact that he tried to attack Alistair, Alim and Raonar after they caught on to his act ended badly for him. They immobilized him easily and were going to try and question him when he bit his own tongue and used the power of the blood to send a strong jolt of electricity to his brain and kill himself. _

_ The real Weylon was found dead in the back room and the only useful bit of information uncovered through that whole visit was that Brother Genitivi was going to find more clues at Lake Calenhad._

_ And now I am reduced to just waiting in this room until this bold performance that the Warden Commander has been preparing for over the last two weeks is over with. All the days and nights of scouting and planning are finally going to be set into motion, and although I am worried, I have to admit that everything is quite well thought out._

_ After all, there is a reason why they chose the day of the new year, when people are out celebrating and parading and going in and out of the more prominent stores, or to and from the stalls in the marketplace that are packed with goods. Creating chaos is easiest when an impressionable mob is at hand._

_ It is currently around 8 in the morning, which means that, being winter, much of the city is still shrouded in shadow, as the sun is not all that high up in the sky. I just hope they don't bring down the whole city while they are at it..._

"-. .-" "-. .-" "-. .-"

Like in all parts of Thedas that stuck to the same calendar that the Chantry has used for generations, it was New Year's Day in Ferelden and, thus, it was New Year's day Denerim. As such, the ever overpopulated city was bustling with all the people that were out and about, moving from market stall to market stall or from shop to shop. Simply put, the capital was crowded. All main streets were packed with humans, elves and the occasional dwarf, although most dwarves were at the market, showing off their prowess as traders.

Regent Loghain Mac Tir had organized a parade and a series of other events in the Palace District, culminating with the raising of the national flag in the center of the plaza. He supposedly wanted to show the people that theyshouldn't let even impending civil war affect their lives overly much. Of course, the people got the idea that they should celebrate as well as they can **now**, since most able-bodied men would soon have to get enlisted in the army and go off to battle.

All in all, it seemed like people wanted to at least enjoy the time of uneasy peace they had left as best they could. And what better way to set one's troubles aside than to go shopping? After all, the tranquil proprietor of The Wonders of Thedas didn't feel the need to celebrate, and the dwarven merchants always put business first, like Master Tilver, who seemed to have managed well enough for himself even despite how his stock of most valuable crafts had been stolen about a month ago, presumably by the Dark Wolf.

And a special mention should be made about the weather.

While the past week had been plagued by almost constant snow storms, the sky was no longer cloudy, but the fog that had just lifted still gave it a more or less grey color. Through that haze, a white disk could be seen not too high up in the sky, though that sun had none of the warmth and golden fire that it emanated during the other seasons or in those rare winter days when the sky was clear. And it even looked like this very day may end up boasting a clear blue sky if the ocean breeze did its job and chased away the now lifted fog before it could go high enough to form clouds.

Granted, the cold was still enough to warrant the thickest overcoats, cloaks and mitts one could get their hands on. Thus garbed, men and women were out and about, efficiently shattering the icicles that had formed on the eaves of their houses, shops or inns. Some children had picked up the ones still intact and were playing around with them as though they were swords. Meanwhile, other people were walking up and down the streets, which were, thankfully, not muddy, but well serviced by a solid layer of battered snow, though said snow was no longer gleaming like the thick masses of white that all rooftops proudly carried.

"-. .-"

The view got more interesting when it came to estates, like a certain manor owned by Bann Franderel, which was located roughly at half the distance between the city gates and the market district. This manor was not as large as the estate owned by the Arl of Denerim or the one owned by Arl Eamon of Redcliffe (which was currently vacant). Still, its tall walls were well crafted, as far as human constructions went, their tops sporting a brilliant snowy mane. The large, double gate that marked the front entrance, large enough for carriages to go through with no problems, had a watchtower on either side.

The walls on the side of each of said towers were covered in a layer of climber plants, which were well known throughout Denerim for the magnificent foliage they gained and held onto from spring through late autumn. Currently, however, they were leafless.

The only moving elements one could distinguish in that whole view were the two guards pacing back and forth on the walkway directly above the gate, which linked the two towers together.

Of course, servants were not allowed to use the front gates. Thus, a side-street existed which went around half the outer wall and led to an auxiliary entrance at the back, past some vegetable gardens (currently snowed over of course) and a well. Said path had been beaten and beaten by quite a few human and elven servants during that day alone. In fact, more than one errand had needed to be taken care of even before the break of dawn.

No one noticed the very subtle fact that some of the footmarks left in the snow were a bit bigger than the ones which elves usually leave behind.

Consequently, no one could look closely enough to notice that said footmarks disappeared suddenly, along the fence that went around the aforementioned vegetable garden and reached one of the smaller wall sections.

As such, no one could know of the unknown figure that snuck through that pathway before daybreak, walked on top of the fence with uncanny balance and jumped over to the other side of the wall, after which he bided his time until the moment came for him to start scaling the leafless vines that almost completely covered the rear stone wall. Those vines were similar to the climbing plants that decorated the walls out front.

The mystery person made sure to have a large, snow-covered pine between him and the slums that existed behind the manor before he started to scale the wall. Mostly, that precaution was unnecessary, because, like in all slums, the houses were practically glued to each other and the alleys between them so narrow that only the uppermost end of the manor's wall could be seen by anyone that happened to be outside at any given time, and he did not intend to stay in plain sight for long. Still, the mystery man had not come so far without practicing caution.

That said, the Felon's Coat, a highly-enchanted drakeskin leather armor, along with sturdy gloves and boots, made up his protection, though the armor had been applied on top of fairly thick winter wear that a certain someone had had tailored specifically for him, the same way as he did for several others. The clothes were made of wool, but patched with smooth cotton weave on the underside, for comfort. They were also designed to go well with armor, without impeding movement. What's more, the same person that ordered the clothing had made a point of ensuring that the leather boots and gloves also did not impair his balance and dexterity in any way. Yes, master Wade had a lot of work to do over the past two weeks.

The final article of his attire was a double-sided cloak. Double-sided here referred to how it was colored white on one side and black on the other. Currently, he wore the white side outward, since it was a better camouflage, what with all the snow (he'd worn the black side outward when he skulked around the alleyways before night had fully passed). His hood was, of course, drawn over his head, and the fur which made up the seam of his cloak made sure it was heavy enough not to flutter noisily in the chilly wind.

With the agility of one known to be able to infiltrate any place at any time, the deft rogue made his way up the plant stems and vines with what would be called impressive speed. Still, he took care not to hop too fast or make too many sudden movements. A certain, emerald-eyed, black mouse was, after all, tucked away in one of the two pouches fastened to his waist belt, and he also had various vials and flasks in the other one, which he didn't want to agitate overmuch.

And all that was just an addition to the throwing knives he had on a special holster on his right leg, among other things, mostly daggers and such.

Almost all of his attention was focused on making as swift and silent progress as possible. the only part of his awareness that did anything else was the one that was too busy feeling an advanced flavor of anticipation.

"-. .-"

The only thing going through the human's mind just then was a very specific variation of that feeling which all men and women experience at least once in their lives.

Boredom.

It was boring to just stand around all day and guard the warehouse in the market district, especially on new year's day. In hindsight, it was his own fault for gambling his free shift with that new guy, some noble's bastard son that will no doubt give Kylon a headache, and losing. And to top it all off, the guy he was paired with had a stick up his ass and didn't seem to want to talk to him at all, not even to pass the time.

The man found himself hoping that the Dark Wolf would really prove rumors true and pull something extraordinary. Said rumors said that the legendary burglar was preparing to pull of his greatest performance ever, that it would be unlike anything Ferelden has ever seen, just to shake things up a bit, and that it would happen on day one of year 9:31, Dragon. Whoever he was, he had already broken into the very warehouse the guard was now keeping an eye on and had made off with a really large shipment of silver bars.

Regardless, from what the human knew, Loghain Mac Tir had strongly reinforced the guard in the palace district (south of the river, well away from the northern par, which included the aforementioned manor), wary that the Dark Wolf would want to something disruptive during today's celebrations. The various mansions that had yet to be broken into had also gotten a higher number of guards. Thus, guarding the warehouse was really dull.

At least the view wasn't particularly horrid, though he was a bit sad to say he would have wished that the incredibly attractive woman located some 20 paces ahead wasn't a clone of Habren. Yes, Habren Bryland, that uppity wen-... noblewoman that has a habit of buying puppies and/or silks all the time and threatening everyone to have her father string them up if they look at her wrong just found some competition.

Anyway, back to the view. Just a short time ago, a woman came out of The Wonders of Thedas. She was quite tall and had long, brown hair, tied in a braid that came down from behind her left ear and hung in front of her chest, The guard could tell she was wearing a high noblewoman's outfit, not a dress but definitely an attire that incited the imagination, though it was hidden somewhat by her white cloak. All in all, she already had him at his eighth fantasy.

The downside was that she seemed to be a bit of a bitch. She was accompanied by a large man, wearing a suit of heavy chainmail armor and casually holding a large (make that very large) trunk over his shoulder like it weighed nothing. If the human had to guess, it was probably a Qunary mercenary hired as a bodiguard/packmule. The woman didn't seem to pay him much mind, however, because she was too busy snapping and yelling at her other apparent servants, or one of them.

One of them was an elf, with blond hair and a sort of tattoo on the left side of his face. He was dressed in common clothes and a grey cloak of his own while carrying a backpack and a bag in his right hand. He was almost leering at his mistress as she seemed to be lecturing her other apparent servant.

Yes, it was the other poor soul that earned the warehouse's guard's pity. He was obviously a dwarf, so short he was, and he had just stumbled and dropped the trunk he himself was struggling to pull out of the shop through that woefully narrow doorway. In fact, he lost his balance in such a way that he fell on the ground face-down and the trunk slipped and turned, until it snapped open, spilling its contents everywhere, much to the outrage of that woman.

Presently, clothes, sculptures, miniature golem dolls or other items were all over the snowy street, and the dwarf seemed to be shrinking under his hood and cloak because of how her ladyship was yelling at him.

The guard briefly wondered if all ladies are destined to become insufferable Habrens. Maybe he should just start to look for more reasonable women on his own level of the social pyramid.

"-. .-"

The elf with a lean build was quite used to cold days and nights, having spent his entire life moving from forest to forest, so he could safely say that he wasn't in any danger of dying from hypothermia right now, especially with the specially-tailored winter clothing he had been provided with. This was good, because he really didn't need the distraction if he was going to properly transmit the necessary instructions to his faithful, brown-eyed wolf, Anor.

Anor himself seemed to relay a feeling of annoyance. He actually preferred sticking to the shadows, much like what they were doing right now, instead of doing what that hunter was now asking him to do once he gave the appropriate signal. Still, the intelligent animal agreed to the task.

Now, all that remained was to wait.

"-. .-"

The Denerim Palace was a massive structure that overlooked a huge plaza, surrounded by walls on all sides, though several gates granted access to the various other sections of the city. It was that square plaza, along with its fountains and orderly, paved streets (currently white with snow) that acted as the staging ground for the New Year's Day Parade.

The parade in the Palace District was well underway and the man watching it from afar, leaning with his shoulder against a building, had to admit it had been planned out quite well. The mabari march currently in play was definitely something to look at, and listen to, since the hounds barked and held the same rhythm as the drums and trumpets. There were probably a hundred of those dogs, lined up in four rows and stepping in an odd cadence, orderly and smooth at the same time.

This small enjoyment was the only consolation the human had, though, because he distinctly remembered not wanting to be there, and repeatedly pointing that out over the past two weeks. Of course, that wasn't the only thing annoying him at the moment. While the cap he wore did well in shielding his head from the cold, his beard (more like an unkempt stubble which he had let grow out over the past fortnight) was itching and the eyepatch covering his right eye felt funny. At least his brown overcoat fit him perfectly.

Meanwhile, the red-haired woman next to him, wearing a purple velvet dress and munching on some sort of gingerbread, was quite merrily giggling at his pouts and sighs. Thus it was that the man found he could do nothing but shoot a pleading look at the two mabari dogs that were accompanying them. One was brown, while the female had a fur as black as night.

Unfortunately, neither seemed to do anything to acknowledge him, so he decided to start practicing his templar discipline and reinforce his mental fortress while he and his companion waited.

Meanwhile, just next to them, a fair-haired elven lass stood, also dressed in a cloak, a dark grey one. She had what looked like a sort of small trunk next to her, as well as a cane in her right hand, though it was a bit too thick and the headpiece seemed to be a bit too large.

"-. .-"

The human guard patrolling the rear battlement of Bann Franderel's manor didn't have time to even blink because a foot slammed into his face with enough force to knock all sense out of him even before he was thrown on his back.

Having taken out the human in mid-jump, the infiltrator made sure to roll him over until he could in no way be spotted by anyone from the lower levels. After that, he pulled out a dagger out of a holster on his right boot and made a small cut on the side of the human's neck. The blade was coated in a drug that guaranteed to knock out anyone for several hours if it entered the bloodstream. Actually, all of the weapons he had on him at the moment were coated in that substance, made out of deathroot by a certain former Antivan Crow.

Inaudibly, the rogue traipsed on the battlement and made his way down to the ground floor by descending the spiral staircase in the watchtower. He didn't encounter any guards on the way down, which was not altogether unexpected. After all, the Dark Wolf well knew this was quite the trap set up specifically for him, though Slim Couldry didn't even suspect foul play when he told the master thief of the wealth just waiting to be made off with (which probably didn't really exist).

Presently, the rogue was sneaking along one of the outer castle passages. The manor had two walls protecting it, with just a distance of about five meters between them. It was that area that the Dark Wolf had chosen in his search for the entrance leading to the cellars where the treasury was located.

Ten minutes and several drugged-into-unconsciousness guards later, he had a set of keys that opened most of the doors that led to the various storage rooms and had also located the staircase that led to the basement. Carefully, he walked down, skillfully avoiding loose planks so as to not cause any annoying creaking sounds, until he entered a dark but large room. it was square and large enough to allow about half a dozen people to fight unhindered. In other words, the perfect place to trap a thief, especially considering how the corridor he'd taken to come here was the only one that led back above ground.

On the wall opposite to the door he'd just come through was another door, one that supposedly led to the so-called treasury he was allegedly coming to loot. Glancing around for traps and not finding any, he began to approach that entrance, but not before reaching into the pouch strapped to his left leg and sprinkling a sort of powder across the floor of that entire room. Once he had finished with that, he entered the side-room, finding that it held nothing but several empty crates and bags of mortar.

The Dark Wolf undid the lace that held his cloak over his shoulders when he began to hear huffed footsteps. Once his cloak was off, he opened the pouch that hung off his waist belt and gently took out the mouse inside and placed it on the floor. After that, he reached into the other pack and took out a remarkably breakable phial filled with a green fluid. Then, he took out two more and set them next to the door.

And when he heard those that sought his capture entering the antechamber from the other end, he flicked his hands and allowed his two wrist blades to slide out.

"-. .-"

The convoy of mabari war hounds had stopped and all the dogs were not sitting on their hind quarters while the fanfare did its own march and sung the national hymn. The parade was now past the first half.

Discreetly, the 'sailor' with an eye patch glanced around and saw the many guardsmen walking about. No matter how he looked at it, it was impossible to get near that building they were interested in. His Orlesian 'wife' seemed to be enjoying the celebration, but an observant person could see the subtle sharpness in her gaze and how she seemed to survey the whole situation at all times.

Meanwhile, the black and brown war hounds were lying on their forepaws and staring at their kin with a sort of longing.

As for the elven 'servant', she was shifting her weight from foot to foot while looking around, waiting for when she would be able to finally get to work.

"-. .-"

The odd part was that the woman boss of that dwarf seemed vaguely familiar, but the warehouse's guard couldn't exactly figure out why.

The bored guard was still watching with what he saw as a probably unexpected degree of pity as that poor dwarf was doing his best to gather all the things that had been spread across the snowy street while his apparent mistress was glaring down at him and occasionally snapping some harsh remark or another. The man hadn't managed to see the dwarf's face, but he imagined he must have looked either pissed off or terrified, or both.

The elf looked a bit sheepish, while the qunari stared down at the scene with the same blank look as before.

Almost all of the things that had made it out of the trunk had, by now, been placed back into the container, except for a few bolts of cloth and some other things that that woman had ordered the servant to pay special attention to, because she didn't want them getting rumpled. Even all the many other people walking in and out of The Wonders of Thedas, or up and down that particular street, had gone past the point where they spared more than a passing glance to that whole scene.

All in all, it looked like that Habren clone and her minions would be there a while.

"-. .-"

Five men and two women had entered that large room leading to the so-called treasury. Two of the guys had prepared their crossbows, while the others had drawn their weapons. the women, as well as two of the men had broadswords and round shields, while wearing steel chainmail armors. The remaining human man, their apparent leader, wore a red steel coat of plates, a helmet made of the same material (though it lacked anything to cover his face) and had both his hands firmly tightened around the long handle of his war hammer.

Looking around, the guard's leader studied what he could see of his underlings' expressions, and they all looked nervous, even afraid. While troubling, the man did have to admit it was totally justified. The Dark Wolf had become something of a myth already, and many nobles, even though they tried to hide it, had grown afraid their most valuable possessions would become his next target. The human also realized that many people didn't want the nascent legend of the Dark Wolf to end, because the burglar had become something of a hero for the common folk, who blamed their misery on the upper class.

Regardless, the guard chief schooled his expression into one of determination and cleared his throat before turning his gaze towards the door to the treasury, which had been emptied and filled with junk the day prior. Bann Franderel had let some rumors slip about his wealth and deliberately thinned the guard in an attempt to lure the Dark Wolf into this trap, a plan that had obviously succeeded. It was about time too, since no one could even guess who the thief was. All of his previous heists had been carried out perfectly and the most anyone ever saw of him was his shadow disappearing around corners.

Thus, the human found it quite encouraging that he would be among the first to actually uncover the identity of the famous burglar.

Yes, whoever the thief was, he was in there, trapped. Regardless of how good he was, there was no way he could fight off the seven of them, along with the others stationed at the top of the stairs and the many more that had now come out and congregated along the only path that led to this particular section of the manor's lower level.

Using that reasoning to appear calm and confident, the head guard shouted in the direction of the treasury. "We know you're in there! You're trapped! Now come out and surrender!"

There was a pause, after which a chuckle of pure amusement made it to everyone's ears, The voice was definitely that of a man and relayed no sort of uneasiness whatsoever. "Seriously, does saying that ever work? Maybe you don't know who you're speaking to."

A small seed of anger appeared in the human just then. "We know well, **Dark Wolf**. We're talking about someone that so easily walked into this trap that his lordship set." _Yes, that should put a dent in the guy's smugness._

Or not, as this time whoever was behind the closed door of the treasury started to laugh as though he was holding his sides. "Ah... sorry, this is... just so funny," he said between gasps. "I mean, you guys actually think I didn't know this was a trap? Really? Of course I knew! Duh!"

All seven guards in the room, the leader included, looked shocked for a moment and looked at each other, some of them muttering under their breath. "Quiet!" the chief yelled at them. "He's bluffing you moron-"

The door to the treasury cracked open for just an instant. Said instant was enough for a blur of a hand to lash out and throw three objects flying. And before anyone could even snap back to awareness, one of the bottles struck one of the ceiling's two supporting poles and shattered, splattering a green fluid in all directions, some of it landing on a man and a woman. The few drops that reached their exposed faces immediately sent a burning sensation directly to their brains. And, not a second later, the other two acid bombs struck the stone floor and burst out in a very similar fashion.

Besides the man and woman that had been unfortunate enough to get splattered over the face (and who were frantically trying to scrub it off, even though it didn't seem to be a very strong acid), everyone was unaffected. This immediately gave the leader the idea to boast at the thief about how he hadn't accomplished anything by doing that. Unfortunately for him, that impulse was not long-lived, because a hissing sound, like that made by a red hot iron when dumped into water, started to be heard from all around them.

It was then that no one could help but look down and notice how the green acid reacted with the powder spread across the floor of that chamber. That reaction caused a lot of smoke to fill the air, sending them all coughing and severely impairing the visibility of that already dimly-lit chamber. The smoke, within seconds, got thick enough that it caused their eyes to sting and give out tears, and three of them were choking quite badly.

The next few seconds passed by in a blur. Before anyone could get a hold of themselves, they heard the 'treasury' door swing open (the smoke was so bad that only some light could be seen in its general direction). The two men closest to that door fell first, their heads banged against each other, and before they even crushed to the ground, two knives flew through the air and brushed past the leader's head, only to sink into the respective shoulders of the crossbowmen in the back, causing them to yelp in pain.

Instantly, all the others left standing panicked and began to strike out blindly, in spite of the leader's attempts at calming them down. Turning around, he saw that the crossbowmen had dropped their weapons and had now collapsed to the floor. During that same time, he heard something flutter through the air (someone's cloak?), and one of his men was sent flying straight into him by a roundhouse kick to the face.

He didn't fall on his back, but he did lose hold of his war hammer when his underling crashed into him, causing his arms to come between him and the other by pure, self-protective reflex. And, all of a sudden, even as he regained his balance, he began to feel his strength fading, as though sleep was coming over him. Thus, he didn't notice how the guards still standing started swaying, nor did he have enough attention left to think that maybe the smoke was some sort of sleeping agent (which it wasn't).

All he did was see the fabled Dark Wolf blurring into vision in front of him. That second seemed to pass by in slow motion, and the human would never forget the image. A dwarf in mid-jump materialized right in front of his eyes, as though given birth to by the smoke in the air. He had a dark cloak floating grandiosely behind him, making him look like a specter. Both his arms were drawn back, ready to drive the two wrist blades through him and the man that had been thrown in his direction. And the last thing he remembered before blacking out was that nothing could even be seen of the Dark Wofl's face, except two eyes that seemed to shine gold.

"-. .-"

On the top of one of the towers that connected the walls around Bann Franderel's manor, a lone raven looked down upon the estate, her amber eyes conveying the air of someone that was critically inspecting the building for anything out of the ordinary. She **had**, of course, been initially told to wait in the dark alley behind the inn, but she was too bored to do that for hours, and what better way to find out when it was time for her to act than by watching everything unfold?

After all, this was going to be a hell of a chase and it wasn't fair for a certain green-eyed mouse to be the only one present during the great escape. And Flemeth would probably be of the same opinion, which was saying something.

"-. .-"

The Dark Wolf, otherwise known as the greatest thief that Denerim, and Ferelden for that matter, had ever seen, pulled his two wrist blades out of the respective shoulders of the human guard and the apparent leader (the sleeping agent on all of his weapons would keep them out cold for at least two hours). He cast a quick look around, seeing that everyone else had been knocked unconscious already, but continued to hold his breath until a gust of wind came forward from the so-called treasury and sent the smoke out through the other door and up the stairs.

With the air clear, a certain elf came out of the very same treasury, emerald-green eyes ever watchful, and began to cast minor healing spells on the immobilized humans. His sleeping spell was especially potent and he was only able to use it because Faren was immune to all mind magic (his irises seemed to shine gold whenever he was assaulted by such spells), so it worked even though Alim could not make it distinguish between friend and foe. Regardless, the dwarf made sure to lightly cut each of those men and women with one of his knives, as the sleeping agent they were coated in was guaranteed to knock them out for at least a couple of hours if put directly into one's blood.

After that was done and everyone was physically healed, and after the Dark Wolf retrieved his throwing knives, the dwarf and elf looked into each other's eyes for a moment. After that, they nodded, and the mage gathered his magic, gradually losing height and shape until he became a black mouse once again.

Without another word, the cloaked dwarf picked him up, placed him back inside the same pouch as before and headed for the exit, knowing he would have to face yet another batch of soldiers.

"-. .-"

Morrigan, still in her raven form and perched high up on the tower, staring at the area of the keep where many human guards had suddenly gathered, was really getting tired of waiting and was starting to think that maybe Faren had somehow managed to botch this whole scheme. She also wondered if the dwarf would be able to manage to escape properly.

A single path, marked by high stone walls on both sides, was the only way to access the door in question by foot. The Witch of the Wilds had no doubt that both Faren and Alim would be able to take those men out, either alone or together. The problem was that their so-called leader had ordered them to not kill anyone and had also said that no magic would be used in the open, at least not enough to cast doubt on whether or not the Dark Wolf really was a dwarf.

The woman-turned-raven was now considering a more direct intervention, but stopped and stared when the door leading to the descending stairs slammed open unexpectedly.

"-. .-"

The thief really wished he had his chain with him, but he had been forced to leave it behind at the inn because it would have made too much noise. There was also the fact that it was hard even for him to strike non-lethally with his chained daggers. The daggers themselves were, however, well fastened to a pair of holsters at the back of his waist belt, not that he was going to actually use them right now.

Alim had earlier reassumed his elf form and used his magic to reach out and scan the area with a spell of his, telling him where the guards were. Now, the thief was waiting right in front of the closed door that led outside, the black mouse hidden in his pouch.

He took a deep breath and chose to do what he was really good at.

Running.

The door was slammed open, and he dove out the same instant, rolling over his head once before ending up in a crouching position, turning to face the direction he came from and, not so coincidentally, the steel chainmail-clad guards that had been waiting on either side of said entrance. Two throwing knives left his grasp, each landing the leg and arm, respectively. All this happened before any of the humans could properly get over their shock at seeing that person, clad in a cloak as black as night, emerge from the dark corridor.

Darting around with practiced ease, the rogue jumped and rolled to the right, avoiding a pair of crossbow bolts sent towards him by some enemies located far off, behind a pair of improvised palisades. Not worrying about the two behind him (they would fall unconscious soon enough), he charged forward, adopting a zig-zag running pattern. Five seconds later, he was several feet away from his target.

The human, who was trying to prepare another crossbow shot, stopped mid-effort when he actually saw that person abandon the actual ground and start running on the sodding wall straight for him.

"Maker's brea-" a sweeping kick almost broke his jaw and sent him tumbling, just before the dwarf landed on the ground, cutting the snow deep as he slid for a couple of feet, without losing balance. And before the man from across the 'alley' could aim at the outlaw properly, the latter had already jumped close enough to swing his wrist blade in a way that destroyed the yew weapon entirely.

The only consequence that dash had on the rogue was that his hood was thrown back, meaning that the frightened human in front of him now saw the black headband he had on. It fully covered his head (meaning that his hair color was still unknown) had two holes that let his golden eyes see freely, plus two strips that held that mask in place and were gracefully floating in the air behind him (they were about 20cm-long each). The Dark Wolf also had an equally black scarf that covered the rest of his face, its two ends reaching even farther back than the strips holding his mask in place.

Faren had to admit that he felt quite a bit of delight at seeing that man so gobsmacked and made a note to thank Raonar later for coming up with such a cool outfit for him. And Leliana too, since she was the one that knew all those tales about vigilantes and such.

That would come later, of course.

After lightly cutting his latest victims and putting them out of commission, he made a run for it once again. He didn't look back, but could well hear that more pursuers had been summoned and he could also hear some coming from the front. So he ran, a dark figure that stood out amidst all that snow because of his dark cloak and because of how dramatically his black headband and scarf fluttered behind him.

He reached the tower he had used to come down and jumped in through the door at its base, narrowly avoiding an arrow. He didn't land perfectly, but he didn't hurt himself overmuch and was even able to shut and bar the door before the guards reached him. After that, he shot up the stairs, jumping over two or three at once. Hopefully he'll be able to avoid any other enemies and safely leave the manor the same way he came in.

Unfortunately, that plan was doomed to failure, because he came fact-to-face with yet more guards (Bann Franderel really seemed to have a lot of them, or maybe he had gotten some form his friends since they also wanted the Dark Wolf stopped). And to make matters even worse, his pursuers had managed to break down the door and were rapidly ascending to the battlements.

Faren paused.

Then, a really crazy idea was born, similar to many others he was forced to use while growing up and running from the guards on a daily basis. If anything, Dust Town had taught him to survive at all costs, which meant that he had become very good at two things.

One was fully recovering from injuries that would kill most people.

The second one was running away.

So, without even a second thought, he did something that left even a certain raven, not just his pursuers, gaping.

"-. .-"

The past hour had seen the streets become even more crowded, especially the wider roads, like the one passing in front of Bann Franderel's manor. Even though it could normally fit two carriages and a slew of humans at once, the street was now bustling with men, women and children of all ages, going back and forth and to and from the market district.

As such, there was quite a number of people present to hear an astonished child cry out, loud enough to eclipse even the incessant chatter that all those people produced. "Look over there! That mister's going to jump!"

In an instant, at least a hundred different sets of eyes turned to look towards the higher battlement on the right wall of the estate, only to see someone take a great leap. He looked short enough to be a dwarf and struck awe in everyone's eyes as he seemed to fly for a moment, his dark cloak and scarf, along with two black bands that held a mask over his head and eyes, flowing through the air behind him.

Then, he began to descend, slowly at first, then faster, until he landed with a thud on a house that was about three streets away from the one where all the people staring were located. The man seemed to land a bit roughly, but kept his feet under control, barely, and slid down the far side of the double-sloping roof, cutting deep through the thick layer of snow that existed on it and eventually seeming to roll over and fall out of everyone's sight.

Only a few seconds later did some people snap out of their daze and notice how some guards had convened up on the battlement of the manor and were staring in shock at what had just happened.

"-. .-"

The rogue managed to limp over and hide between two houses, more or less concealed from view. He had had the good fortune of winding up in one of the few narrow streets that led to dead ends and, thus, did not have any people prancing about right then. By his account, he had sprained an ankle and dislocated his left shoulder, in addition to breaking a rib or two.

He pulled his scarf down and drunk the best potion he had, but it only made the pain a bit better. His bones still didn't mend very well, which meant that the damage was probably worse than he thought. Breathing heavily and trying his best not to cry out at each step, he dragged himself as deep into the shadows as he could and let the black mouse come out of the pouch.

Alim immediately assumed his natural form and activated his true seeing, meaning that his eyes began to shine blue. His hands also started glowing gold as he passed them over the cringing dwarf, frowning at what he seemed to find.

"This is bad. You really are insane. Raonar told you not to take any chances and just fight your way out, or call me out if needed, and you went and did something like this. Your left ankle is busted badly and your rib cage has been cracked in several places. You're also suffering from heavy internal bleeding. I think I understand why our annoying prince told me to come with you instead of waiting at a rendezvous point."

The rogue coughed up blood, though his original intention was to smirk.

So the mage actually let his face soften, something he rarely really did. "I don't really have magic that could fix you properly, but I think I can stretch the terms of a certain deal I made with someone in the past and fix you up even better than what Wynne would manage."

"Look... whatever it is, I'm all for it..."

The mage pulled back his left sleeve, revealing that a more or less familiar white weave of magic had become visible and was projecting a very powerful stream of healing energy. "Hold still. You'll be as good as new in no time."

"-. .-"

The man guarding the warehouse in the market district had finished watching the poor dwarf gather up the last of that very... bitchy human woman's belongings and set them in that trunk. After that, the dwarf closed it and was subjected to yet another tongue lashing, driving the man to the point where he was about to go and give her a piece of his mind for verbally abusing that poor sot. Of course, if he did, and she turned out to be some highborn prat, she could make his life hell.

He shot his so-called companion a pleading look, silently begging him to actually say something and provide a distraction to make time go by more easily, but the stick up his ass was still in effect and the guy just shrugged.

And then, from up ahead, another of their fellows ran straight for them, looking tired and eager at the same time. He didn't even look at that woman and her minions, resolving to just come within earshot of them as quickly as possible.

"Come quick! You're needed elsewhere!" he said, stopping and bending over, pressing his palms against his knees and gasping for breath.

"What do you mean we're needed elsewhere?"

"They... the others... they cornered him!" the newcomer barely let out, attracting the gazes of whoever was present. "The Dark Wolf! They go him cornered in an alley off the side of Bann Franderel's manor! They're asking for all the reinforcements we have! They even sent a messenger to the palace district to summon those troops too! Now let's go!"

All three guardsmen ran off, leaving their posts, but the one that used to wish for the Dark Wolf to really do something like this had a few questions. "Wait, do you really think they'll need so many men to catch him?"

"You wouldn't believe it, but he's supposedly already taken out at least a dozen guards and even jumped off the highest walls of the Bann's manor, landing on top of a house on the other side of the road and disappearing into one of those side alleys!"

"Wow, is he really that good?"

"Better!"

Needless to say, everyone that heard even half of that talk was quick in running after the soldiers, wishing to be there when, and if, the famed burglar really got caught.

Everyone except a human woman, a Qunari mercenary, an elf and a dwarf, who waited until everyone was gone before subtly creeping into the now unprotected warehouse, leaving only the fair-haired, sharp-eared, tattooed elf outside to keep watch, after taking along the backpack he had with him.

"-. .-"

The so-called sailor was starting to feel his anxiousness beginning to rise with each passing minute. Three quarters of the parade had elapsed, and it was soon going to come the time for the 'king's' speech and the raising of the flag. The human was certain they should have been able to act by now, and a brief look at his red-haired female companion revealed that she shared his opinion, as did the elf, who was fiddling with that thick cane of hers.

Doing his best not to show any sort of nervousness, the human leaned back against the wall and stopped watching the continued performance of the fanfare. Instead, he turned his gaze towards the palace balcony, where Regent Loghain Mac Tir and his daughter, Queen Anora, were seated on fancy armchairs and watching the festivities.

As coincidence would have it, it was just as the 'sailor' actually looked in that direction that a guard came up and leaned to whisper something in Loghain's ear. The so-called ruler seemed to pause and whispered something back.

No more than five minutes later, the two mabari war hounds accompanying the sailor and his 'wife' perked up and, just like their masters, saw how the many soldiers began to trickle away, all of them hastily making for the northern exit of the district. In fact, hardly any but those guards that could not be spared, left.

The man with an eyepatch could not help a grin and winked with his visible eye at the two women besides him. It was time to get to work, and Alistair well knew that Kalian was just dying to put her concealed brush, paint and paper slips to good use.

"-. .-"

The warehouse in the market district, near The Wonders of Thedas, was not as large as some may have expected. At least not as large as Gwen expected when she finally walked in. it was actually a lot smaller than the main hall of Highever Castle, which meant that the many crates inside of it were crammed together and placed on top of each other. Granted, there was no need for an overly large storage area, since most traders had their own at home, but the place was still a bit too packed for the lady's tastes.

At least Raonar and Sten had no trouble dragging and carrying (respectively), their huge trunks over to the back. The warehouse had two sections, the one immediately accessed, which was larger, and a smaller one, farther back, for more sensitive goods.

Once there, the Commander put down his trunk and inspected an apparently unassuming set of shelves.

"I'm a bit worried," Gwen started. "Is Faren going to be alright? The entire city guard's going to be breathing down his neck..."

"He'll be fine, Alim is with him," the white-haired one said, throwing his hood back and looking at that set of shelves for a while longer. After that, he took a hold of it from a side and heaved, pushing it aside and revealing what looked like an ordinary section of a wall.

Then, the dwarf took out a dagger and pushed its blade in between two wooden planks, after which he pulled the weapon down, until a chink was heard. Once that was done, the commander was able to just pluck out one of the boards, revealing that there was more behind it than one may have expected.

Gwen had been briefed on what they would be doing just that very morning, that they'd be trying to enter a cache of equipment that Duncan informed Raonar of before dying. As the exile said it, retrieving what's inside was very important for the order and the original reason for their coming to Denerim. The only reason they waited so long before doing this was because he was looking for the time when guards would be thinnest. That the Dark Wolf ended up robbing the warehouse was definitely not part of the original plan, but it did prompt the city guard to later leave it with the minimum of watchmen while they over-manned other possible venues of the master thief.

And now, a certain wooden board had been removed, only to give access to what looked like the lock on a safe. It was made of three concentric rings, each numbered from 1 to 9, and they would have to input the correct sequence if they wanted to create the appropriate mechanical arrangement that would open the vault.

Without saying anything, the dwarf began to spin the three rings more deftly that Gwen would have expected. He also seemed very focused and his silver eyes were narrowed slightly, so Gwen figured she wouldn't bother him.

Several clinks and ticks later, a louder chinking noise was heard, and the whole section of that wall suddenly unhinged like a doorway. So the Warden Commander boldly pushed the 'door' open and gestured to Gwen and Sten to follow him in.

"-. .-"

The alley that the Dark Wolf was seen disappearing into had already been blocked off at both ends. There were two rows of guards on each side, behind which a myriad of people were pushing into one another, trying to get close and get a better look at what they saw as the inevitable capture of the famous burglar. Some people, of course, were secretly rooting for the thief, but they couldn't really see how he would be able to get out of this one.

The alley was fairly straight and had just several side-streets that ended in dead ends. The many guards and soldiers, clad in various types of armors, were pretty certain the Dark Wolf was hiding in one of them. Many were nervous, but they had learned of the crazy jump he'd pulled and couldn't see how he would manage to escape. After all, no one could possibly jump from such a height and make it out unscathed. And even if he was at 100%, he was still cut off from both possible escape routes.

Which goes to show that there was a particular detail that all of those people missed, namely that Denerim was a very overpopulated city even at the best of times. What this means is that all the houses were built very close to each other, some of them even sharing the same wall occasionally.

The Dark Wolf was definitely not ignorant to this detail.

And so it was, that around noon on New Year's Day, 9:31, Dragon, a large chunk of the city's population saw that the dark figure everyone was looking for was definitely not trapped. In fact, he emerged on the roof of a house just off that street and waited there until someone finally cried out in astonishment and pointed at him, finally allowing the guards to figure out where he was.

He slyly threw his midnight-black scarf behind him with a flourishing motion and called out to them all. "Thumbs up to your zeal, but the Shadow of Denerim cannot be cornered!"

For some reason, everyone had gone eerily silent.

So he continued his boast. "But I'm feeling generous and will give you a last shot at catching me! I warn you, though, that those of you who keep up, if any, will get to see just why I'm known as the Dark Wolf!"

With that, he bowed and immediately darted off, running and jumping from roof to roof, leaving everyone staring at him for quite some time before the leader of the Guard finally snapped out of it and started barking orders of pursuit.

If only the city's population hadn't congregated behind them, blocking their path without really meaning to do it...

And all the while, somewhere high above, a certain amber-eyed raven though she would probably be grinning right now if she had any lips to speak of. Still, she figured it was time to get to her position if she was to play her part in the story.

"-. .-"

The so-called Grey Warden vault looked pretty unassuming, but there were several suits of red steel and silverite armor neatly lined up on armor stands, from medium to massive, while some chests were found to contain high-quality leather armors, though none of them enchanted. On the other hand, a very well-crafted shield bearing the Grey Warden heraldry, the griffon, was actually on display as though it were a proud heirloom.

The dwarf noble walked up to the armor rack it was set on and contemplated the masterpiece for a moment, before carefully removing it and placing it inside the trunk he had brought along. "Pack everything you can inside these trunks."

Sten nodded and began to do just that in a remarkably orderly fashion and with what Gwen interpreted as care. Meanwhile, she did the same. As they searched the various chests and other containers, they found two weapons that stood out, one of them a silverite hand axe ('Axe of the Grey' was inscribed on the handle), plus a mace made of the same material and also crafted to more easily cleave through the darkspawn ranks.

Gwen was also pleased to find a stack of about a dozen tabards, grey in color but with the symbol of a griffon weaved into the fabric on the front, colored silver.

Meanwhile, the dwarf noble used an axe found on a weapon rack to break the lock on one of the sturdier chests, from which he claimed a bundle of documents. After that, he moved away some of the wooden crates in a corner, under which it was revealed that a trap door existed. And without further ado, he pried it open in order to claim what was inside.

"-. .-"

He passed like a phantom, a dark shade that people almost missed even though his midnight-black cloak, mask and scarf, all of which flowed splendidly behind him as he jumped from roof to roof, should have made him easy to spot amidst all that snow.

His chosen direction was that of the market district, and he had already lost count of how many people he left gaping in awe as he flew from rooftop to rooftop while a veritable angry mob (that's what the many guards looked like now) tried to keep up with him by running on the streets. Of course, they did end up bumping into quite a few people.

All in all, Denerim was in chaos.

Meaning that everything was going according to plan.

Presently, the Dark Wolf could well see that the walled-off market district was in sight, meaning that he had to now proceed to the next step. As such, he suddenly stopped in his tracks, waited for three seconds, and changed directions.

Now headed south, he was forced to jump down to the street, since the next row of shacks was too far to reach. Not daunted, he landed in a harmless roll, after which he ignored the few people looking dumbstruck and dashed on, straight for the nearest building, which 'happened' to be just a couple of feet away from the house next to it (Faren had spent much of the past month getting familiar with the city proper. After all, knowing your turf is mandatory for a rogue's survival).

A few peerless acrobatics later, which involved scaling a wall with his daggers and jumping from one house wall to the other three times, he had again reached the rooftops. Then, he saw that the guards had finally started to think and separated into two groups, though only about 8 in total were anywhere near his position, as the rest had fallen behind because of the mob.

Which was just perfect.

So the rogue jumped over a few more houses and landed in the middle of a very narrow side alley. Then, he waited.

"-. .-"

Alistair, currently disguised as a bearded sailor that lost his eye in a pirate attack and was married to the most lovely of Orlesians (Gwen had actually stared blankly with wide eyes when the disguise was devised) was waiting for his elven 'servant' to come back from where she was. The 'sailor' knew that Kallian was definitely eager to put her brush (the cane) and black paint (the small chest) to good use and also sought to spread around the many parchment notes (hidden in the hilt of the brush-cane).

Unfortunately, the parade was almost over and the time was soon drawing near for the flag of Ferelden to be raised on that huge pole in the center of the plaza. ironically, that would only happen after Loghain gave his New Year's speech, which seemed to be about to happen right now. Thus, whatever time Kallian had left to pull off that prank that Raonar had come up with depended on how much Loghain planned to strain his throat.

Alistair never thought he'd have a reason to wish for anything Loghain said to last for as long as possible, but there it was.

"My fellow Ferelden!" the regent began in his ever strong voice. "Luck truly smiles on us today! I have just received word that the criminal known as the Dark Wolf has been cornered by the city guard and will be apprehended shortly. So you may now relax, as nothing has any chance of disrupting these festivities any longer."

Alistair suppressed a smirk as the regent moved on to his pre-prepared speech. Apparently, everything was going according to the Warden Commander's plan.

"-. .-"

The street was snowed over, and the fact that it was more to the edge of the city meant that said snow had not yet been trampled. As such, there was still quite a bit of it lying around. Also, the houses on this street had their roofs a bit less abrupt that others, which meant that the layer of snow on top of them was twice as rich as any other.

The Dark Wolf was well aware of these facts as he stood there, in the middle of the alley, not moving as the two groups of four human guards carefully approached him with swords drawn. A couple of them had also drawn their crossbows and looked like they were ready to shoot him, but he soon made them think that over.

"Ah ah!" his voice was heard from behind the scarf that covered the part of his face that was not concealed by his headband mask. "Careful, or you'll shoot your fellows."

"Come quietly and we won't have to get violent," one of them said in a gruff tone.

The thief said nothing, but neither did he move. He just waited, body concealed beneath his black cloak, so no one knew that he held six pellets, three in each hands, between his fingers. Still, to their credit, the humans did start to suspect something was up. Since his whole face was covered, they didn't know what emotions were going through him just then, and he didn't seem nervous in any other way either.

"Come now," he taunted. "Scared of a little dwarf are you?"

That seemed to work, because a particularly impressionable fool tried to swing his steel mace at him, only to have the misfortune of being the victim of a kick to the gut. Within a second, he was disarmed by a knee to the wrist, after which a flying roundhouse kick to the head knocked him out of his senses and straight into another guard that tried to assist him.

The Shadow of Denerim did not waste time. Once those fools lost it and tried to jump him all at once, he lunged his arms to both sides and crushed the pellets, releasing an airborne toxin that spread instantly, confusing their senses and causing them to stumble and become dizzy.

Using that distraction, the rogue performed a dramatic flourish with his encompassing cloak, flourish which only the two men with crossbows, which were far enough that the airborne toxin did not reach them, saw.

The Dark Wolf practically swept the air with his cloak, crouched as low as he could and ended up completely covered under the garment. The next second, a bright light came out from beneath, bright enough that everyone in the vicinity had to shield their eyes. And when the light did die down, they had to shield their faces still, because a veritable twister of snow and wind was revealed to have taken being exactly around the spot where the Dark Wolf once was.

It was around that time that all the others recovered from their drug-induced daze and saw the unnatural phenomenon. The miniature snow tornado was relentless and caused a gale to blow in all directions, but what truly managed to cause some of the men to fall of their feet was a tremor that awoke in the ground.

An earthquake shook the whole area, causing the snow to fall from the rooftops down upon that street. Meanwhile, more guards finally managed to arrive at the scene, just when the earthquake stopped and in time to see the twister die down and reveal that the only thing left where the Dark Wolf once was... was a dark wolf.

An actual wolf that is. It was quite large and had black fur, as well as a dark grey underside, plus frighteningly sharp fangs and a snarl that seemed to convey a feeling of anticipation. The humans could only stare as they had just seen something they had never witnessed before.

That dwarf had somehow shapeshifted into an actual wolf. No wonder the Dark Wolf was his title.

The animal, however, was not going to wait until they got over their shock. In a split second, it jumped on the nearest guard and threw him on his back, but did nothing else to him, because his real target was the one behind him. Before anyone could react, the man's crossbow had already been crushed between the wolf's mighty jaws, and the beast just briefly glared at the terrified soldier with his emerald eyes before running off.

Only a few second later did the apparent leader recover enough from his astonishment to yell at everyone to pursue him and worry about everything else after they've caught him, or it... or whatever.

Not a long time later, the back alley was again empty of all people, and the only thing different about it compared to a few minutes prior was that there were several large mounds of snow right where that whole confrontation had taken place. And then, one of the mounds shifted, and a certain dwarf, clad in a dark cloak and with his face covered by a midnight-black headband and scarf, casually shook off the crystallized water.

After that, he took off his cloak and put it back on with the white side outwards. then, he removed his headband/mask and scarf and tucked them into the pouch that a certain black mouse with emerald eyes no longer occupied.

And with that, Faren Brosca left the streets and mingled with the nearest crowd he could find. Apparently, they all were looking around and gossiping about something exciting, so the red-haired dwarf clad in white just had to ask. "What's going on? Why is everyone so riled up?"

A very excited kid answered that. "What rock have ya been livin' under? The Dark Wolf is bein' chased by all them guards in the city an' he's makin' 'em look like total wusses!"

Faren had a look of pure shock. "What? I can't believe I wasn't here to see it!"

It wasn't even a lie. He really hadn't been in that exact spot.

And realizing who his thoughts just sounded like, the castless dwarf started to wonder if maybe he's been picking up too many habits from that crazy white-haired guy that had so jovially planned this entire tri-faceted city-level prank.

"-. .-"

Since she and Sten had finished packing whatever they found useful, Gwen walked over to see what Raonar was up to. She got there just in time to see him pull out form that concealed compartment what looked like a medium-sized chest of strange design.

The chest looked like it would fit in the backpack that Zevran had brought (and which was currently right next to the dwarf noble). It was made of silverite, oddly enough, meaning it was probably heavy as hell, though the exile seemed to not be having too much trouble handling it. But what really stood out was the locking mechanism. it was the same as the one they had to bypass before they could enter the vault itself.

"What's that?" she asked.

The commander gestured to her to keep the mouth of the backpack open while he slipped that intricate chest inside. Only after that, did he answer. "This, along with this pack of documents, is what we came here for."

"-. .-"

If one thing was for sure, it was that chasing a wolf, let alone keeping up with him, was a lot harder than it had been to keep track of that dwarf jumping from rooftop to rooftop.

Mostly, all the guards were getting tired. Some had given up on the chase already, and those that tired to intercept the animal failed miserably. It even looked like their quarry was deliberately slowing down, as if to taunt them. Nevertheless, there were quite a few men still in pursuit, and since the direction chosen by the wolf was west, meaning the way opposite to the one that the dwarf had earlier taken, it was bound to keep running into soldiers and guards that had fallen behind because of how crowded the city was.

At some point, the animal seemed to increase his speed and narrowly evaded someone's poorly improvised snare before cutting through a darker passage between two longer rows of closely-built houses.

The wolf eventually ran out the other end of the alley, but no one really noticed that its eyes were now a very dark shade of brown instead of green. Either way, the guards kept following it as best they could, though it was clear that it would probably be up to any interceptors to catch it, because most of them were too exhausted to catch up to the nimble dwarf-turned-beast.

A bunch of soldiers tried to cut through that same dark alley, and ran into a very bewildered elf, commonly dressed but with surprisingly long, black hair. He was on the ground, as if something had just caused him to fall on his ass.

"You! Elf! Did you see a wolf run past here?"

"Ye... yes ser! He went that way! It even made me fall over. I really don't want to be eaten..."

None of those were even lies. He really had seen a wolf run past there, namely Anor, Theron's animal friend, and the other wolf, himself, really did cause him to fall, since it was his choice to do so.

The men grunted and dashed off again, leaving the alley empty.

Except for one missed detail. "Amazing, falon. Your impression of a helpless elf is excellent."

Alim got up and shook off the snow before looking in the direction of the voice. It came from someone that had been so perfectly hidden that none of the guards that had just passed through even knew he was there. "So, Theron, did that wolf of yours get the plan?"

"Indeed, though he might end up reaching the destination a bit too quickly."

"Alright, then let's get back to Bella's too."

"-. .-"

Zevran was getting worried. Those three were spending an awfully long time in that warehouse and, judging by how the clamor in the market district itself was starting to die down, he suspected that the guards would return soon enough. He wasn't worried that they would be any trouble, but the whole point of that multi-faceted city-grade prank of chaos and doom was to make it impossible for anyone to even suspect that there was anything anyone wanted with that warehouse.

Fortunately, he was able to relax when Raonar, Gwen and Sten finally came out of that building. The dwarf commander was also dragging that trunk of his after himself. Sten now had his own trunk under his arm. Apparently, it was too heavy for even him to just hang over his shoulder.

Zevran took a hold of one of the handles on the trunk that the dwarf carried and they all began to walk back to their beloved inn, led by Gwen, who still had to keep up the Habren clone facade, so she reassumed her mean demeanor.

"I must say, my lady, you seem to know quite an assortment of ways to put servants down," the Antivan quipped.

And Gwen just smirked. "What can I say? Nan was a better teacher than she thought,"

"-. .-"

The wolf had already driven most of its pursuers beyond the edge of exhaustion, which was why only a handful of people were still on its trail. They were quite far behind, in fact, so they almost didn't notice it when it turned and passed though yet another shady street. Coincidentally, that alley cut in between the back of some hovels and the back of an inn that some of the guards knew belonged to a hostess originating Redcliffe, Bella by name.

Without a second thought, the men, still huffing and panting as they kept pursuing the wolf, cut through the same alley and did their best to not lose sight of their target. They did not spare even a passing glance to the dark area on the right, probably because of the trash bin that was right next to it.

A short while later, the back street was again deserted, so the backdoor to Bella's inn creaked open, revealing an elderly woman. "Come on boy, come out."

Anor crept out from behind the trash bin and, after just two leaps, he was inside and the door closed behind him.

Now, it all depended on the performance of the amber-eyed wolf that was headed towards the Denerim City Gates with impressive speed.

"-. .-"

Loghain's speech had, unfortunately for the disguised Alistair, been a bit too much to bear, so he actually started to perform templar mental discipline exercises in order to stay calm and collected. It didn't help that Damon and Rinne seemed to be enjoying it, or that Leliana was giggling relentlessly at his misery.

On the bright side, Kallian had managed to return from wherever she had gone, along with all her tools, though the chest that used to house her small can of black paint seemed quite a bit lighter than before.

"Wow, you look like you want to start screaming," the elf teased.

As if waking up from a horrible nightmare, the man instantly looked at her. "Finally! You're back. Did you get everything done?"

The city elf grinned. "Just watch. I have a feeling you're going to like this.

"-. .-"

Guarding the city gates was a boring job, especially for those two that had to stand on either side of the entrance to the city. It's not like they had anything relevant to do, especially on New Year's Day, when everyone was planning to stay IN the city, not leave it.

As such, the two humans were too gobsmacked to know what to do when the few people walking about that area started to scream in fear. They did, of course snap to alertness, but did not know how to react when their eyes noticed the dark wolf running straight towards them. Not only that, but they were so surprised that they failed to see or hear their peers, the guards running after it, as they waved and yelled at them to stop the beast.

Whoever was around got well out of the beast's way with all haste, until there seemed to be nothing stopping the wolf from attacking the panicked soldier. But the human managed to get control and was going to try and strike at the animal with his handaxe, or use the shield to bash it, when it inevitably pounced him.

And that was exactly why neither of the two happened, because the wolf **didn't** pounce him. At the last second, it changed directions and boldly ran out through the gates. And only about 20 second later, did the original pursuers arrive to yell at those two that they should have tried to catch it.

What followed was a fruitless chase over the hills nearest to the capital. The wolf eventually disappeared in some bushes and, when they didn't seem it run father, the few men there thought they may still pull off the capture.

They didn't, of course.

One of the bushes shook, so a guard released a crossbow bolt in its direction. it struck nothing, but did manage to startle a raven that crowed indignantly, dove in an pecked him on the head a few times before flying off. And as she flapped her wings, Morrigan began to imagine how many different ways she knew of killing stupid men like that one.

"-. .-"

Alistair had to agree that even sitting through that whole Loghain speech had been totally worth it to see the look he had on his face just now. The regent looked absolutely flabbergasted and in a state of shock deep enough that he seemed to have shut himself off from the world.

The raising of the flag had started off like any other. The fanfare started to sing the Ferelden hymn again, while a person handpicked by the current ruler drew on the pulley that gradually rose the flag upward. The custom was for the flag to be rolled in a bundle at all times and only be allowed to flutter in the wind once it was as high as it could get on that huge pole.

That said, there was always an extra string available, tied to the simple unlocking mechanism that held the flag in place.

Only his time, when it was released, the crowd didn't really start cheering. Instead, everyone gasped.

One reason was the rain of small parchment notes that immediately fell upon everyone, spread around by the breeze. The many pieces of paper had been somehow placed on the flag before it was rolled up and were given to the wind once it was released. Practically everyone attending the event got a hold of one of those papers and read it.

A single message was written on it :

"To despots, warmongers and misguided fools with too much gold in their pockets and too little brain in their heads, the Dark Wolf sends his greetings."

The **other** reason why everyone was now petrified was because the Flag of Ferelden, which normally sported the heraldry of two mabari war hounds and a shield, had been painted over with the crude, black sketch of a wolf's head.

Alistair summoned all of his templar discipline not to start laughing his heart out. He also managed to stare in Loghain's direction until the latter finally shuddered and began yelling at the nearest guards and berating them for their incompetence. Meanwhile, Anora looked a bit embarrassed, but the man with an eyepatch didn't know if it was because of the flag itself or because of the profanities Loghain was sputtering.

"-. .-" "-. .-" "-. .-"

_Excerpt from journal of Senior Enchanter Wynne_

_12 Verimensis, 9:31, Dragon:__ I don't think I've ever seen this group so cheerful and full of life. Practically everyone, even Morrigan, of all people, found great enjoyment in what happened on New Year's day, and the infectious good mood even now holds true. It already became an unspoken rule that what happened that day would always be known as the Ferelden National Prank._

_ In hindsight, I suppose it fits with our commander's character to do things like this. After all, he's been pulling pranks since he was a very young child. _

_ Regardless, the plan was for Faren to create a major distraction, while Kallian could go and set up the flag prank, which in turn would be an even greater distraction that would allow Raonar's group to move in and out of the vault without anyone being the wiser. _

_ Faren played bait and revealed himself to be a dwarf. This diverted the general suspicions that an elf was behind the burglaries and, thus, removed another possible reason why a purge would be carried out in the Alienage (Kallian had expressed a concern of this sort, poor girl). But if Faren was to reveal he was a dwarf, and that he knew that a trap had been set for him, people would have suspected that the fact that the Dark Wolf infiltrated the manor anyway was a diversion for something else, not just a show of skill._

_ As such, our dear dwarf prince came up with the parade dummy plot, which made it look like the manor break-in had been just a diversion for setting up the flag prank._

_ Everything worked out perfectly, and we made quite a bit of gold off the supplies recovered from the vault itself. The commander even gave Alistair Duncan's Shield, which he had found in the cache, even though he still does not have too good a shield of his own. Needless to say, Alistair was quite touched, especially considering that he already had Duncan's sword._

_ The only thing that was not disclosed was just what is in the odd silverite chest that Raonar went to get from that cache. The lock itself is unusual, at least so says Gwen, since the dwarf refused to let any non-wardens go near the backpack it is stored in. He also made a point of being the only one to carry it. When asked, he only said it might not be safe for non-Grey Wardens to touch it, whatever that means._

_ As I understand it, he will finally disclose what lies inside that chest today, though only to the members of the order. I suppose the rest of us will just have to keep a strong hold on our curiosity._

_ Speaking of which, we have once again arrived at Soldier's Peak. All it took to make sure Theron's beloved wolf, Anor, didn't cause people to assume wrong things was to get the animal to climb into our cart of equipment and stay hidden under a few blankets and furs. That was also the way we originally got that wolf inside the city as well._

_ Shale had almost gone mad from the wait. According to what she and the Drydens told us, the golem refused to do anything for the first few days, but after seeing just how boring things could get on the top of the mountain, and how some ravens just would not stop following her, she dutifully began to do most of the heavy-lifting around there._

_ That said, the keep was cleaned up and patched up faster than one would have expected, despite a few accidents, one of which involved the destruction of a large chunk of the inner wall. Fortunately a secret armory was discovered behind it, and while most equipment had been ruined by time, Mikhael Dryden, the blacksmith of the large family, eagerly melted down the ore and crafted new armors and weapons. I believe he has a full assortment now, including the two silverite-crafted sets of massive dwarven armor that our leader requested prior to our leaving the keep all those weeks ago._

_ I also learned that Kallian had ordered a very unique weapon made during out first trip here. The blade is curved and made of white steel, and while the edge is very sharp, there is a sort of indentation, like a small conduit, an inch away from it but going from beneath the guard all the way to the tip. I also noticed that the hilt is unusual and has some holes when one's palm would be when holding the weapon. I wonder what their purpose is..._

"-. .-"

Having congregated in one of the newly renovated rooms of the immense keep, all six Grey Wardens, save for Raonar himself, were eagerly anticipating the great reveal. Alistair was leaning against the wall, while Gwen and Kallian were sitting on a bed, the latter in Faren's lap, oddly enough. Theron was next to Alistair and had his ever so dispassionate look, while Alim sat in an armchair. He and Alistair, not counting the Dalish Hunter, were the only two that didn't seem to be dying to know what was in the chest directly in the middle of the room.

And finally, the commander himself walked through the door, having taken a bath that he sorely needed. The others had already taken turns at theirs, but Raonar decided to be last. Meanwhile while he managed to get Shale into a good mood again, and also gotten up to speed with Avernus and Jowan. Apparently, Jowan had succeeded in convincing the elder mage that his knowledge of magic, and blood magic in particular, was decent enough. Still, he had not yet taken the joining, so no actual mentoring had taken place yet.

Regardless, the dwarf prince had finally walked into the room and stopped right in front of the medium-sized, silverite chest. "And here we are," he began in an overly theatrical fashion. "It is time for Gwen, Kallian, Faren and Theron to finally find out just what we went through all that trouble to get."

There was a pause.

And Gwen broke it. "Wait, what do you mean just us? You mean that..." She stopped and sent Alistair an inquisitive look. Alistair, predictably, looked a bit sheepish but just grinned at her.

"Oh, Alim and Alistair know because I told them weeks ago but ordered them to keep quiet about it," Raonar supplied casually. "So unless you, Gwen, want to question my leadership, you'll have to skip over the part where you accuse Alistair of not trusting you with his every possible secret, because that really doesn't apply here."

The only two humans in the room looked positively shocked and turned pink all the way to their ears.

Not that they had a chance to say anything to that. "Right then!" the white-haired one continued merrily. "On to the revelation."

He crouched next to the chest and began to rotate the three rings that composed the lock. After a while, the clocks ended with a loud clank, and some sliding noises notified everyone that the chest could now be opened. Thus, without further ado, Raonar threw the lid back.

The inside of that chest was... odd, to say the least. More than a few suspended metal rods, along with quite a few springs and safety hatches, created a very complicated mechanism whose sole purpose was to keep the object at the center of it in a sort of suspended state, safe from any and all shocks, hits or blows that the chest itself may ever suffer. Whoever made it must have been an expert mechanics technician. Regardless, it was definitely impressive.

After they finished studying the impressive chest, the exile reached in and unhinged the object held inside, and took it out for all to see. It looked like a globe of pure silver, understandable since it was made of silverite. All over that sphere were runes etched in with lyrium that glowed the familiar teal. The upper part of what was probably a container sported a circle carved deep, most likely hinting at the fact that that was the lid. Said lid was kept in place by a sort of metallic exoskeleton, with three 'feet,' for balance, and masterfully-crafted clasps.

Carefully, the Commander of the Grey removed the locks that held the spherical object sealed (it was about as large as his head). Then, after casting his eyes over his comrades, removed the lid.

A wave of unholy magic practically smashed into everyone in that room, though it felt more like an assault on their psyche, quite similar to Grey Warden Nightmares. Everyone, with no exception, reeled from the instant headache, some even going though momentary nausea. Kallian seemed the least affected, though she still winced a little, while Alim looked deathly pale and was nearly gasping for breath.

After a few moments, the sensation seemed to drift away, and whatever blur they saw dissipated, and all was normal again. Nevertheless, the Grey Wardens found themselves staring at the pitch-black fluid that almost filled that thing, and at once realized the purpose of the metal chosen, and of the many lyrium runes on its outside. They also understood why Raoanr didn't want to risk any non-wardens and kept them well away from the backpack that held the chest for the entirety of their trips from Denerim to the keep.

At long last, Kallian uttered what they all wanted to ask. "Is that...?"

Raonar nodded, though his eyes were shining brightly, his irises no longer visible. "Blood is the vessel of one's soul, one's life force, as any blood mage would tell you. What you just felt was the imprint of a particularly nasty fellow by the name of Andoral."

Several people shuddered.

So the exile let the light in his eyes die down. "Yes, my brothers and sisters. This here is Ferelden's supply of Archdemon blood."

_The review space is waiting right there._


	36. Warden Arc 6: Crown in My Grasp

**Chapter 35: Crown of Thorns in My Grasp**

**"-. .-"**

_Excerpt from journal of Senior Enchanter Wynne_

_16 Verimensis, 9:31, Dragon:__ I must say that Soldier's Peak has turned into quite the cozy place, especially compared to the uninviting, cobweb-filled, century-weathered haunted castle that we first came upon. Of course, not all chambers and hallways have been brought up to speed, but not many untended corners remain to this keep. It is definitely starting to look like a proper headquarters for the Grey Wardens if I do say so myself. Too bad there are no griffons to be found, as I am sure those tall towers would serve well as aeries._

_ Look at me, daydreaming about griffons and making these young men and women seem more down to earth than myself._

_ Quite a few things have happened since our arrival. Everyone practically settled in and is __quite satisfied with how the renovations are progressing, especially considering that the Drydens are taking care of them free of charge. Even Sten said that he was impressed with how defensible the keep was, even though his flat tone and straight face never abated._

_As I understand it, we won't linger here for more than an extra day or two. I believe that Jowan is to be put through the Joining, whatever the brief ritual implies, after which we will only take what time is required to pack our things and move on to the next stage of what Raonar has begun to call Operation __**BROTHERHOOD Raised to Minus One**__. BROTHERHOOD stands for __**B**__ootless __**R**__oaming __**O**__f __**T**__he __**E**__xquisitely __**R**__ustic __**H**__omeland __**O**__f __**O**__versized __**D**__ogs, the implication of raising it to minus one (which is the same as inverting the meaning altogether) being that this is not such a hopeless (__**b**__ootless) endeavor at all._

_ I wisely refrained__ from asking him just why he did not use some word that could substitute for hopeful (like __**b**__uoyant, or __**b**__lithe), because, while I am sure he considered those options, I am not so certain I want to know his answer. Too many of the questions I asked him ended with me getting a headache or questioning beliefs I have held for many a year. I suppose I should be grateful he does not actually make an active effort of trying to impose his beliefs upon others, as I have no doubt he would succeed, simply because the so-called 'logic' he uses when speaking is so... let's use the word 'unique'... that one simply cannot understand it enough to come up with counter-arguments, even if instinct and intuition scream that it is wrong (not that it happens often, if at all)._

_ I just read the last paragraph and realized I could very well be said to not have made any sense. _

_ Moving on._

_ There are now plenty of living and sleeping quarters in the keep, to the point where I believe all of us could claim a chamber of our own to sleep in. Not that it happened, though I suppose neither did other probable things occur. What I mean is that neither loving couple actually shared a room. I doubt the two pairs are at the part where they are brave enough to consummate their respective relationships, though Kallian and Faren are, I believe, farther along than Gwen and Alistair in that regard._

_And that is especially odd because not only are the latter two quite older than the former duo, but Faren and Kallian actually seem to go about each other much more maturely. Gwen and Alistair seem stand offish at times, Alistair in particular, and the lady Cousland has the tendency to lose her temper a bit too easily. She also acts biased, or did so on more than one occasion that I can recall._

_ I noticed how Raonar seems to strike swiftly and mercilessly whenever either of those two humans start or are about to start on each other. I saw how some of the things he said to them, even in 'public', so to speak, seemed to make both lovebirds uncomfortable, but I did not grow so old without learning how to read into things. He is not being purposelessly mean. He simply realized that the only way either of those two are going to get over themselves is if they are not allowed to get away with acting rashly or stupid, so he points out every unreasonable fact as soon as it happens or he learns about it._

_I actually made an offhand comment about this to Theron yesterday, just when Shale just happened to stomp by, and it... __**she**__... stopped and said that our white-haired commander told her some time ago how he enjoys making people realize how stupid they're being. The golem did admit that those were not the exact words he used, but it was still interesting how she felt the need to actually stop and engage in that conversation._

_ As a contrast to how he deals with Alistair and Gwen, he subtly encourages the younger couple. I actually overheard him candidly talking to Faren about various things and ever so jokingly letting sensible advice slip through his words. Actually, he somehow makes sure to be there for everyone at precisely the necessary times. No wonder this adventuring band of ours has grown so tightly knit and coordinated._

_ Speaking of coordination, that goes for battles as well. We were actually ambushed twice by bandits on our way here form Denerim, both times the enemy being far more numerous than we. On each occasion, we prevailed with little besides minor scratches and bruises. This, predictably, left most everyone in high spirits, as victory usually does. Granted, Sten remained ever so stoic, as did Alim and Theron. But Raonar himself... I actually found him looking at the dead body of one of the attackers. He just... stood there, and gazed upon it with such a distant look in his eyes._

_ Then he got on one knee beside it and pulled the dead man's eyelids over his eyes._

_ And then he walked off, as though he didn't even notice me standing just a few paces from him._

_ I can only assume he is troubled by all of this, by how he seems to be unable to limit his kills to just darkspawn. Even when in self-defense, killing other people still strikes at one's soul. I know how killing makes one grow numb to the sight of death. I believe he is making an active effort to prevent that from happening to him. It must be hard, and yet I haven't caught him brooding even once._

_Yes, looking at it, I see more and more why everyone is more or less perfectly at ease with him in command. The simple fact is that everyone seems to have flourished over these past months, both individually and as a group. It is impressive really, how he secured everyone's loyalty as soon as he became a Warden and managed to pull through admirably so far, despite the little we have had to go on up to this point. _

_ Come to think of it, I don't remember ever asking him how he was doing. I seem to have only managed to repeatedly question his judgment... in front of... everyone else. Maker, how self-righteous I must have seemed at those times, and how much damage such direct assaults at his actions could have been to our small collective's unity. And this is all the more jarring because he never resorted to insults or any sort of harsh tone in his retorts. He did at one or two points 'enter his ultimate commander mode', as Alistair joked once, but he was never actually aggressive, unlike myself._

_ I wonder where that self-control comes from.__ Maybe I should ask him? He should be in his so-called office, that study he claimed on the second floor, with a pair of small, arched windows overlooking the courtyard and everything beyond the outer wall._

_Or perhaps it's not even a matter of self-control. There was no anger for him to subdue, none that I could see in those eyes of his. But if he felt no anger even at the worst of times, I am left wondering just what, if anything, could set him off..._

_ ... and if __anyone or anything would be left standing afterwards._

_ I should just banish such thoughts. After all,__ I need to focus on something else at the moment. There is a certain... presence here, within the keep, that requires that I keep an especially sharp eye out. It already almost gave me a heart attack, but Raonar and Alim assured everyone it was quite harmless and definitely not a demon..._

"-. .-"

Even Theron had to admit that Soldier's Peak really was an amazing castle. It was on top of a mountain to the west of the Teyrnir of Highever and could only be reached through an array of caves that were quite easy to get lost in. Once out of those caves, a short path led up the mountain and to the outer walls of the fortress.

The gateway was huge, but there was no actual gate to keep anyone out. That had been destroyed long ago, when King Arland was able to root out the location of the castle and sent his army to quell the Grey Warden-led rebellion. It didn't end well, because the few Wardens, only a couple of dozens, or less, slaughtered almost the entire force, despite being starved. The rest, along with whatever members of the order were still alive, were later killed by the demons that Avernus summoned.

The courtyard in itself was not very large, but was more than roomy enough to accommodate multiple carts, carriages or whatever else one might need to haul equipment back and forth. Mikhael's forge was there, while all his equipment was stashed in one of the storage rooms that all towers had at their bases. There were also the stables, far to the right, the roof recently patched, which were currently inhabited by several oxen and a pair of mules.

The ground became a bit steep on the left, the slope leading up to a semi-natural battlement that overlooked the jagged rocks that surrounded the mountaintop and under which went the aforementioned cave system. A statue of a lady warrior stood there, proud, its head, oddly enough, not missing, and gazing down on said rocks, as well as the outstanding coniferous forest that stretched beyond it, spiked treetops covered in a white blanket of that thing called snow. The forest reached far and low, until it began to mingle with the broadleaf wood on the far-off hills, all trees just as shrouded in white.

That lower wood eventually ended, leaving only a wide plain, the Bannorn, with villages here and there, to extend as far as the horizon. The Hafter River could be seen on the left, even as distant as it was, miles and miles away.

Theron had spent quite a few hours just standing next to the statue and gazing. This was one of those rare winter days when the sky was clear and there was no fog or snowflake in sight. Thus, things were especially clear to look upon, and the elf found some comfort in the fact that there was no blight cloud looming at the edge of sight just yet. After all, if red, evil clouds started to appear, like in Ostagar, it would mean that things were getting especially serious.

Not that anyone expected that situation to take too long in appearing.

Then, there was the castle itself. The front entrance, a large, double door made of solid mahogany, could be reached by climbing a couple of dozen hard, stone stairs. The staircase was flanked by two balustrades, also built of stone. Two columns were on either side of the lowest step, while two, smaller ones flanked the top stair. Most of the snow had been swept off, though everyone agreed it just looked cooler to leave the thick layer on the balustrade itself intact, especially with how the courtyard ground was currently beneath a similar layer, though harder (it had, after all, been stomped on by human, animal and golem feet quite a bit).

Above the imposing archway that marked the double door hung an all too familiar banner, that of a silver griffon, rearing and with its wings spread, on a black background.

Theron Mahariel didn't particularly like shemlen-made buildings, but that was, fortunately, not too big an issue right now because Soldier's Peak had most likely been built by dwarves, centuries ago. After all, how else could it have survived the ages without more than the slightest bits of wear? Even the inside staircases that led up to and down from the higher levels of the castle were amazingly sturdy and wide, to the point where even Shale could walk them without making even the smallest dent (as long as she didn't **try** to destroy them, that is).

The Dalish hunter happened to make this particular observation because he was climbing one of said staircases at this very moment. After his gazing into the distance was done, he made his way back to the gates, giving acknowledging nods to Faren and Zevran, who were sparring, unarmed. Those two didn't start off on very good terms, what with the Antivan trying to kill them all, but Faren had been quick to let things settle after a few words from the other dwarf. After all, even the rogue had to admit that Zevran didn't leer in Kallian's direction more than he leered at Everyone else, even Theron himself.

The elf immediately tried to find something to distract him from that dangerous train of thought. Still, he felt quite saddened and a bit apprehensive at Zevran's so-called nature. He was supposed to be descended from the Dalish, so where was his pride and integrity?

Some of the Drydens were also around, Mikhael forging as always and some of the children having a snowball fight. Theron realized he actually enjoyed seeing them so lively and that he was not as uneasy around shemlen as he used to be. Originally, he wasn't exactly hateful of humans, and had even chosen to spare those three trespassers that he and Tamlen cornered. After that, well, the way that idiot shot an arrow through Alim's back during the great battle didn't give him a good impression, nor did Loghain's retreat, regardless of Raonar's decision to hold back judgment on the matter.

Truthfully, he wasn't sure he **would** have stuck around this long if the one in charge had been human, unless they had sufficient leadership skills. He didn't have anything against Gwen or Alistair in particular, but they both seemed to be too quick to anger and more than a little biased.

Looking at it, the hunter realized he was acting like a bit of a recluse also, although, fortunately, he did seem to have familiarized himself with Alim and Kallian, no doubt because of the feeling of kinship. And, of course, the so-called commander had also managed to break through his stoic exterior. Truly, it was thanks largely to him that Theron could stick to this Grey Warden duty without feeling unwanted or in the slightest bit out of place.

Even Anor, his wolf, seemed to drop his arguably haughty countenance when in his presence. The wolf was a smart animal, with sharp senses, and he could tell when someone radiated confidence and purpose like Raonar did.

The durgen'len was a sort of opposite to him, the elf thought, because he really didn't know if there was anything he really wanted. He still felt like an alien, away from his clan, his home, and having lost his friend, who Duncan said was dead without really having any proof.

And, of course, not all his interactions with humans or any other non-Dalish was as encouraging. For instance, Leliana completely screwed up once, when she started to talk about how prized elven slaves were in Orlais, but she sincerely apologized afterwards, so he was willing to let it go.

Regardless, overall, life sucked, but not as much as it used to and definitely not as much as he had feared it would.

The main reason it still felt right to be here was that he actually felt like things will turn out alright and their quest would succeed, and that he'd always have some part to play, as long as that person, whose own people had dubbed kinslayer, was there to guide them all. The Dalish elf didn't really know anything about the circumstances of the white-haired one's exile, but he had no doubt in his mind that it was impossible for him to truly have killed his brother. It just didn't fit. The only way for someone like him to have done such a thing would have been for someone to trick him into it somehow.

And that was impossible.

Absolutely Inconceivable.

Because the simple fact was that the current Commander of the Grey could simply **not** be tricked. That, or if it WAS possible to trick him, it would take a distraction of major proportions, one even bigger than the end of the world as we know it.

As these thoughts swam through the hunter's mind, he somehow failed to abide by one of his greatest self-imposed rules, namely to never completely lose track of what was happening around him. It didn't help that he had passed through the main entrance hall of the castle and a couple of other chambers on his way to the stairway already. It also didn't help that the door to that stairway swung towards the inside of the stairway when opened. What was also no help at all was that, for the first time in ages, he actually felt safe within those walls, though he didn't exactly understand why himself.

Theron opened the door.

He then walked in and turned around.

After that, he pushed the door closed.

Only to come face to face with the thing behind it.

Thus it came to pass that the Dalish elf actually yelped and tripped over, landing flat on his back and hitting the back of his head against the cold, stone floor with a bang.

Theron wasn't quite certain how it had all happened.

His senses were supposed to be top notch, beyond what everyone else in his clan even dreamed of. All the days, the **weeks** of walking through the woods blindfolded, with only Tamlen as companion and guide (and source of deadpans, mostly meant as jabs at his ever so 'boring' attitude) had supposedly made it impossible for anything to slip past him undetected. He was quite certain he would be able to keep track of Kallian or Faren, maybe even both of them at once, while they were being as stealthy as they possibly could.

As such, he hadn't been caught off guard in years.

Thus, it came as a total shock to be so completely and utterly startled to near death by that thing.

He didn't immediately look back at it. He didn't even push himself to his feet. Instead, the elf took some time to stare up, at how the staircase went in a spiral, with torches on the wall, at regular intervals. Yes, the spiral was a good symbol to focus on, it brought calm. Of course, he couldn't ignore that thing forever, especially after it floated lower and closer, until it hovered right above his chest as he lay on the ground.

Simply put, it was a glowing orb of pure energy that radiated white light and subtly coursed with electricity. There was no figure, no face inside that brightness, just a sphere of light that occasionally crackled with electric pulses. Alim and Wynne had identified the creature as a Wisp, one of the least powerful denizens of the Beyond, or Fade as shemlen called that plane. No one knew exactly how long it was since it slipped through the Veil and into the keep, before Alim closed it off months ago that is.

Regardless, the spirit had somehow managed to get away from all the demons that poured through and hid deep into one of the most secret rooms. It only ventured out about a week after the Wardens had left for Denerim and started to pop up here and there, scouring the area but generally avoiding people, at least at first.

Once it started getting caught doing basically nothing besides glowing and floating all over the place, and emitting either a crackling or humming sound, the Drydens started thinking of it as the castle's personal poltergeist. They just didn't know how to deal with it, and the wisp itself had made a point of pulling off a vanishing act whenever it was found flying about. Usually, it went straight through walls.

When the Wardens returned, however, Alim, Wynne, Morrigan and the fearless leader soon picked up on its presence and tracked it down, after they stored the Archdemon blood safely in one of the vaults. Saying that most wisps he'd encountered in the Fade, during his Harrowing and otherwise, had been hostile, Alim suggested quick extermination. None of the others said anything relevant, but Raonar just wouldn't have it without more information. Theron assumed he sensed something, as he often did.

Eventually, they tracked down the hidden safehouse that thing was using as a refuge, conveniently stumbling upon a couple of unknown secret passages in the process. Once there, the dwarf approached alone (the Wisp had hidden behind a mound of age-old crates) and became surrounded by light the closer he got. Once he was practically shining white all over, bright enough to actually light up that whole room, he called out to that creature with a different voice, like there were hundreds of people speaking at once.

"Come." was all that reverberating voice said, and that Wisp hesitantly came out and floated over to him.

Needles to say, everyone was staring at him as though he'd just grown a second head.

And then... Raonar actually said, quite warmly in fact, "It's ok for you to be here," in his own voice... and patted that thing like he has the habit of patting his hound (or Faren, amusingly enough) on the head.

That was how Soldier's Keep got its very own spirit mascot. And all the while, those present were staring with differing degrees of stupefaction, and that included everyone in their group except Wynne and Leliana (who were arranging books in Raonar's office at the time) and Sten and Shale. Sten was in Mikhael's smithy, being fitted with a suit of red steel plate armor, while Shale was out in the yard, desperately trying to obliterate some ravens and failing.

And now, that same magical self-aware orb had actually startled the Dalish enough for him to actually fall over. Surprises never cease.

At long last, Theron looked at it with a raised eyebrow and a slight twitch of his cheek. After that, he pushed himself up, and when he saw that the Wisp wasn't going to float off, he impatiently waved in its direction, as if to push it aside. At that, the spirit just bolted away, flew around a bit, paused, and then quickly floated up, following the same spiral pattern as the stairs themselves.

The elf dusted himself off. He actually happened to like his fur-lined cloak, gloves and boots, plus the leather jacket and pants he'd been crafted in Denerim by Master Wade, at the behest of the exile himself. They were comfortable while also offering even more protection than a standard suit of inscribed leather armor. The enchantments in particular were helpful, as they made him quicker to draw by heightening his hand-eye coordination. Thus, he did not appreciate any events that brought any sort of damage to his new garb.

He instantly squelched those thoughts. They sounded worrisomely similar to something Leliana would concern herself with.

Once ready, he at last made for the first stair. That was when the Wisp suddenly flew back down but stopped a few paces in front of him, right next to one of the torches on the wall. It then simply shot a small bolt of electricity at the head of said torch, causing it to light on fire.

Theron climbed the rest of the flight of stairs at a comfortable pace, the glowing sphere of light always just a few steps ahead of him, lighting every torch in steady succession, until the second floor of the castle was reached. Then, the Wisp kept hovering in front of him, until it flew off without warning, across the corridor, going straight **through** the hard wooden door that led to the commander's so-called office.

Well, that **was** where the elf was headed anyway. He'd been sent for by the leader after all.

Walking over to the door, he prepared to knock but stopped abruptly when he heard a voice calling from inside.

"Come in!"

Right, Wardens could sense each other's presence.

The elf shrugged off his mild surprise and pushed the tall and wide, pointed arch door open, surprisingly without hearing any creaking noise from the hinges. Of **course** the commander would have them oiled, he **was** always mindful of every relevant detail**.**

The room wasn't very large, but still bigger than most of the individual sleeping quarters. It was square and tall, with a groin vault ceiling (two semicircular barrel vaults). From the point of intersection of said barrel vaults hung a large chandelier that could probably crush anyone if it fell. Fortunately, it was affixed to the stone above it by a chain that branched off into four others. The hunter hid a smirk as he remembered how, the other day, Raonar had studied the same potential for lethality that that chandelier had if it ever fell.

That said, a statue of Asturian (there seemed to be quite a few of those on the castle grounds) had been moved into the room and placed directly beneath the candelabrum (Alim actually seemed strained as he levitated that thing all the way up the stairs to the second floor of the fortress and through the door). Thus, should anything unfortunate happen, like an unnatural earthquake or sabotage (magical or otherwise), said candle-carrying object would harmlessly (more or less) fall on top of that sculpture and, at the worst, end up as a collar or helmet of sorts.

The Dalish elf briefly wondered if this was paranoia or some crazy sense of preparation (though the two may very well be the same thing), but he decided he shouldn't be surprised after everything else that dwarf did, like preparing for Loghain's retreat from Ostagar based on just a few lines exchanged between them.

The whole place had been cleaned up (Alim had made free use of some magical wind to dust everything off and remove whatever spider webs lurked around the corners). Beyond the statue, opposite from the entrance, was an age-old but surprisingly well preserved desk, recently refashioned to be shorter, fit for a dwarf. The obligatory armchair was also smaller than most, though that one was newly-crafted and provided by the Drydens (Raonar had given them a list of things he wanted them to acquire and/or make while they were away in Denerim, the armchair being just one of them). On the wall behind that armchair was now placed Asturian's portrait (Sten approved of the decoration).

The portrait hung in the space between the two arched windows overlooking the front yard and gate, and everything beyond.

There were two bookcases covering the wall on the right, with a lectern between them, on which stood an open copy of "The Four Schools of Magic: Spirit". Whatever books had survived the passing of time now filled the shelves in alphabetical order. Raonar had offered to pay the Dryden children a few silver pieces each if they agreed to arrange the tomes properly, which they eagerly did while the search for the mysterious poltergeist was carried out.

Granted, they did fall and hurt themselves a couple of times, since the higher shelves required them to climb on top of chairs, but the injuries were nothing serious and easily healed with magic. The dwarf noble had made sure that there were no sharp objects or pieces of furniture anywhere near that wall, so that there was no danger of breaking one's neck by falling over a desk or some such thing. He had also managed to convince Wynne to keep an eye on them while they performed their duties. Conveniently, Leliana volunteered to assist.

After all, a bard loved stories and, by extension, books, and Leliana and Wynne actually got along very well. Needless to say, the Warden Commander was quite pleased with the arrangement.

There was a fireplace on the left, with firewood already prepared, though not yet lit. Two suits of heavy plate armor stood on each side of it, as well as two weapon racks, currently displaying several axes, maces and swords. In terms of furniture, besides the two armchairs (which were in front of the aforementioned desk), meant for whatever guests the commander may ever have, were a couch and two easy chairs, forming a sort of semicircle in front of the fireplace.

What's more, there were a couple of three-pronged candlesticks on top of the fireplace, along with the Helm of Honnleath and the Griffon's Helm (one red steel and one silverite helmet whose design included replicas of Griffon wing-like ears).

To the right of the door stood a so-called vanity. Theron glanced at it, and the various combs, brushes and silk threads, with a measure of amusement, but didn't find it ridiculous at all. After all, he had to admit Raonar's beard was one of the few things that made him regret his racial inability to grow facial hair. The dwarf didn't have to work on his beard often (all dwarven things were durable, even beard arrangements), but when he **did** arrange it, it made sense that it would take quite a bit of attention and time, and appropriate tools.

Finally, to the left as one entered though the door, there was a strategy table, currently supporting a large map of Ferelden. There were several figurines placed upon it (miniature 'dolls' bought form the Wonders of Thedas, replicas of darkspawn similar to the golem doll Alistair said Eamon had once given him). They were arranged as a sort of estimate as to how far into the nation the Blight had spread. There was the figure of an emissary over Lothering, but the several others weren't too far away from the Korcari Wilds, barely into the Hinterlands in fact.

Other figurines, some of them quite old, like knights or soldiers (Sophia Dryden had naturally had her own set of such figurines when plotting the rebellion), were placed around the area marked as the Bannorn, as a crude idea of what the impending civil war will initially look like, based on what information Arl Bryland was able to provide to Gwen and Alistair during their visit in South Reach.

Theron pried his eyes away from the map when the wisp appeared through one of the walls, floated over to the fireplace and, with bolts of electricity in quick succession, ignited the coal beneath the firewood. After that, the glowing thing flew over to where the dwarven prince was.

Currently, he had his arm up and leaning with his forearm against the side of one of the windows, looking down upon the courtyard, his back turned towards the door. He wore a white cotton shirt and brown leather pants and boots, as well as that silver-colored silk scarf of his around his neck, both ends hanging behind him, one even reaching as low as the back of his knees. The elf remembered that he'd had that scarf since before reaching Ostagar all those months ago, though he rarely actually wore it.

Once the Wisp flew over and hovered next to him, the dwarf turned to look at it and actually passed his fingertips over the surface of that energy sphere, as if stroking it. Even more strangely, the spirit produced an unusual humming sound that inexplicably made Theron imagine a cat purring.

"You know, falon, sometimes I ask myself if your ability to make strange things happen will ever run out," he said.

The dwarf finally twisted his body around enough to look in his direction. "Ah, so you think Squip here is odd, do you?"

"Squip?"

"Sesquipedalian," Raonar said with a shrug of both shoulders. Then, he grinned and gave that white thing a nudge. The next moment, the Wisp seemed to transmit indignation by letting out a faint magical pulse before bolting outside through the wall.

Theron walked over to the other window, but his raised eyebrow remained firmly in place. "Sesquipedalian?"

The other one resumed his previous activity, which was gazing down upon Zevran and Faren sparring. "It means 'one and a half foot-long.' I had a pet nug called Sesquipedalian long ago, Squip for short, when I was a kid. We used to get into all kinds of trouble, pranking everyone in sight. I admit, I deliberately abused my so-called princely diplomatic immunity even then, when I was six, in order to get away with a lot of things." Theron noticed him smiling at the memory. "We even made a few nobles faint once. Well, more than once, but only that one time did they all faint at once."

"Sounds like you used to enjoy it."

"Obviously. I mean, it was hilarious. Even king Maric was there when I unleashed my master prank, back when I was seven."

"Master prank?"

The dwarf proceeded to tell him of how he poured cherry jam over the poor nug and unleashed the terror into the throne room, while all eighty nobles were there, plus Maric and Cailan. Needless to say, the animal shook off some of that jam and splattered it over everyone in the room, and, of course, everyone present, with a few exception. And since everyone thought it was blood, they were, predictably, not pleased.

Then he told him how gobsmacked they all were when he even so innocently revealed that wasn't blood.

By now Theron was staring at the short but stout warrior with very wide eyes.

And he blinked.

Twice.

"Didn't you get punished at all?" he finally asked.

"I got grounded... for a while. But the punishment was rescinded later..."

"Why?"

"Trian had an... accident..."

The elf narrowed his eyes. "Why did you pause before than last word?"

Raonar took some of the snow that had gathered on the outside of the window and started to crush it in his fist. "It was... a bit more complicated than that..."

"Like an assassination attempt? On a ten year-old?" Theron hadn't exactly been raised in an environment that spawned people that would so quickly assume such a possibility, but he supposed that if people there had no problem with kinslaying, such murder wouldn't be beyond them either.

"No, not assassination, although, true enough, someone else... did contribute to the whole event."

A silence fell between them after that, and both Grey Wardens settled for just staring out the window. The sun had risen higher in the sky now, causing the snowy mane of the walls and the forest beyond to gleam almost blindingly. The elf studied the other one and saw that he held his eyes half-closed, no doubt so as to shield his untrained eyes from the painful, scattered light. He was still a dwarf, after all, and he wasn't used to such brightness.

Eventually, the exile spoke again, though still looking out the window. "How are the others doing?"

"Well, Faren and Zevran are, as you can see, sparring right outside."

"Yes, and going at it more fervently that would be healthy. Did Zevran try to hit on Kallian again? Faren's been acting a bit territorial lately, hasn't he?" the dwarf said with a chuckle. Theron noticed that look he wore just then, similar to how his Keeper Marethari used to gaze upon all the Dalish children while teaching them the elven tongue or history. He had that same, protective air around him, the gaze of someone whose primary purpose was to see his charges learn and grow.

It was strange that he could look so ancient, even though he was just two years Theorn's senior and, physically at least, looked quite young. The elf had no doubt the females of his own race would find him more than a little attractive (at the very least), up until they got to know him enough to see just how much older, mentally and spiritually, he was.

Granted, all those muscles of his would probably distract females enough that they would barely look into his eyes anyway.

"Zevran hits on everyone," the Dalish couldn't help but say.

So the dwarf sighed. "Tell me about it... Anyway, the others? What are they doing?"

"Alim, as you know, is preparing the Joining concoction, along with Avernus and Jowan, up in the tower. Sten is in the smithy with Mikhael, getting periodically measured up and fitted with an armor his size. Leliana and Wynne are still with the younger Drydens, arranging books in the library and telling stories. Kallian is helping Gwen try on that Warden Commander armor that we got... off Sophia's corpse... Morrigan went into the woods in her wolf form and both the dogs, plus my wolf even, went with her. I don't know exactly where Shale is."

"Oh, Shale's just outside the fortress. I told her to test her fire crystals and improve her control over the magic by producing flames constant enough to melt the snow without causing it to evaporate. I told her to keep at it until there was a surface of smooth ice measuring at least least 20 by 20 meters."

There was a pause.

"Wait... you actually fooled Shale into preparing a skating rink?" The elf was positively flabbergasted, especially considering that Raonar gave an ambiguous shrug in response before saying "Believe whatever you want. All she wanted in return was to relieve her of the life debt she owed to my mabari, so I promised I would."

There was another pause.

"Anyway," Theron finally spoke. "As for Alistair, I think he's lying on a bed, exhausted for some reason."

"Well, I've been pushing him with all that tutoring in command, economy and politics, giving him tests about hypothetical situations and demanding possible solutions. He's probably just worn out mentally. I admit, I'm playing dirty. I've been pushing him as hard as I could, to see just how much he can go on like this before his templar discipline runs out and he snaps at me. He's actually been exceeding my expectations."

"Well, why **are** you pushing him? Just for your enjoyment?"

"I am so **hurt** you would think that!" he moaned overly theatrically. "Nope. I figured that, when he does snap, he'll either start whining or grow a backbone and call me out on how I am being unreasonable, probably offering a strong argument as to why, even though my methods **are** actually working. If it's the former, I'll point out that he can probably take more of it if he has enough energy to whine, and I'll keep at it until he figures out that the second option is what I'm after. If he does the latter, then my work will be done. Making him wise enough to know when things should change, and making him smart enough to know how to change things for the better is, in the end, what I am trying to accomplish."

"So you're deliberately turning yourself into the bad guy?" Theron asked with some bemusement.

"Yes. I can actually be quite convincing, even without lying. All I do is let people assume whatever they wish and do nothing to discourage their flawed reasoning until the most opportune moment."

"I see... So that's what Shale meant by how you like to turn everyone's logic on its head and show them how stupid they're being..."

There was just a short bout of laughter.

"So why did you call me up here?' the elf finally asked.

The Commander stepped away from the window and headed to sit at his desk while gesturing to the other one to sit in one of the armchairs across his desk. "So far, we've managed to secure the goods in the Grey Wardens' cache and the aid of the mages against the Blight. We already decided we weren't going to use this place as the gathering point of our armies. It's too remote, too small, too hard to reach and, frankly, I'd prefer it if we kept it as secret as possible. Levi already agreed to be discrete."

"And?"

"Well, we don't exactly have a safe place to meet just yet and Redcliffe is not an option if Eamon doesn't recover. Unfortunately, we don't really have any other options. So I figured we would give Eamon some more time, see if he recovers on his own. I really have no intention of chasing this myth of Andraste's Ashes, not unless we find something concrete to point us in the right direction and support the idea that they really exist."

"And since we only have treaties for the dwarves and my fellow elvhen..."

"Exactly, I want to contact the Dalish next."

Theron thought about asking why he didn't want to go to Orzammar but decided against it. It also happened that, with the sun high in the sky now, light no longer streamed directly into that room, through the windows facing the sunrise, so it had become a bit dark.

"Squip!" Raonar called out.

A few moments later, the ball of light flew into the chamber straight through the stone floor and hovered excitedly.

Theron gazed with interest as the exile actually gave that thing a task to perform. "It's getting a little dark in here. You mind lighting up those candles on that chandelier up there? And on these candlesticks and those on the fireplace?" He pointed at the two golden candlestick that were on the desk, next to the bottle of ink, the quills and stack of parchments, one of which had been recently written upon.

The Wisp made an electric hiss, as though asking _Do you doubt my abilities?_, and quickly set to work.

"Why does that thing even obey you anyway?"

"Oh, he doesn't **obey** me, per se, he just trusts Honor and, by extension, me, because Honor does. You get it. And it's not like he doesn't want to be useful. I think he actually enjoys interacting with us. I just had to show him he didn't have to be afraid."

Theron scratched his head.

"What have you been writing?" the hunter then asked, doing his best not to feel any more weirded out by the fact that Raonar had a spirit for a pet now.

"Oh, these are the papers that will attest Jowan's becoming a Grey Warden, if he survives. I used the records Duncan made of us as a template. Some background information, a basic personality profile, abilities, etcetera. I don't plan on repeating what Alim and I did during Kallian's joining. We don't really have any more of that alchemical drought to fix our blunder with, so either Jowan will live or he won't."

"Ah."

"Anyway, back to my point. I intend to go find the Dalish next. Do you think your clan is still in the Brecilian forest?"

"I am unsure. They may be, or they could be elsewhere, probably further north. They may even have left Ferelden for all I know," he failed to completely conceal the apprehension in his voice, apprehension at having been torn from them. "Regardless, my clan was not the only one wandering those woods. They are vast and ancient. I also understand there are rumors of Dalish sightings to the east. If that is where you wish to go, and if there are any of my people there, I should be able to track them down with no trouble."

"I see. Good, my thanks then."

He made to get up, but the other one stopped him with a wave of his hand, so he asked the predictable question. "Is there something else?"

The dwarf opened a small door to a small cabinet that was actually part of his desk and took out a bottle of wine, of all things. He also took out two goblets. "Don't even **think** about saying you don't want any. I already know you love red wine more than everyone else in this group except me and Wynne."

Theron sighed, but did as requested. It's not like he had anything against a good drink either. With all the weeks in Denerim, and all the weird looks people gave him whenever they happened to spot his tattoo, even with his hood drawn, he had ended up spending quite a bit of time in that common room of theirs, just to avoid those many shamlen. As such, it was only a matter of time before the commander 'corrupted' him enough to concede to sharing a glass of wine.

He fell in love with the drink immediately. Raonar even complimented him on how relaxed he was while drinking, and at how he supposedly knew how to savor it instead of drinking it all at once. They eventually started to share stories, either from their peoples' history or their own lives. Theron had been a little wary at first, but the dwarf seemed to know just what questions to ask and when to stop, so as to not press him too much, and the elf found himself more and more open to such socialization.

It was for that reason that, instead of complaining or going silent, the elf said "Thanks. I actually could use a nice glass of wine right about now."

"So," the exile said after he took the first sip. "How have you been doing lately?"

"-. .-"

_Excerpt from journal of Senior Enchanter Wynne_

_28 Verimensis, 9:31, Dragon:__ And, once again, we are in Denerim, lounging in our common room in Warden's Rest, though the name still hasn't been made official._

_ After Jowan went through the Joining and became a Grey Warden, Avernus immediately began to pass on his knowledge onto him and have him assist with whatever research the Commander asked him to carry out. I am unsure exactly what he is supposed to do, but I will have faith that it is for a worthy purpose. I decided not to question the wisdom of having someone like Jowan among the Grey, but I suppose the order can better ensure that he doesn't end up causing havoc or making any mistakes while trying to do good._

_ After some more days at the fortress, we began the next stage of our quest. We are now headed southeast, to the Brecilian Forest, but Raonar decided we would drop by Denerim as well, to see the aftermath of the Dark Wolf's last and greatest 'accomplishment.' We were able to go through the front gates unmolested because Alim subtly weaved disorienting spells on the guards stationed there at the time. Apparently, Dwarves were very thoroughly inspected, along with whatever luggage or cargo they wanted to bring in or take out of the city, over the first couple of weeks after our departure._

_Shale and Morrigan, along with Sten and Gwen's mabari, Damon, were left behind with Theron and his wolf and set up camp outside of the city. They should be able to handle the cold for one night, aided by magic an all the furs and tents. The bodily warmth of the dogs will also no doubt help, and Morrigan will probably just turn into a bear and have little trouble keeping warm. Mostly, the goal was to keep Shale out of the city, as she would have drawn too much attention (which is why we left her at the keep last time)._

_Rumors also sad that Loghain had almost decided to confiscate a whole slew of goods owned by dwarven traders and smiths, and hold them 'for ransom' until the Dark Wolf showed himself or was exposed. Eventually, he figured it would not do to turn half the smiths in the capital against you when you should be hiring them to make weapons and armor for your soldiers, for the war._

_ Unfortunately,__ not everyone had even that much restraint. Some of the more easily excitable humans started picking fights with some of the dwarves in the city, especially in bars. One such brawl actually occurred in this very establishment, though less serious quarrels have been sprouting more and more frequently. Bella even expressed concern over the safety of her business. While the Wardens stayed here, those weeks prior to New Year's day, their presence and intimidating appearance was enough to keep most people in line. With that element gone..._

_ It seems Bella hasn't yet managed to find some competent bouncers, and Goldanna stopped letting her children come over for fear that things may get worse. Needless to say, Alistair was upset at this and vowed to try and find a solution. Of course, he later realized he had no idea how he could find someone trustworthy and strong enough to fill the part._

_On the bright side, in the end, no one had any idea what had become of the Shadow of Denerim, but tales and whispers kept spreading and inflating, even making up whole stories, about the Dark Wolf's exploits. Some painted him a hero, others as a villain, other as a shapeshifting demon. But what was most odd was that there were even several tales about the master thief's alleged prowess in the bedchambers, of all things._

_ We learned of most of this yesterday afternoon, when we arrived. Faren looked a bit green when he heard some of the more... graphical details of said stories (he had mingled with the people in the dining and drinking hall of the inn)._

_ Earlier today, Zevran coyly disclosed that it was he that provided the first tales of passion with the Dark Wolf as the protagonist, during the week prior the major heist, in secret. Not soon after, Alistair and Raonar each had to cast a templar's smite on Faren and the Ativan, respectively, because Faren was strangling the latter (they discovered that Faren was not resistant to Templar abilities in the process, so at least that whole debacle helped with something). Unfortunately, since they were in the common room at the time, a bunch of papers were thrown around by the smites' blasts. A couple of wine bottles were also knocked off the table and shattered._

_ Zevran and Faren are currently scrubbing the wine off the floor as punishment for acting in such an immature fashion. Faren is muttering under his breath, something about 'sodding assassin perverts', while Zevran doesn't seem to be able to stop grinning for some reason. Alim is on a chair, keeping an eye on them, by Raonar's order, who took a trip to the Gnawed Noble Tavern, to see what other rumors exist. Alim is currently zapping Zevran with lightning whenever the latter happens to look in the other lad's direction._

_ Ah, and there goes another zap..."_

_ "_Alright, that does it," the Grey Warden blood mage uttered in annoyance. "Faren, you can stop now. Go upstairs and get some rest."

The dwarf just pushed himself to his feet, wincing at the cramps in his legs, and made for the staircase while continuing to mutter under his breath.

"Zevran, you keep at it," Alim added. "And don't give me that beaten dog look. You think I didn't realize the reason you positioned yourself behind Faren? How indecent."

"You **wound** me!" the other elf cried out. "You punish me for enjoying such an exquisite view? What reason could there possibly be for such cruelty? Or do you get off on electrifying other people while they are on all fours?"

Zap.

Zevran grunted, when he finished cringing that is, and dutifully went back to the act of scrubbing the floor.

"Don't tempt me, Zevran, or I will really bring out the big guns."

"Ah, I admit, I haven't seen a truly big gun in ages. This should be interesting."

There was a pause.

"I am **so** giving you nightmares tonight..."

"Ah, so you actually care enough that you wish to enter my dreams? My, but our connection is getting stronger by the minute!"

Zap.

Zevran resumed scrubbing.

And Alim sighed. "I think I'm getting a headac-" His mouth stopped moving, In fact, he momentarily stood completely still. Then, his left arm started trembling, and his eyes widened in shock. Without a moment's warning, he was on his feet and had pulled the left sleeve of his brown shirt all the way to his shoulder (he wasn't wearing robes, it would have given him away as being a mage after all). His whole arm had suddenly lit up white and the white tendrils had begun to even course out of him, flowing through the air like loose strands of magical energy.

Before anyone could even ask what was happening he had already turned into a huge shepherd's dog and rushed out the door, almost breaking the lock in his charge. Rinne followed after him just half a second later.

"-. .-"

"I told you this was a bad idea, Arik," Dekel told his companion in his ever so gruff tone. "This tavern ain't our kind of place. Look at us, all shoddy dressed while everyone else is lookin' all right and fancy."

The other dwarf sat down on a seat next to him, at their round table, and slid him his tankard of ale. "Stop whining, alright man? if this is going to be the last day I get to live decently, I want to do it in peace." Of course, he knew well why Dek was upset. They had pretty much exhausted every ounce of money they had, except for the silver they were going to pay for their ales.

And he had to agree with Dek's assessment about their looks as well. Most people in that Gnawed Noble Tavern looked clean shaven, dressed in fine clothes and all that stuff. By contrast, Dekel was one of those dwarves that hadn't been blessed with an overly friendly face, and his build was large, so he probably looked surly, if anything. The fact that he was bald (well, shaved in the head anyway) and had a thick, black stubble didn't really help matters and had already drawn a few awkward glances. Of course, Arik's own physique was also among the higher half of the hierarchy in terms of muscle mass, unsurprising considering their former profession.

Still, at least he had a full set of brown hair, just long enough to cover his scalp and hang in front of his forehead in a few loose strands. He didn't have a beard either, but neither a stubble. He used to have a beard, modeled after the one that king Endrin had, but he had to shave it all off a few days prior because he didn't have the time or mood to maintain it anymore.

Their garb was also not exactly suited for that particular establishment. They each wore suits of hardened leather armor and whatever winter wear they could afford. This whole getting to the surface thing had come as a total surprise, almost as big as not having been killed instead. They didn't really know whether they should be grateful or spiteful towards that bastard that had sent them to the surface against their will. At least they could be sure that hating his 'master', 'Prince' Bhelen was totally justified.

Both Arik and Dekel were silent as they drank their ale, doing their best to make the tankards last for as long as possible. They could have probably stretched whatever money they had left over a few more days, but they would have ended up on the streets and penniless anyway, so they figured they would at least try and have one last good evening before being reduced to beggars or thieves.

Thievery. They dreaded the idea. It was totally against what they had striven for, what they had done all their lives. They were supposed to keep everyone else safe from criminals, by keeping them locked up in cells. Of course, after what they witnessed last year, they were no longer naive enough to think that everyone who gets sent to the prison deserves it.

And because they didn't want to surrender their honor, they had unjustly been thrown out of Orzammar, on the whim of a brat that was barely over half their age (Dekel was 40 and Arik was 38).

Arik shook his head, trying to get these thoughts out of his mind. He didn't want to start brooding. This was supposed to be a happy evening, or at least a mildly pleasant one, something to lift their spirits, at least for a while. Seeing that Dekel was occupying himself with staring at the ale itself, he figured he would try to find something to distract himself with as well.

Coincidentally, he was so seated that he could see the door to the tavern. As such, his attention was drawn to said door opening in order to allow another dwarf to walk in. He wore a fur-lined cloak, a grey one, mostly unassuming, off which he shook the snow before finally walking again. Arik wasn't Warrior Caste for nothing, so he immediately noticed the steady and certain walk that person had. He also caught a glimpse of a dagger, in a sheath on the side of his belt as he strode towards the bar. Arik assumed that person was wearing a chainmail shirt beneath his clothes as well.

That was definitely no merchant or beggar.

Unfortunately, since the bar was behind him, he couldn't keep staring at that newcomer indefinitely. On the other hand, he wondered if he'd make a good company. There weren't any other dwarves in that tavern just then and he thought he might be able to fill the time by asking about that Dark Wolf fellow. No doubt a tale about a master thief that pranked the whole kingdom just for laughs would be a welcome means of spending what will likely be their final day of decency.

It was a minute later that he was really surprised, as the very same newcomer just showed up and sat on a chair right across from them at the same table.

Arik and Dekel both looked at him with reservations. They could well see his physical build was superior to theirs, even through the cloak, because his shoulders were very wide. He sat sideways, with his right forearm resting on the table. What put them on guard, however, was that they could see nothing of his face. His hood was drawn forward and the lower part of his face was covered by what looked like a white scarf.

"Anything we can help you with, stranger?" Arik asked in his most casual tone, while Dekel just narrowed his eyes and drank more from his tankard, though never drawing his gaze away from their 'guest'.

Apparently, he was all business. "Barkeep says you two came from Orzammar."

"Aye, we did." Arik couldn't help but feel that voice sounded strangely familiar, even muffed by that scarf, or whatever it was.

"And I understand that there is some... trouble there?" the voice sounded remarkably flat.

It was Dekel that answered. "Pah, trouble? That ain't even half of it. Sodding city's closed off 'cause the king finally kicked it." The newcomer tensed. "O'course, the gates didn't seal 'fore spittin' us out. Soddin' politicians and their stupid whims."

There was a pause, though silence failed to form because of how noisily both dwarves sipped form their ales.

"So King Endrin really is dead?" the third one asked, though his voice sounded a bit more strained, like he was keeping himself from breaking something.

"Aye," Arik confirmed, sadly. "Passed on little over a week ago. We knew he was sick for a while, but it still came as a surprise. I mean, I don't know about the nobles, but most of us common folk didn't want him gone. And he was just in his fifties too."

"I told ya man," Dekel cut in. "He was poisoned, there ain't no other explanation."

"Dek, we can't really know that."

"Poisoned?" the stranger asked, drawing their attention. Only Arik noticed that his previously relaxed hand was now clenched in a fist.

"We don't know, alright? We... left... Orzammar just a day after the news came out."

"Who do you think poisoned him?"

"Look, I just said we don't know for sure what happened." Arik didn't realize it, but he was subconsciously behaving cautiously because of how Orzammar always made one wary of speaking accusations to anyone, lest a knife sink in their backs when they least expect it.

Dekel, however, had had enough ale not to care anymore. "If I were to guess I'd say that it was that Bhel-."

"Dek..." Arik glared at him, but by the time he turned in the direction of the one questioning them, he saw that he had already left their table and was walking away, far less steadily than when he came in.

"-. .-"

Denial would have been a normal enough reaction.

When learning such a shocking truth, any other person would instinctively try to shield themselves from the shock by having their brains seek and find various reasons why the news they learned could not be true. They would start by thinking how improbable it all was, then move on to trying to prove the source was unreliable, all so that one didn't lose the entire foundations upon which their hopes and current goals lay.

So, normally, the exiled dwarven prince would start to list reasons why it couldn't possibly be. He would think it was all too sudden, that it must have been a mistake, misinformation. He would say that it was too soon. He would say that he wasn't old enough to die yet. He would desperately try to convince himself that there was just no way things would collapse in on themselves so quickly.

Unfortunately, Raonar had conditioned himself to be incapable of denial. Denial was a trap, a psychological liability that served only to mislead and prevent one from seeing the truth and the solution to any given situation in a timely fashion. Denial did nothing but act as a barrier to greater understanding. So he really didn't need those two men to tell him that the King was dead. All he needed to confirm was whether or not the Gates of Orzammar really were sealed.

The great Ozrammar Gates only closed and denied entrance to surface merchants, pilgrims and other normally allowed visitors only during times of great political upheaval. That there was not just a rumor that the king was dead, but that he had been assassinated or killed, was more than the exile really needed to confirm it.

Yes, Denial would have been a normal enough reaction.

Denial would have been the preferred reaction.

Because denial allows one's body and mind enough time to prepare for the actual acceptance of the truth. It allows the mind to grow stronger or more flexible, instead of crumbling under the weight of such a merciless revelation.

But because he was incapable of Denial, the former prince was slammed full-force, and many loose ends and scenarios converged in his mind. And for all their diversity, all of them seemed to point to a single idea, a single hypothesis, a single assumption. And in that moment of weakness, the Warden Commander forgot one of the major rules he abided by, the one that dictated to never make assumptions.

And he made the assumption, that terrible, terrible assumption.

_"Did I kill father...?"_

Before he knew it, his shoulder hit the wall and his right hand was clutching at his chest. He felt as though he had suddenly been stabbed through the heart, and his temples started to throb, his breathing to falter. His sight became blurred. The view of the tavern crumbled into a boundless void, barren of all light and shape, and all sound faded from his ears, until all he could be aware of was his heart pounding more and more irregularly, as though it was about to burst out through his chest.

And when he withdrew his right hand from above his heart and used it to push himself away from where the tavern wall once was, a new pain appeared, in his left hand this time. So he looked down at it, and saw that is was holding a crown unlike any other. It was made of several stems, knitted together and formed in a circle, all of them bearing many thorns, long, and sharp.

A crown of thorns was what he was holding, a crown that had already shred his palm and had become covered in his blood.

He was suddenly unable to move, half his weight supported by his right hand as he was still leaning against the inexistent wall on the right. All he could do was stare at that crown, stare, incapable of thought, as though his whole being rejected everything he saw, heard and felt.

And he stood still until his blood gathered at the tip of one of those thorns, enough to form a single drop.

The drop disconnected from the spike.

It fell, a small sphere, a bead whose red was perfectly visible even despite that absolute darkness.

And when it reached the same level as his ankles, it disappeared, but not before stirring waves.

And suddenly, the exile saw that he stood in shallows that reached as high as his ankles, the only strange thing being that, instead of water, it was all blood. It was all an endless plain, covered in blood, and the few, concentric waves that that drop stirred ended when they reached bodies.

Dead bodies, tens, hundreds, thousands littered the field, half-submerged in the swamp of death, that swamp of blood, blood that had flowed out of humans, elves and dwarves alike, all of them dead, killed, slaughtered. He even saw several qunari, some of them with horns protruding out of their skulls, but still as dead as all the others.

He looked ahead, but saw no end to that view, only a blur that made it impossible to see the horizon, because the sky was also red, blight clouds covering it completely and roaring with thunder and lightning, creating a wretched symphony that made Ostagar look like little more than an afterthought. Only when the thunder left his ears did he hear the grunt of what could only be darkspawn, and he looked to the right, to see that what his right hand was really leaning against was the hideous face of a genlock.

The scare was enough to make him almost fall over, and he did, but only because he tripped on the corpse behind him. He pushed himself up and spat out blood, but had to dive to the side, causing splashes once more as he evaded that monster's enraged strikes. Just by sheer luck, his hand closed around the hilt of a sword, and he brought it up and through that creature's chest just before it could stab him.

Covered in so much of that red death, and already numb to the stench, he pushed himself to his feet, only to hear the sound of stomping and clatter of arms behind him. So he turned around and saw it, the endless mass of monsters whose first line of attack was just a hundred paces away, all of them standing in the same, ankle-deep bloodmarsh as him.

Genlocks, hurlocks, shrieks, ogres, even odd, bug-like things, like half-torn chrysalises with ant-like legs, stared at him, or at least raved in his direction with what could only be hunger. And there, at the forefront, was the old God Urthermiel himself, his sickly green eyes bearing the semblance of gateways to the realm of insanity, if such a thing even existed, as they stared down at him.

But even that personification of doom could not capture all of the exile's attention, could not prevent him from looking down at his left hand again and see that the crown of thorns was still in his grasp.

"-. .-"

Arik was ready to go back to looking at his ale when he saw that stranger suddenly clutch at his chest and lose his balance, the only reason he didn't collapse completely being that his shoulder struck and stuck to the tavern's wall as he wavered. The tavern's other patrons didn't immediately notice the scene, but their attention would soon be captured.

The dwarf pushed himself away from the wall, but could do nothing more.

He keeled over and fell forward, only narrowly missing a vacant round table and the chairs around it.

Arik didn't really know why he did it, but he jumped from his seat and went to check on him.

"Sod," was all Dekel said before he let go of his own tankard and followed after him.

Arik didn't really mind all the people that were now staring in their direction. He carefully pulled the man over, until he was on his back. Then, he touched his neck, to feel for his pulse, and saw that he was still alive.

"What's up with him?" Dek asked as he knelt on the other side of the unconscious person.

"Not sure..." Arik kept ignoring the many eyes that were staring at them now. He leaned low and listened to his heart. It sounded a bit off, but not by much.

Only after that did they think about looking at his face.

The first thing they did was push back his hood.

The second was pull down the scarf and reveal the rest of his face.

There was more than just a moment of silence.

"Hey!" the barkeep shouted. "Is everything alright there?"

Dekel and Arik looked at each other and saw that they were both equally shocked. After that, they nodded.

"It's fine!" Arik replied, pulling one of the stranger's arms over his shoulders, but not before covering his face as it had been before. "Our friend here is just a bit out of sorts!" Dekel, meanwhile, pulled the man's other arm over his own shoulders, **after** he retrieved their belongings from next to the table they had been sitting at that is.

"Here," Arik told the waitress as he shoved his remaining silver into her hands. "That's for the drinks."

Before anyone could say anything more, the two carried the third man outside. After that, they quickly walked off, thankful for the fact that night had already fallen. This way they would not be looked at by everyone. Their better eyesight, which they honed during many years of living in places with low light, would let them see better in the dark than any possible pursuers, not that they expected to be followed.

"Is he really...?" Dekel let out in what could only be awe.

"I think so..."

They kept walking for a while minutes, until they managed to find a narrow enough alley, and dark enough, to stop in. At that point, Dekel took off his cloak and set it on the ground like a blanket. After that, they laid the 'stranger' on it.

"Shit, man, this is so wrong. Why did we have to get kicked out of the inn today? Putting him down here is so not healthy."

"I **know**, Dek, but we don't really have a choice. I'm not really sure what happened to him. So far, I could tell it wasn't an outright heart attack, because his heartbeats sound mostly fine. It was close though..."

For a while, neither man dared touch him.

"What's he doing here of all places?" Arik wondered aloud.

Eventually, Dek found the courage to expose the 'stranger's face again and force one of his eyes open. The silver-cyan irises confirmed it.

Not that they could think about what to do next.

A growl came from the shadows.

Both dwarves turned to face the source of the noise with practiced ease. They maces were in their grasp within less than a second. "What in the Stone's name was that?"

Whatever it was, it began to prowl closer. A black paw emerged and crushed the snow underfoot, then the head appeared, sharp fangs visible as the hound sneered. Its eyes reflected some stray light for a moment.

"Oh shit, a mabari!" Arik realized as he put himself between the animal and the one lying on the ground behind them. "Shit shit shit! Dek, don't let him get near him!" And while they got ready to fight, both former guards couldn't stop asking themselves _Why are we doing this again?_

The hound leaped.

Within a second, it was wrestling with Arik, having bitten onto his mace. The dwarf was thrown to the ground, impacting the soft snow with his back, but struggled valiantly, never letting go of his weapon. It no doubt helped, because it surprised the dog enough for Dekel to swing his mace at it and strike it clean in the ribs.

The dark hound yelped and ended up rolling, but eventually got back on all fours and sneered at them both.

Dek pulled his companion up and looked at the hound again. The moon had come out and now cast a pale light on the city. And since the snow magnified that light, the dog was perfectly visible now, as was the other silhouette.

Yes, leaning against the back of a house, right at the start of the alley and with the moon behind him, was a taller person, with a very lean build and a cloak that hung off his shoulders. The light also revealed his pointy ears.

"Surrender him and you won't be hurt," the elf, now revealed to be a man, said flatly.

"So you can do **what**?" Arik asked, taking another sidestep, until he was between the newcomer and the one lying on the ground behind him. Meanwhile, Dek had kept his eyes on the dog, who had brought its head low and was snarling.

But the elf would not waste time. He suddenly stood straight, and white light, like runes, lit up on his left arm, now revealed to be completely exposed, even in that cold. "I will not ask again," he uttered, his voice as cold as the ice around them. He even flicked his fingers, causing an actual spear of ice to practically grow, like a plant, out of the snow-covered ground.

So the dwarves readied their steel shields. Since they had no place of their own any longer, they had been forced to carry all of their belongings with them, and that included their meager equipment. And since Dekel had all his attention on the hound, Arik had to speak again.

"Who are you and what do you want with his highness?"

There was a pause.

The hound suddenly relaxed and looked at them with curiosity, even producing an odd whining sound.

As for the elf, the light on his arm faded into blackness again, and the spear of ice fell from where it was floating in the air and shattered.

"-. .-"

Everyone, except those that had been left to camp outside the city, was waiting on the edge of their seats. They had convened in the common room, their usual place when in Denerim, after Alim so suddenly rushed out the door, followed by Raonar's war hound.

Faren, predictably, was the most nervous, and had only managed to sit still after Kallian put her arms around his shoulders from behind. They were all already past the point where they asked pointless questions like "What happened?" or "Shouldn't we go after them?" Leliana had taken to singing a tune on her lyre, something supposedly originating in the Free Marches, while Alistair and Gwen sat on one of the couches, next to each other, but not meeting each other's eyes. Wynne was just hoping nothing serious had happened.

Nevertheless, everyone would later agree that the strangest thing was how Zevran was not leering in anyone's direction. Instead, he was finishing getting equipped in his leather armor, having declared that he was going to do one of the things that what assassins are good at, namely tracking people down.

Fortunately, there was no need, because the door suddenly snapped open, only to allow not one, but three dwarves to barge in, led by Rinne, the black dog herself.

The last to come in was Alim. "Clear one of those couches! Now!"

Everyone jumped to their feet, leaving both couches bare, not just one. Alistair and Gwen quickly moved the table aside, so as to allow easier access, and whoever those two dwarves were quickly carried the prince over to it and let him lie down as carefully as they manage under the circumstances. After that, everyone gave Alim and Wynne more than enough space to work, including the newcomers.

But the two strangers didn't have enough time to get their bearings, because they were pulled around by someone. "Who are you two? What happened?"

Both dwarves looked stupefied, not just because a castless was shouting in their faces but because he was bloody scary. The next instant, they had been grabbed by the front of their cloaks and pulled closer, until his gaze was drilling into their eyes. "I asked **what happened?"**

"That's enough, Faren!" There was general shock, because the one who ordered that, in an uncharacteristically commanding voice, was Alistair, of all people. "Let go of them and go sit down somewhere."

"Thank you! Finally, some quiet!" Alim pronounced as he and Wynne were running their magic through the dwarf as best they could. And that wasn't much, considering the very nasty effect on magic and, thus, healing spells, that the exile was known for in his entourage.

Kallian tugged on the shocked rogue's hand and led him over to one of the armchairs in front of the fireplace, which had been turned to face the center of the room now. There, she sat on his lap after he took his own seat.

"Now then," Alistair continued. "Forgive my friend there, he's just on edge."

"We understand," Arik barely said, still surprised.

"Who're you people?" Dek followed. "You've even got a brand with yo-" his mouth suddenly found itself frozen over, before Faren could say anything. It seems the elven mage had enough attention to spare for the stopping of stupid questions.

"Apologies," Alistair said, completely ignoring the utterly flabbergasted look on Arik's face at how his friend had been silenced. "But you will have to explain yourself before we answer that question and we're sure we can trust you."

"Right. Well, I know this might come as a bit of a surprise but..."

"Yes?" the human encouraged him.

"This here's Dekel Blackstone and I'm Arik Nordak, Warrior Caste.. well, ex-warrior caste anyway. We, uh... we were the Orzammar Diamond Quarter prison guards during the time his highness was held in a cell there..."

"-. .-"

_Excerpt from journal of Senior Enchanter Wynne_

_17 Verimensis, 9:31, Dragon:__ It seems that no sort of joy can last for long in this group._

_ King Endrin Aeducan, father of Raonar, our commander, is dead. He died just about a week ago, as this was how long it took our two guests to arrive from there to Denerim._

_ We only learned this yesterday evening, when Raonar was carried back to the inn we are staying in, unconscious, by two other dwarves who revealed themselves to have been the guards on duty while he was held in the prison of his home city._

_ Held imprisoned unjustly, it seems._

_ In hindsight, I suppose I should not be surprised he really is innocent. Apparently, Arik and Dekel, as they call themselves, were present at the confrontation that occurred between out leader and his younger brother, the one that engineered their elder brother's murder and framed Raonar for it. I believe there was a moment when Raonar had this Bhelen by the throat. Apparently, Arik and Dekel were hidden in the cell right next to our commander's and were supposed to intervene on Bhelen's behalf if anything should go awry._

_ They didn't interfere. According to them, they were so shocked by what they heard that part of them just couldn't move, while the other part actually hoped he'd just snap Bhelen's neck and be done with it._

_ As the two told us, Bhelen didn't really punish them, have them killed that is, at first, either because he couldn't move freely while his father was still alive, or because he didn't really realize they had failed him. After all, the whole 'by the neck' episode lasted a very short time. They also said Raonar actually seemed to try and cover for them and their hesitation to come to the youngest prince's aid._

_ Regardless, the fact remains that, the evening of the second day after the king's death was announced, they were cornered by a certain Frandlin Ivo and struck in the head, from behind, quite powerfully. As such, they were quite surprised to be waking up, especially in those strange circumstances. Apparently, they had been placed in body bags, well, produce bags actually, and had been loaded onto a large cart, along with a pile of empty crates or other cargo that merchants may take form Orzammar to Denerim._

_ I__t was also surprising that they had been 'packed' along with their weapons and pouches of gold, not that it was much. Once they succeeded in getting out of said bags, they went through the expected surface hangover (disorientation, nausea, sight discomfort etc.). it didn't help that they were in a moving cart at the time._

_ Apparently, they had been hauled off by one of the merchant caravans that had been forced to leave the city. During times of political unrest, like the death of the King and lack of successors, the Orzammar law was that the gates be sealed and all contact with the surface cut, including the surface dwarf merchants, until a new monarch was chosen by the assembly. As they said it, a certain lord Pyral Harrowmont claims he was named Endrin's successor and is opposing Bhelen._

_ Neither Arik nor Dekel knows exactly why they were covertly exiled from the city, but they assume it was Frandlin being sadistic. After all, many think that exile to the surface is worse than dying, because the ones that go live above ground won't be able to return to the Stone. A ridiculous notion, most likely._

_ Regardless, what truly concerns us is our commander's unconsciousness. As the two said, he asked them about the King and, after they told him, he walked off a bit before clutching at his chest and suddenly collapsing. I found nothing physically unwell with him, which is fortunate, considering that healing magi__c would probably not work on him anyway, because of that tear in the veil he harbors. I finally got around to asking about it last week, and he was surprisingly forthcoming. A dwarf with the Spirit of Honor as guardian, who would have thought?_

_ Alim also found he could do nothing than wait. Meanwhile, he has summoned us all here, the two dwarves included, even Theron, Sten, Morrigan and Shale from outside the city, suspicions about golems be damned. Teyrn Loghain isn't in the city right now anyway, and the guard patrol, led by Kylon, is still on our side, so it should be safe for a day. The common room is a bit packed, but Alim said what he has to say was very important and would shed some new light on everything._

_ The only ones not here are Faren and Kallian, who said they already know what is to be said. They are upstairs, in the prince's room, watching over him. _

"-. .-"

Without warning, he gasped and bolted forward, sitting up in his bed and sending the wet compress on his forehead flying all the way into the wall. The next thing he noticed was not Faren drawing away in surprise, or Kallian practically jumping back from the fright. What really let him know he was still alive was the really bad headache. Last thing he remembered was fighting the Archdemon on top of a mountain of darkspawn corpses and then... a flash of light.

And as he realized he had just fought off three month's worth of Archdemon nightmares, he remembered just why he had been left vulnerable. "Did I kill father...?"

Suddenly, both his hands were taken a hold of by others, his right one in a strong grip, and his left on in a tender hold. "Screw that, man, stop thinking that way," Faren said on the right.

"At least you woke up. We weren't sure you would," the city elf was heard on the left.

He let himself fall back on the pillow and waited until his vision cleared. "How long was I unconscious?"

"Since last night. So... about fourteen hours," Kallian answered. "We heard what happened. You collapsed after those two guys downstairs told you about... your father dying. I'm sorry, I really don't know what to say."

"Neither do I..."

They both sounded so lost, Faren especially. "Those two downstairs? What are they doing here?"

"They carried you here," the lass said.

"You're really something, you know that?" the other rogue said in awe. "I mean, those two were willing to fight to keep you safe even though they only had contact, or whatever it's called, with you for a couple of days."

"What? What are you talking about? What contact? I just met them yesterday..."

"Uuh..."

"Maybe you didn't see their faces. They said they were the guards of the prison when you were held there, back in Orzammar."

There was a pause.

"Tell me everything they told you."

So they did. It only took about ten minutes.

"So that really was why the guards didn't interfere when I had Bhelen by the throat. Too bad me saying that I knew they were there wasn't enough to cover for them. I guess I held him by the throat for a bit too long, so their hesitation to jump in was a bit more obvious."

"How can you possibly think of everyone at once?"

Faren had asked that, and he sounded worried. Raonar decided he's have to apologize to him later. Now though, he had to think. "Sorry guys, I'm okay now. Thing is, I've been blocking the Archdemon out of my mind, meaning that I haven't had nightmares, for several months now and he was so pissed because of it that he decided to make up for it now. I was just... a bit surprised when I lost consciousness, enough that he could break my mental defenses."

"Oh," they both chorused.

"Anyway, I need some time to think. Do you mind? I'm fine, really..."

They only looked at him a bit longer, so he tried to smile, but he didn't really know if he got it to look right because his headache may have made him cringe. Regardless, they nodded and cleared the room.

This was bad.

His father was dead.

_"Father is dead."_

It was too soon. Just too soon. His father hadn't gone past his fifties yet. Did he misinterpret the letter? Did he do anything stupid? Did Raonar overestimate his wisdom? These were just a few questions swimming through his mind right now.

He reviewed all the information he had uncovered. His father was dead. No doubt people will start to say he was poisoned, which may or may not be true. Bhelen might have even done it, but it was unlikely. After all, it was Endrin's approval he craved, like any overlooked child would. So he probably hadn't done it.

Then again, there was how he had supposedly been disowned, not that the rest of house Aeducan acknowledged that fact. As such, Endrin had probably not made an official announcement. Regardless, that he disowned Bhelen at all at least showed that he regretted sweeping his other sons under the rug.

Those two said Harrowmont was running for kingship now, and that Bhelen had failed to gather enough support. They also said it was Frandlin ivo that cornered them and had them covertly thrown out of the city.

This meant that Frandlin was made the one to take care of part of Bhelen's dirty work. He'd probably been sent to dispose of those two, now that they could be removed without the king getting suspicious or doing anything against it. But instead of killing them, he had them hauled out of Orzammar...

... because it was the only way they could live. That he left them their weapons and gold proves he wanted them to live, and that he placed them in a caravan bound for Denerim was even more telling.

This was a message.

A message from Frandlin Ivo to him.

A message that said "Come back as soon as possible." After all, he had sent those two towards the place most likely to spread the news of the Dwarven King's death to all corners of the nation, and where they had the biggest chance to actually find some work, some way to make ends meat.

Yes, if Frandlin was still alive, and in Bhelen's service, then Bhelen couldn't have found out that Trian still lived. And the fact that Harrowmont was opposing Bhelen meant that at least that part of his plan had proceeded correctly and his brother lacked the needed support in the Assembly.

What should he do now? They were supposedly bound for the Brecilian Woods. Did he have the right to divert their planned quest for his own reasons? Looking at it, that whole political mess in Orzammar really was not the Grey Wardens' concern. Yes, he did have a treaty for his people, so he could at least justify a visit somehow, but it wasn't just up to him. Alistair had already been a bit upset at how they were putting off the search for the Urn, and they had already spent more time than was needed in Denerim, although, granted, that really **was** ultimately for some Grey Warden business.

He took a deep breath and decided to go downstairs and wash his face, maybe have something to eat before actually deciding on what to do. He just hoped people wouldn't prod him too much.

He got out of the bed and changed his clothes. After that, he slowly existed and made his way down the corridor, then down the stairs, all the while unable to stop thinking of his father as an idiot for just going ahead and dying. He felt anger, something he rarely indulged in. he felt betrayed by his father again.

Then, after he reached the bottom of the staircase and turned around, he stopped dead in his tracks.

**Everyone** was there. Everyone, even Shale, and those two dwarves from the previous night. Everyone was now staring at him, with expressions he didn't really have time to prepare for.

Kallian, Faren, Theron, and Alim looked the least perturbed.

Shale was... well, looking like Shale, though still managed to come off as a bit intrigued.

Sten was standing a bit more solemnly than usual.

Leliana looked positively marveled for some reason, like she had just stumbled upon a storyteller's equivalent of a gold mine.

Zevran had a grin that threatened to split his face.

Wynne, Gwen and Alistair actually looked ashamed.

And, finally, Arik and Dekel looked at him like he was a god or something.

So, being bombarded by so many different emotions at once, the exile asked the only thing he could. "Why are you all **looking** at me like that?" Though he already suspected the reason.

The first to move were the newcomer dwarves. Basically, they walked up to him and kneeled. "It is good to see you well, your highness," they said at the same time, heads bowed low.

There was a pause.

So the prince rubbed his forehead. "Can this get even more awkward? Get up, both of you." So they did, but still looked at him with utmost awe. "And my question remains unanswered. Why are you all **looking** at me like that? Did I grow a second head when I wasn't looking?"

"That would be... because I told them," said the elven mage. "About how you didn't actually kill your brother I mean."

A white eyebrow rose way up. "Why? And what exactly does that mean?"

"Well, I know Faren didn't want to talk about it, and that Kallian was sworn to secrecy but, well," Alim grinned. "I was never sworn to secrecy. So I knew most of the general idea and told everyone while you were unconscious. So yes, everyone knows now, about how you sacrificed everything in order to stage Trian's death and, in so doing, keep both of your brothers alive."

"And uhh.." Faren broke in, rubbing the back of his head. "I kind of... put in some details, as one who was there I mean. I figured since the nug was loose anyway, I may as well make sure they get the right version of the story."

The exile wasn't sure whether he should feel relief or something else. Still, he was quite convinced that, whatever emotion he was supposed to experience right then, it probably could be expressed through a sigh. So he sighed. Deeply.

"Let me just say that you're incredible, your highness! I mean, you have to be the crazies- I mean the smartest dwarf alive,' Arik gushed. Yes, he was definitely coming down with a serious case of hero worship.

A few people chuckled in the background before Alistair got up from the couch he was sitting on and took a few steps towards him. "So, when are we leaving?"

"What?"

"When are we going to Orzammar? You did pack, right?" the templar said with a grin of his own.

"I can't ask you guys to do that," the dwarf weakly said. "I mean, it's not fair that we should just change all plans because of my personal problems."

"But you have to go back, your highness!" Dekel protested, but went silent when Arik elbowed him in the ribs.

"What personal problems?" Alim intervened in his academic voice. "By my assessment, resolving the political crisis in Orzammar as soon as possible is mandatory, because it will ensure that a civil war will not erupt and end up killing all the soldiers our treaty was supposed to recruit against the Blight. And I know that the only reason you haven't said this yet is because you don't want to seem as though you're abusing your authority as Commander of the Grey."

"Wait, you're the **leader** of the Grey Wardens?" Arik echoed, proving that he could actually look even more worshipful than before. "Damn, if I were a deshyr, I would totally vote for you as king, my prince."

"Your enthusiasm is refreshing but a bit disturbing," the much younger dwarf told them. "Look, I appreciate this, but I'll only have us to go to Orzammar if everyone agrees unanimously." There was a sea of raised arms even before he finished speaking. Even Morrigan had raised her hand. "Ahem, well, I suppose that takes care of that..."

It was only then that Wynne got up from her chair and walked over to the silver-eyed warden. Alistair led everyone else away, not that they couldn't overhear anyway.

"I feel I must... apologize," the elder mage began while fidgeting. "I realize I was... a bit difficult," someone coughed into his fist in the background, "**more** than a little difficult and-"

"Look, apologies aren't required," the prince cut her off with a placating gesture. "That goes for everyone else. I deliberately chose to keep you all in the dark about what really happened to me."

"I beg to differ," Wynne protested, entering her teacher-to-apprentice mode, oddly enough, not that it had any effect. "I immediately assumed the worst about you and it took me months to change my opinion, despite all evidence to show how flawed my reasoning was."

"Fine. Then just keep a more open mind next time. Apology accepted."

"Thank you."

"So!" Zevran finally spoke. "When are we leaving?"

Raonar sighed. "You do realize I am going to shamelessly use all of you for my own ends, right?"

"Well, given the history of your own ends, and how they always seem to be a variation of saving everyone, I doubt anyone will really have a problem with that," Gwen stated quite casually.

He actually laughed at that, a laughter filed with gratitude. "Thanks guys."

"Any time," Alistair said with a wave of his hand.

The dwarf began to stroke that perfect beard of his. "Heh. Fine, then we'll leave Immediately, so start packing. There's just one more thing I need to take care of before we go." He looked at the two former prison guards. "You two, follow me."

"Yes, your highness!" they dutifully acknowledged.

And he went through the door that led to the main hall, where all customers came to drink and generally have a good time. The prince made his way to the bar, where Bella was doing whatever it is hostesses do. "Ah, greetings there honey. Feeling any better? Was worried you were more sick that your friends let on."

Arik and Dekel were mildly shocked to see someone address their prince so casually, but they were stopped from saying anything by a gesture from him. "Indeed, I'm just fine. Now, Bella, I heard you're looking to hire a pair of bouncers..."

_The review space is down there and waiting!_


	37. Warden Arc 7: Retribution Foreseen

Author's note: So, for those interested, I added some general portrayals of the characters, as well as some songs that could work as character themes, in my profile.

Disclaimer: Bioware, of course, owns the characters and setting.

* * *

**Chapter 36: Retribution Foreseen**

"-. .-"

Raonar Aeducan regretted the fact that, at least as far as the weather was concerned, 19 Verimensis of 9:31 Dragon was proving to be the best day of that entire winter.

Not that he didn't like good weather, because he did. One would have to be a bit wrong in the head not to appreciate that clear blue sky, the fresh winter air and the blanket of snow that covered the mountains on either side of the Imperial Highway. The group, along with Bodahn and Sandal (whom they had run into again somehow) had made camp just after leaving Dragon's Peak Bannorn and, simply put, the general morale wasn't really all that horrible. Granted, everyone was still a bit stand offish, what with them all getting whammed in the face by that big deluge of revelations about their commander, and about his father's untimely death, but their moods weren't too bad.

Regardless, everyone was minding their own business, deliberately finding something to occupy themselves with. As it happened, Faren had gone off away from camp, to practice his chained dagger fighting by using icicles hanging off tree branches as target practice. The dwarf noble suspected this might be his way of distracting himself from the fact that he had no idea how to be there for someone that had just found out, like a sudden crack in the stone, that his father was dead, probably because of him.

It was Faren that the exile had gone off to find.

As he walked through the snow-covered forest, following quite literally in Faren's footsteps, which were quite visible in that layer of white, crystallized water, the prince's reasoning again confirmed that, contrary to what everyone else thought, he was not feeling guilty. Certainly, there was regret and sadness, as well as that distinct feeling of loss, but not guilt.

He really wished he could feel guilty, because even that would be easier, for him at least. Unfortunately, he lacked the necessary amount of ignorance or bias for that, and he also did not have all the information necessary for that sort of self-pity, not that he would indulge in such fallacies. He stood by his idea that guilt wasn't the worst thing one could feel. What really bothered him most was that, despite his best efforts, despite his power, his genius, despite everything, things just looked like they wanted to go to hell.

At least he could take solace in the fact that the impending events were going to be more bearable because of the fact he had always known that they would eventually come to pass. As always, he was going to experience the results of his choices, and while he knew he was definitely not going to like them one bit, they were, in his view, still more bearable than the alternative.

The prince was someone who really liked to take a third option whenever he could, but there was a particular kind of choice that made it hard, if not outright impossible, to do so. Basically, when holding a particular piece of information, one can either tell it to a certain person or not.

And Raonar was now once again going to experience just how much of a bitch this sort of choices can be.

The trail of tracks in the snow finally led the former aristocrat to a place where trees were fewer and farther apart. It wasn't exactly a clearing, but the ground was mostly flat and smooth, though the snow layer might have disguised the lumps somewhat. There, on top of a more or less level stump, stood the castless dwarf. He had just managed to shatter an icicle hanging off a branch with a precise throw of a dagger and had pulled said weapon back into his grasp by the trademark chain. He'd succeeded in not affecting the two other icicles in either side of the targeted one.

The newcomer cleared his throat.

"Huh?" Faren twisted his head to look back and deftly jumped off the stump to face him. He then opened his mouth to say something, but snapped it shut and looked aside, no doubt because he didn't know what to say. That, of course, was understandable, since he was far from being an expert in comforting someone in mourning. He probably felt useless and helpless at the same time, this no doubt being the reason he sought isolation.

Fortunately for him, the white-haired one wasn't exactly in mourning mode. "You know, you're really adorable when you're fidgeting and all at a loss for what to say."

The redhead gaped. "That... should have sounded awkward..."

A white eyebrow was suddenly higher than usual. "Oh please, your sister must have called you adorable at least once."

Faren shook off the shock and looked thoughtful for a moment. "Actually, she never did call me that..."

The two allowed themselves to stand there in silence for a time, but the elder one eventually broke it. "Can you do me a favor?"

The other one was actually surprised. "... You have to ask? Don't I actually owe you a few favors?"

The prince close the distance between them until he was close enough to take a hold of the rogue's weapons. Faren didn't stop him from doing so, but did feel surprise when he tossed the daggers, chain and all, well away from their position. They sunk into the soft snow after several seconds. "What are you doing?"

That question went by ignored. "Can you take your gloves off too? Those wrist blades of yours are really sharp and I'd like to make sure your degree of lethality is as low as possible right now."

It was probably the first time since leaving the Deep Roads that Faren actually frowned and looked at the only other dwarf with suspicion. Nevertheless, he complied and took the leather gloves off, only for them to suffer the same fate as his weapons. Then, without waiting to be asked again, he unstrapped his throwing knives, along with the belt, from his left leg. "Now will you tell me what this is about?"

The former high nobleman took a deep breath and looked him straight in the eyes. "Remember when I told you there was something I would eventually tell you and that you might end up hating me for it?"

**"-. .-"**

_Excerpt from journal of Senior Enchanter Wynne_

_19 Verimensis, 9:31, Dragon:__ We have come to our first stop along the road on our way to the dwarven city-state of Orzammar and I must say that we haven't exactly traveled as far as I would have expected. Given the urgency of our situation, I would not have been surprised if our fearless leader pushed us beyond our limits in order to reach our destination as fast as possible._

_ As it stands, the sun has not yet descended completely beyond the horizon which, being winter, means that we are apparently going to waste some daylight today. I actually asked Raonar about it and he said there was something he had to take care of before he really decided on what course of action to take. He told me there was more than one way he could approach this whole mess, this being the reason for how we hadn't left the city as immediately as originally planned._

_ Yes, while he did intend for us to leave at once, we ended up lingering there until the next day. The first thing he did was get Bella to hire Arik and Dekel as bouncers. It didn't even take too much convincing in fact, since she was already hard-pressed. Of course, it did help that Dekel threw out a couple of drunks half an hour later, once again proving the hardiness and strength of dwarves in general, as well as why they did well as dungeon guards in the first place._

_ Those two looked so amazed and grateful at how all their immediate problems (being homeless and copperless) had suddenly been solved. I didn't understand why they held the commander in such reverence, even with him being a prince, but Faren later explained to me that the dwarven noble caste tends to treat lower classes like nothing more than tools to be used, which makes Raonar, who mostly treats everyone equally, something of a special case. Of course, there was also how he had those two accompany him to the best Dwarven smith in Denerim, to order a pair of better suits of armor for them._

_ After they came back. I think I even heard Arik talk about the smith's daughter, Belgret, and how Dekel was teasing him about how the fact he no longer has a beard made his blush totally visible. Somehow, I can't help but feel our commander may have a matchmaker's complex because I doubt whatever situation occurred there was completely spontaneous._

_ Regardless, once that was done, which was by early afternoon, he took Leliana and went to the market district, to 'buy some supplies.' I later asked Leliana just where they were and she told me they'd gone to see Liselle, that Orlesian trader. She refused to tell me what exactly that large bag they returned with contained, saying 'it's a secret.' Oddly enough, I have grown so used to being kept in the dark about things that I was not surprised or even upset at not having been given an actual answer. Either way, what I really am curious about is why Raonar spent the rest of the late afternoon, up until nightfall, writing on and arranging pieces of parchment into stacks._

_ We left Denerim this morning and have now stopped alongside the Imperial highway just on the fringe of Dragon's Peak Bannorn. My, Morrigan's and Alim's magic should be enough to ensure that all of our tents are warm and comfortable throughout the night. Theron is currently preparing dinner, some sort of stew if I a correct. I am sure it will be just as good as everything he cooked before. Even I have to admit that the elf has very good cooking skills, even though one wouldn't immediately assume that to be one of his talents._

"-. .-"

Sten just couldn't shake the feeling that these Bas were definitely odd. He was currently walking back and forth along the so-called edges of camp and generally looking at nothing in particular, but even so he could not actually completely ignore what everyone else was doing. This, he surmised, was most definitely the Warden Commander's fault, because he was the one that actually made him pay more attention to how those that do not follow the Qun lived their lives.

That dwarf had also somehow managed to find the time to ask him about various things and he had somehow managed not to ask ignorant questions.

The Qunari still remembered when the short thing had asked him to tell him about his people. Sten said 'No.' Raonar said 'Please?" So Sten said that people are not simple an cannot be summarized in sentences like "Elves are a lithe, pointy-eared people that excel at poverty." Raonar's retort? "So use more than one sentence. We've got all night, so start talking." And of course, when Sten said it was not his duty to teach others of the Qunari (that was the job of the Tamassran), Raonar again retorted by saying that, as an Ashkaari (which Sten had called him, much to his eventual chagrin), he had to seek knowledge and enlightenment.

The point was that Sten would violate his people's ways by denying him the right to learn more of the Qun and the people who follow it. Sten relented and answered his questions only because he wanted to be spared further nagging. And through it all (he actually pried everything out of him about the various occupations and the social hierarchy, etc.), the dwarf had managed to get him to somehow tell him all about how he had gone berserk and killed the ones who had rescued him.

Sten had no trouble admitting to his failures and regrets. After all, denying one's own mistakes was cowardice. He supposed he also owed him that much for reuniting him with Asala (and saving his life by practically curing him of the taint). That Raonar could probably beat him to an inch of his life if he wanted to definitely contributed to the respect and trust the two shared now.

The really unusual part was that the two had even reached the point where they called each other kadan. Sten couldn't exactly remember when that that started but he didn't really mind. It gave him stability, to have something he considered precious even so far from his homeland. That the dwarf had somehow managed to procure cookies for him on several occasions, as well as a couple of paintings, was also something that the giant greatly appreciated.

As far as the others went, he had come to respect their skills. Each was an expert in some field and even Gwen had proven quite formidable at using the same type of weapon as him. Unfortunately, she lacked the sort of feeling of communion he and Asala shared, though he supposed a woman couldn't really reach that sort of unity. He was still not entirely convinced women could really be warriors, though he had to grudgingly admit he had questioned that notion several times already, the same way Alim Surana had made him question his belief that magic was evil.

Yes, another thing he never expected to happen, for one of the Saarebas to actually start to make him think not all magic might be evil. Certainly, that woman, Wynne, had also proven unlike what he expected a mage to be like, asking him if he was cold (Seheron was much warmer that Ferelden after all) and even knitting a sweater for him (which he was currently wearing and had to admit, was cozy). Nevertheless, it was Alim's relentless use of anti mind control magic during the cleansing of the Circle Tower that made him ponder.

That and how handy it was to have Wynne's own magic, which could instantly knit muscles back together and mend broken bones. That Raonar himself could perform certain magical feats was just something extra for him to take into account.

Of course, there were also things he disapproved of, like the overly long time spent in Denerim. Really, they hadn't fought any darkspawn for too long a time (months!). He was supposed to atone for his misdeeds by fighting the Blight, not prowling the streets of some overpopulated city and killing bandits stupid enough to engage them. Granted, he did trust kadan when he said their business there was important, but Sten would have still appreciated some more palpable proof. At least now they were finally going to make good on one of those treaties...

Sten would have probably contemplated things longer if the sounds of hurried footsteps didn't attract his attention.

"-. .-"

Gwen was wondering if she was becoming evil. She couldn't shake the feeling that she accepted Alistair's offer to set up her tent all too easily. She could have probably dealt with his puppy dog eyes if he'd used them but he didn't. He practically ordered her to shoo and let him work, making an off-hand mention that she was useless at it anyway. He actually seemed more driven lately, commanding even, unlike what he used to be up until a few weeks ago.

He had also stopped using jokes like a defense mechanism as well. Where he used to deflect questions with humor, he now had far fewer reservations and spoke his mind. Of course, his sense of humor wasn't gone at all, far from it. That was, after all, an integral part of his charm. What was different was that he used it as a means to tease her, of all things, quite successfully too. He'd also stopped indulging Morrigan's attempts at annoying him.

Basically, he was much more... mature.

"Do you realize you've been smiling for hours now?" Morrigan asked her with a grin as she passed her by.

"Oh, have I?" _Of course I'm smiling. _"You're one to talk."

The witch blinked a few times. "That is besides the point," she waved it off. "I must say I approve however."

"Approve of what?"

"You have Alistair curled around your little finger. Truly, having a man willing, or in this case eager, to meet your every whim is an accomplishment I can respect."

Gwen wasn't sure if Morrigan was being serious or sarcastic, or both, but she didn't really like the implications. "He's not curled around my little finger..."

"No?" the dark-haired woman really looked surprised. "I beg to differ. He's performing your own chore as we speak."

"That's not because..." she trailed off. "He's just being gallant, that's all."

"I fail to see how that contradicts what I said. Still, I say again, I approve."

"I'm not sure how I feel about your approval... And it's not like..." She was going to say that kind of behavior between them went both ways but she stopped. She searched her memory but, to her horror, she couldn't find anything that could prove that true. She couldn't remember even one time when she did him a favor, only of him taking work off her hands.

And thus it was that lady Cousland realized that she had been behaving like a sheltered princess and letting him spoil her. No wonder Morrigan totally failed to consider that actual love might be at work.

This... was a problem. "My word, I really have been exploiting him haven't I?"

"Why the long face?"

Gwen stifled a scream but jumped around anyway. "Zevran! How on earth did you get behind me?"

"I am an assassin, my dear Warden, taking people by surprise from behind is what I do," the Antivan answered, his innuendo completely deliberate. "But again I ask, why so alarmed? Having those of the opposite sex serve such a beauty as you should not come as a surprise, should it?"

"World-shattering as this occasion may be, it seems we agree on this point, assassin," Morrigan added. "Perhaps you should actually take some lessons from the camp fool yourself, mm?"

"He's not a fool Morrigan..."

"And your proof of that is..."

"Do you always eavesdrop on other people's conversations?" Gwen asked Zevran, a weak attempt at changing the subject.

"Not just conversations, but yes. After all, what else is there for me to do? I am not allowed to cook for fear of poisoning you all and I already have all the weapon coatings and drugs I could possibly prepare under the circumstances anyway. I did aid sweet Kallian set up her tent, but my attempts at... striking a conversation... ended up in a dead end. I would have tried my luck with Leliana as well, but she and Wynne haven't returned from the spring yet."

Gwen felt like it would probably be less annoying to start pulling her own hair out, but a noise (someone running), thankfully, put a stop to that pointless exchange of theirs.

Turns out, it was Leliana herself. She ran up to camp and came to a stop, almost out of breath. "You... trouble... Oh my..." She took a few deep breaths. "We have a problem! A big one!"

Even Kallian and Theron, who were preparing the food, turned their attention to the bard, but it was Gwen that addressed her. "What problem?"

The non-chantry sister finally managed to get her breathing more or less under control. "Those two... Faren and... and Raonar, you won't believe this but... they're having it out!"

"What?" Only Zevran didn't join in that choir of shouts.

"What do you mean?" Kallian pried, running close to the commotion.

"I mean fighting! Well, it's a bit one-sided, but they're already throwing punches and kicks! And they're serious!"

Kallian had already run off, soon followed by everyone else, except Sten, whom Alim (he had been reading a book by the fire, again) ordered to stay behind and watch the camp.

"-. .-"

The men and women reached the sight of the struggle soon enough, finding only Wynne watching what was happening from afar...

...just in time to see Faren's fist hitting Raonar straight in the face. "You bastard!" the redhead yelled, angrier than he had ever been before.

The exile staggered back a few steps but managed to regain his balance, just in time for Faren's next punch, who sent his head jerking to the other side. Again he didn't fall, but some red spots appeared on the snow a short distance away from him.

The rogue cut through the snow with a step forward and was going to strike him again. "You son of a bitch!"

His punch was caught in the prince's palm. Then, after an instant, a knee buried itself deep in Faren's gut, causing him to keel over and gasp for breath. The side effect was that he could barely bring his forearms up in time to shield his face from the next knee strike. He was almost flung backwards, but succeeded in avoiding a fall.

The noble wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. "You can hit me and swear at me all you want," he said, in a voice colder than he'd ever used. "But don't insult my mother."

"Fine!" another punch sent blood flying out of the white-haired one's lower lip, but there was no more time to react because Faren let go of all restraint and began showering him with hit after hit, punches, kicks, a veritable barrage of manifested rage. "Guard, you bastard! Fight me, you coward!"

"What on earth are they doing?" Alistair gasped in shock.

"We have to stop them!" Kallian let out, but her charge was stopped by Alim, who grabbed her arm, even before she could move. "Let go of me!"

"Let them sort it out," the elf mage advised.

"Why isn't he defending himself?" Morrigan asked.

Gwen wanted to ask the same but winced when Faren somehow drove his heel straight into his target's abdomen. "Ouch..." was all she could whisper.

"You can't just let Faren keep beating at him!" Laliana pleaded, looking positively panicked.

"Much as I hate to see that delicious physique marred, I am afraid it is not up to us," Zevran said with a sigh. "After all, if our beloved leader does not see the need to shield himself, who are we to question his judgment?"

It was then that Faren managed to land a clean gut punch, followed by a roundhouse kick that practically sent the other one spinning though the air, until he fell on his face in the snow. "Get up! Fight back you fucking, opportunistic asshole!"

"Wynne, you have to talk some sense into them!" Leliana begged.

"I tried but..."

Everyone went silent when the commander began to weakly push himself up, groaning and clutching at his middle with one arm. The snow where he'd fallen had been flattened, but was stained red with the blood pouring out of his face. One of his eyes could no longer open and both his lips were busted.

"What started all this anyway?" Theron asked, sounding remarkably nonplussed about the whole situation. "I feel like I'm looking at a twisted version of our universe."

Leliana was getting too anxious. "It doesn't matter, we have to do someth-"

"Oh, I am NOT getting between those two," Alistair said with a slight shudder that, thankfully, the other ones didn't see.

"Hmpf, so he really is a squishy creature of flesh," Shale mused, "I was starting to think he was more sturdy, like me."

By now, Raonar had managed to get to his feet and, still clutching at his belly, made to turn around...

...only for another kick to grace his face and send him several feet backwards. It was just a last minute backstep that spared him another fall. Faren had started to breathe heavily himself, having thrown more punches and kicks than he'd used on the proving fighters, the guards and all the carta thugs, Beraht included, put together.

But he wasn't tired enough to stop, because he lunged forward and kicked the exile hard in the ribcage. "You fucking used me!" Another kick, in the same place, actually caused the prince to clench his teeth from the pain. "You're no different from all those other noble scum!" Another kick sent snow like a ring around the rogue as he spun again, until the momentum gathered in his heel.

It struck Raonar exactly in the chest and sent him flying quite a distance before he landed on his back and slid through the snow for another half a meter.

Faren looked like he barely had enough energy left to stand. "Fucking say something, Stone DAMMIT!" There was undiluted rage in that shout, but also a shred of something akin to despair.

It took a while, and the onlookers were starting to wonder if the exile was even conscious anymore, if not outright dead, but he eventually moved. Slowly, he pushed himself to lie on his side, after which he used whatever strength he had left to put distance between his face and the bloodstained snow. After a while, he was barely standing, hunched over and breathing painfully.

He probably tried to smile, but his face was such a mess that it looked like anything except that. "I... never said I was any better..."

There was a cry of hopeless rage as the castless rogue ran straight for him and drove his fist cleanly into his jaw with all his might.

There was an audible snap.

The prince collapsed face-down in a motionless heap.

And Faren screamed. "Dammit! DAMMIT! FUUUUCK!"

"He's gone berserk..." Gwen gasped. None of them dared move. They just stood there, staring in shock at what they had just been witness to. Normally, they would have jumped in and broken them up. They would have rushed to give Raonar medical assistance. Either way, they would have done something. Instead, they just stood there, frozen, because those two fighting each other, or one of them beating the other senseless, was such a crazy and impossible scenario in their minds that it left their brains at a loss for what to think, for how to interpret that whole mess.

It fell to the dwarven rogue himself to finally notice them all standing there. His eyes widened, as he hadn't noticed them before then. Eventually, his eyes met Kallian, who was staring at him in utter bewilderment and confusion. Only then did he look at his fists and saw how completely his knuckles were covered in blood, a blood that was not his own.

He looked aside and left, walked away from that scene, passing them by without saying a word. The others didn't even try to follow him, not even with just their eyes. They just waited until his tired but hasty footsteps went beyond their edge of hearing.

Alim was the first to charge off. Soon enough, he was kneeling beside the exile while the others had formed a sort of circle around them. He was a bit hesitant in touching him, but he still pushed him over to get his face out of the snow.

Everyone cringed and even Shale frowned. He was a real mess. His right eye was swollen over and both of his lips were busted in several places. Blood had trickled out of them, as well as his eye and had flowed down until it was absorbed into his beard. The moustache was almost completely red and even some of the hair on his head was stained in his own blood.

At least he was breathing... barely.

Alim and Wynne examined him and found few things promising. Since both Raonar and Faren were only wearing their winter clothing (no armor) there had been nothing to absorb the impact of the strikes. At least two ribs were broken and his jaw was itself fractured.

"So, are we to keep staring or will you inform us of his condition?" Morrigan asked with a certain edge to her voice.

Raonar blindly grabbing Alim by the wrist was answer enough. At least he was able to open his left eye, somewhat.

"What in Thedas happened here?" Alistair finally couldn't hold it in any longer. "How did... Why did you two... Why didn't you fight back?"

The two mages drew back as, even as he lay on his back, the dwarf reached into a pocket and pulled out one of the stack of parchments Wynne had seen him writing on the day prior. He cringed as he reached for it with his other arm and pulled out the sheet on top of the stack, after which he handed it to Alim, only because he was the one within reach.

The elf took it and read it aloud. _**"I deserved this. And if my jaw is broken, don't ask me any questions."**_

There was a pause.

Alim cast a glance in Kallian's direction and gave her a nod, letting her know Raonar's life was not in danger. She breathed a sigh of relief and left, in order to catch up with Faren and ask him what the hell that was all about.

"Maker's breath," Alistair muttered.

"What do you mean you deserved this?" Leliana broke in, still confused and shocked.

"He did just ask us, however indirectly, not to ask him any questions," the witch of the wilds pointed out.

The exile, of course, didn't answer. Instead, he put the stack of papers back in his pocket and refused help, preferring to stand up on his own. It took a while for his efforts to pay off.

"You really shouldn't be walking right now..." _Dammit, these wounds might kill you and we can't use healing magic because it doesn't work on you _Alim wanted to add, but didn't. Raonar would just have to use that healing meditation of his again, even though it took time.

The dwarf just shook his head and, while holding an arm around his fractured ribs, began to hobble in the camp's general direction. And all that time, the others could just stand there, watch and ask themselves...

... what the hell had just happened?

"-. .-"

The tree shook as both bottom sides of Faren's clenched fists struck its trunk. "Dammit..." he no longer had the energy or will to shout. The adrenaline rush settled by the time he returned to the camp and he had finally gotten around to reviewing that whole mess and try to make better sense of it.

He didn't like the conclusions he was drawing.

"Faren..."

_Great, just what I needed._ He twisted his head to look at her. Kallian had stopped some paces away from him and was looking at him with a mixture of disapproval, concern and lingering shock. Her hands were crossed over her chest. She didn't immediately say anything, so he turned around and propped his back against the tree and crossed his own arms in a similar fashion.

"You really scared me back there," she said slowly, not meeting his eyes as though she didn't want to see what was in them. Faren felt a bit sick for a moment.

Just a moment, however. He was still really angry and huffed quite audibly to show it.

"So do I really have to ask you? What the hell **was** that? Why did you... What happened?"

"He's a sodding liar, that's what happened!" he yelled. "He's been holding out on me ever since before we even left that fucking underground city!"

The city elf took a step back and continued to look at him, although warily.

"Don't give me that look!"

The young woman threw her platinum blond hair over her shoulder and looked like she was about to leave. "Maybe I should go before you somehow start to hit me too."

"That was a low blow! I can't believe you could possibly think I'd do that!"

"I would never have thought you two could possibly have a reason to even get upset at each other either, but you just pummeled him senseless!"

"It was his own fault for not fighting back!"

"Right, so you figured it was alright to break as many of his bones as you could!"

"Oh please, like he's going to be in pain for all that long with Wynne-" He stopped mid-sentence, finally remembering that particular problem with healing magic and how they didn't exactly have any overly competent health poultices, at least none strong enough to heal that much damage. Winter made it hard to procure the necessary ingredients. "Bah... Dammit!"

Kallian just scowled at him, but her face softened soon enough and she switched over to worry. "Faren... what happened? This... "

"I..." He ran his fingers through his hair and clenched his teeth. "It's my sister, Rica, she..." he sneered. "Before I left, she told me not to worry, that she'd... found a patron interested in her. I already told you about... all that."

"What does **he** have to do with that?"

"Oh there's a lot! The so-called patron? It's that so-called brother of his! The one that tried to kill him and his other brother! **That's** who my sister got involved with, that's the sort of monster she ended up with and she had no idea! But **he** did! He knew the whole sodding time and he deliberately kept me in the dark about it! Dammit! Now what am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to think? How can I know he didn't suddenly decide she was better off dead? And even without that, Just the thought of a bastard like him... with my sister..."

His fists clenched tight enough to go white.

"So that's why he said he deserved the beating you gave him..." she breathed out.

"Pah!"

None of them said anything for a while, but it was clear enough they still hadn't finished that discussion, so Kallian decided to speak again. "You fiipped out way too hard."

"You can't be serious!"

"Then tell me this! If he'd told you from the start, what would you have done about it?"

"I would've...! I..." he opened his mouth to speak a few more times. "I would've thought of something..." he said lamely.

"Like what? Jumping off the top walls of a castle? You may be all stealthy and clever, but you're really rash!"

"Unbelievable! You're taking his side?"

"This isn't about taking sides!" she finally countered with a short shout of her own. "This is about you acting completely irrationally! Did you even stop to ask him **why** he didn't tell you before? Did you even stop to ask why he even bothered telling you now, by his own initiative, instead of waiting until the truth came out on its own?"

"He should have told me over six months ago!"

"So you could do what? Go back to Orzammar and get yourself killed?"

"That's not..." _That's not what would have happened_ he wanted to say, but he couldn't, because he knew that was **exactly** what would have happened. The guards wanted him for defiling the Provings and the carta wanted him for killing Beraht. No matter how he looked at it, there really would have been no way for him to help make things better, and Rica would have done what she thought was best anyway. "Fuck..."

Fate then proved to have a very bitter sense of irony, because it was that very moment that the dwarf noble came into view. He looked like he could barely stand, but he somehow wobbled along anyway, even with his face bloody and battered as it was. Ever so slowly, he approached his pack, which was next to the entrance to his tent, fell to his knees in front of it and began to rummage through it, weakly, because his broken ribs made it all really painful.

He found three flasks, and drank them, but they didn't do much good save from alleviating the pain somewhat, a testament to just how well he had been trounced. After that, he made off toward the edge of the camp, but didn't stop until he was out of sight again. He kept holding onto his side the whole time, and his walk was far from graceful.

"You even told me he outright tried to keep you from getting involved in his problems, but you did anyway. So, sorry, but I really don't see **how** he was using you," his significant other reminded him.

Faren was feeling a bit sick now. "Shit..."

Kallian said nothing more. She just turned around and left him there to think.

"-. .-"

Faren spent about two hours of that evening thinking. He even skipped dinner (Raonar did too, no doubt because broken ribs probably wouldn't have agreed with hunger anyway). And, even after that time, he failed to actually find honest justification for losing it like that. It all felt so justified, in the heat of the moment, and he had been so angry. He had had to go over his feeling several times before finally figuring out exactly what might have caused that extreme reaction.

Apparently, he had felt betrayed.

The worst part was that, when he tried his best to analyze things objectively, he just couldn't really agree with what he had done. Something just made it all fell wrong. Case in point, he had almost subconsciously made his way to where the one he had beaten the living light out of earlier was sitting.

It was some distance away from camp. The exile was sitting cross-legged, in that all too familiar meditative position, on a blanket spread over the snow. He had his back turned towards the direction that Faren approached him from. Faren couldn't really know if he had heard him come close or not. Either way, he didn't seem to pay him much attention. The prince just... kept meditating and radiating that now familiar white light of his.

The rogue stopped a few meters behind him and just stood there. He didn't really know how to start. He didn't really know what to say, actually. He wasn't even completely sure he had to apologize but, then again, this was probably the first time in his life he ever felt like his trust had been trampled. _Dammit, why does shit have to get so complicated?_

Apparently, he was spared the effort of speaking first because the light of meditation abruptly ceased. Raonar got up, quite easily, all things considered, and turned to face him. The lower half of his face, along with his nose, was covered up in that white scarf of his, and his eye had healed a little, but still couldn't open.

Silence dragged on, but the prince eventually began to walk up to him, slowly. By the time he was close enough to Faren, he had taken out that stack of paper notes again.

He took out the one at the very top of the stack and handed it to the younger dwarf.

_**"My jaw is broken, so we'll have to make do with these for now."**_

Faren read through it and briefly met the noble's gaze. He was completely thrown off by how utterly devoid of any aggression it was, and the warmth it conveyed, even though only one eye could actually open.

The white-haired one handed him the next note.

_**"Do you want to beat the crap out of me again...?"**_

The castless dwarf's fingers suddenly stiffened and the paper crumpled in his hand. He shut his eyes and turned his head away as even his shoulders slumped. "You really knew I was going to freak out... That's why you prepared these..."

Another note was handed to him.

_**"I prepared for the possibility, just in case."**_

"Dammit... is there ANYTHING you haven't prepared for?"

**"Probably. Nobody's perfect."**

Faren was getting really weirded out because those notes had apparently been arranged in the exact order they needed to be to answer every one of his questions as he spoke them. "Why did you just let me hit you?"

_**"I could take it. You need to blow off some steam once in a while."**_

"So what, you just decided to take it all?"

_**"It worked, didn't it?"**_

"What the sod does that even mean?"

The white-haired one seemed to chuckle as he passed him the next paper. _**"if I had fought back, you would have probably refused to speak to me for days."**_

"You gave this a lot of thought..."

There was a moment during which the former prince looked at him in a very disapproving way, with his working eye at least. After that, the next paper, again from the top of the deck, was passed over. **"**_**Stop trying to sweet talk the Stone and ask your questions."**_

Faren really wanted to look defiant and act like the injured party there, but he didn't really manage it. The tone of his voice ended up conveying just a sort of hopeless confusion. "Aren't you angry with me at all...?"

_** "No."**_

"Why?"

Finally, he had to search though his stack of notes before he found the suitable one. _**"Your reaction was prompted by concern and because you felt betrayed."**_

"That doesn't really answer my question..."

_**"No it doesn't."**_

"You've definitely been spending too much time talking to Sten," Faren couldn't help but say.

_**"He probably thinks so too."**_

The redhead rolled his eyes. "Shit man, you predicted I'd say even that?"

There was a faint chuckle and then came the next previously written response. _**"Not predicted, per se. I told you, I just prepared a lot of written answers to whatever questions I thought people may ask me before I had a chance to heal properly."**_

Faren decided to finally ask what he wanted to know before he had a chance to really start feeling guilty and stupid about the whole mess. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Raonar handed him the written answer a bit more slowly than the others. _**"You tell me. If I had told you immediately, what would you have done?"**_

Thinking about it, Faren figured he should have seen that retort coming. It was, after all, a very pertinent thing to ask. So what was the answer? Since his life was forfeit if he was to go back, what with being wanted by practically everyone, he would have gotten in trouble or killed easily. There was always the chance Rica would have been raised to concubine and he would have gone up with her, but the fact was that it was Bhelen, of all people, that had picked Rica out.

Yes, Faren would have tried to persuade Rica out of it and, whether he would have succeeded or not, things would have ended up bad anyway. He probably could have managed it, if he revealed to her about what kind of fratricide he tried to pull. But that would have meant dooming her to keep living in Dust Town, and with all those thugs after them... and her especially... Faren really didn't want to think about that.

The other possibility was for Rica to end up as Bhelen's concubine anyway... and that would have made Faren's life dreadfully complicated and unpleasant. That so-called prince would have probably tried to exploit him in some way, or just dispose of him for knowing too much about him. There were many accidental ways for people to die, after all. Either way, going back to Orzammar, if he was even allowed back in, could either turn out bad or worse, not in any way good.

Apparently, the other dwarf had guessed as much, and his next note made it plain. _**"So yes, I didn't want you to have a reason to go back to that cesspit."**_

Faren wasn't satisfied. "Look man, I know going back to Dust Town would have been a bad idea at that point, but I would have realized it then too! I would have still stuck with you, so why did you wait for so long?"

There was a sigh. _**"If you'd known Bhelen was your sister's patron, you would have spent you every day and night of the past months worrying about things you couldn't affect."**_

Faren really felt like there was a knot in his stomach now. "I... You..."

The prince was quick in giving him the next note. _**"Don't fret, I did tell you months ago I had selfish reasons, right? Basically, I draw a certain kind of joy from seeing you enjoying your life as best you can and I didn't want to lose that feeling of self-satisfaction. So don't start thinking I did it all out of altruism."**_

"That... that doesn't make any sense! Is there any sort of self sacrifice or emotion you can't make look like just another type of selfishness?"

The prince looked thoughtful, as well as someone with a swollen eye can look thoughtful at least. Still, he managed to find an already written answer for that question as well. _**"There is one, yes."**_

"Right... I'm not even going to bother asking."

The noble didn't waste any time in sending the next note over. _**"So, do you hate me?"**_

Faren looked like he'd just been kicked in the gut, or like he wanted to kick himself. "No... I was just so angry... Just the thought of anything happening to my sister... I shouldn't have... Sod..." He couldn't meet his eyes anymore, but of course that guy would know exactly how to calm him down again. The former noble simply placed his hand on the side of his face while the other hand delivered yet another piece of parchment.

_**"You have nothing to apologize for."**_

"Yes I do, dammit! I... I really hurt you for no real reason..."

_**"It's alright."**_

"No it's not!"

_**"I've been through worse, remember? My own brothers wanted me dead for no real reason and you're still way above that level, since you didn't try to outright kill me, even with all that rage"**_

Faren couldn't help but feel that was a very low standard to have when thinking about other people. "How do you do this? Even though you already had enough on your mind, what with your father dying, you still told me this now, knowing I'd flip out unreasonably..."

_**"You're getting angry again, eh?"**_

"Yes, damn you!" he shouted. "All you've been doing was shield me from worry and I broke your bones for doing it! And now you act all understanding and won't even let me hold on to even one idea long enough to put together a suitable apology! How the sod am I supposed to react to this?"

Raonar just turned around and walked off with a chuckle.

"This is just unfair! The way you always take everyone's suffering upon yourself is unfair!" Even though he didn't really understand it himself, he just knew it was unfair, and a really good reason to be pissed off.

Apparently, so did the prince himself, because he threw something in his direction, over his shoulder. It was a paper plane that glided through the air until Faren caught and unmade it, revealing one final piece of written parchment. _**"That's me, I'm a horrible person."**_

Whatever creatures lurked in that wood, despite it being winter, quickly scattered when the forest was filled with a scream of pure, unadulterated exasperation.

* * *

Many thanks to Sarah1281 for letting me allude to Belgret, the woman that, in another time, would have become the wife to an exiled Gorim. If you haven't already, read her 'I Am Not a Tragic Figure," where Aunn Aeducan even meets her at one point. Go read it now.

* * *

_The review space is there and waiting!_


	38. Warden Arc 8: God Is My Nemesis

Author's note: I know I know, I am eager to get to Orzammar too, but what happens in this chapter will be very relevant later. By now, you can probably expect everything I write to tie in with later events, yes? So please use blind bullets when you shoot me, okay?

Disclaimer: Bioware, of course, owns the setting and characters.

* * *

**Chapter 37****: God Is My Nemesis**

"-. .-"

Camping during winter was usually a very unpleasant experience, obviously because, regardless of how thick and insulated one's tent was, the fact remained that keeping warm was very hard, especially in Ferelden, which was a colder country than most. It also happened that they were in the month of Verimensis (Wintemarch), which was practically the coldest of all months of a year. Even with all the furs, the blankets and the alcohol to keep heat away, the danger of frostbite, hypothermia and even death, slow or fast, was still very much present.

This was exactly why everyone was absolutely thrilled by the magical ritual, so to speak, that Alim had invented, with some assistance from Morrigan. Essentially, once the camp was set up, each tent was surrounded by several arcane symbols, either drawn into the snow/ground or previously carved into slabs of wood. Once a suitably accurate circle was set up around each tent (several of said symbols were set around it), they would be charged with magic and would end up creating a sort of field, in the shape of a cone, capable of warming the air inside of it.

All it took was to periodically recharge the symbols with magical energy (the symbols started flashing yellow when they lost too much power), once every hour or so, and anyone could quite comfortably spend the night. Conveniently, any of the three mages needed only to channel some of their mana into the symbols. This, of course, meant that there should always be a mage awake at all times, but this was no problem, what with three such people in that group. That said, there were always at least four 'people' (if one included the mabari hounds... well, they ARE sentient), meaning Shale, a dog, one of said spellcasters and another person, awake at all times, with shifts lasting for half the night.

As it happened, it was Leliana and Morrigan's turn to stand guard during the second half of the night between Verimensis 19 and 20. Naturally, the Bard was feeling conflicted about this duty.

One the one hand there was how she really wanted to sleep in and how she didn't want to leave the warmth of her tent for the chill of the winter night. On the other hand, she supposed she could try and tease Morrigan a little, maybe get her to lighten up a bit an become more open minded, especially when it came to her wardrobe. She could also just go over and play with the dog or talk to Shale, especially now that the golem couldn't decide whether the lack of birds was a blessing or a curse in disguise (she was getting really bored with nothing to squish).

This was her usual state of mind when having to wake up to stand watch.

This once, however, there was another element at play, that being that there was one extra person still out and about, namely a certain dwarf noble. And the bard had to admit she suddenly felt a lot more open to the idea of getting up when Alim revealed that little bit of information when he came into the tent and woke her up for her shift. And that was a bit ironic, considering that the only reason he was even still awake was that he had had to spend hours meditating in order to heal all the broken bones, gashes and lumps Faren had left him with earlier that evening.

After putting on her winter wear, thick cloak included, Leliana took in a last, deep breath of that warm air before stepping out into the cold.

There was only a wolf by the fire, with white fur (Morrigan's wolf form apparently changed its hair color according to the season). Obviously the woman did not feel like talking, hence the shapeshifting. It also probably helped her easily deal with the cold without having to always wear stuffy clothing that is hard to get out of.

Seeing no chance of socialization with the witch, and how Shale had gone off somewhere, if the large tracks in the snow were any indication, the Orlesian went off to see just how their fearless leader was doing. She remembered where he had gone to meditate in peace so that's where she went, passing through the pine trees. As she did so she couldn't help but notice one whose bark had been crushed at about the same level as her shoulders.

That was when she remembered that it was that very tree that Faren had chosen to bang his head against, again and again and again, upon his return from whatever discussion he had with the commander. Yes, the bark had been flattened perfectly according to the shape of his forehead, hence why Leliana couldn't help but snicker as she passed by.

The rest of the walk was spent by the bard with her eyes gazing up at the stars. Such clear nights like these, when the moon was large and full and the stars glittering under its shroud of pale light were few and far between during the winter. She didn't even realize that she was actually putting effort into walking silently, although it wasn't all too hard to accomplish, what with her being nimble and gracefully light on her feet.

Case in point, she actually manage to reach her destination without being noticed and instinctively stopped behind a tree, just slightly peering from behind it.

Finding the exile bare-chested in the middle of winter was definitely not what she had expected. His thick, fur-lined cloak and jacket, along with sweater and shirt, were gathered up in a bundle at the base of one of the larger fir trees, some distance away from where Leliana had hidden.

Not that she paid them much attention.

Indeed, she was too preoccupied spying on the dwarven prince as he went through what looked like some very smooth and certain sword movements, like a kata, only very, very slowly, yet not wavering or making any unnecessary motions. It wasn't exactly like a dance either, a dance would be closer to Kallian's way of fighting. Instead, his whole body seemed to flow, his footwork perfectly matched to the certainty with which the edge of the blade cut flawlessly through the air, even so slowly. It felt like watching master swordsmanship in slow motion and was well in line with how Sten had said he was one of the few people who gave the feeling his weapon was a part of him.

Conveniently, his back was turned to the direction she had approached from, so she didn't immediately panic and run off. The view was actually quite surreal, even to her, someone who had seen her share of wonders, Fereldan and Orlesian both. It wasn't just the tall, snow-bearing trees that circled that miniature clearing. What enraptured her more were the eerie rays of pale moonlight that managed to get through the branches, casting oblique, dark shadows over the subtly gleaming snow.

Some of those rays fell upon him and lost themselves in the white magic glistening across his skin, like quicksilver, always pulsing and gliding, shining and flashing, but never disappearing altogether. And, inevitably, the bard's attention was quite efficient in switching from the fantastic display of magic to his actual body, that well-built frame that she had actually massaged once (and got her fair share of teasing for, although she still thought it had been worth it).

Come to think of it, her heart might have been pounding a bit too fast and her eyes and cheeks shouldn't feel quite so hot. And why exactly did she feel like she should be having a deja vu?

The answer to that second part of the question, though she was not exactly aware of it, was because something quite similar had happened between Kallian and Faren quite a few months before.

Still, she wasn't the elf and he was definitely not the other dwarf.

Leliana almost squeaked and nearly ducked behind the tree when his exercise continued in a half-spin, his right arm bringing the red steel sword in half a circle, horizontally, as he turned on his right heel and stretched his left foot slightly outwards, leaving a semicircle through the snow before stopping it sideways. His sword arm changed the blade's trajectory into a vertical one and continued that string of unwasteful, coordinated maneuvers.

And he did it all with his eyes closed and what could only be the expression of absolute calm. The bard absently noticed he had healed completely, a stark contrast to the bloody pulp he had been made into some hours earlier.

Regardless, whatever chill the red-haired sister had felt upon leaving her tent had easily been dispersed by that troublesome adrenaline that had flooded her system. Oh, if only her blue eyes weren't so sensible to the stray light reflected by that snow she would have actually gotten a better view of his front as his feet slid to a halt. He had turned to his right some more and was no longer facing her direction, but still had his eyes closed, as sight was unnecessary as long as he was one with his sword.

That was when it changed.

His magic flared, yet did not die out. Instead, energy came out of him, in rays, and poured though his fingers into his weapon, causing it to shine just as brilliantly. He no longer cast a shadow.

Leliana was too busy wondering if she should write a ballad about this or some romantic love story, preferably with herself as the protagonist.

As such, she didn't quickly enough get her wits back together, not before his arm moved faster than the eye and brought the sword up in a vertical slash, precisely in her direction. Whatever power he had charged into the weapon surged out of it and came like a wave straight for her, volleying snow into the air, a chilly, white powder, like a gust of blizzard.

She ducked behind the tree only after the wave of snow hit her. The woman squeaked as some of it found its way beneath her clothes (which she hadn't tucked in as tightly as she should have before leaving her tent). The patch that ended up at the back of her neck and immediately melted into cold water and trickled down her back was particularly unnerving, enough so that she couldn't help but shudder and mutter half a curse. "Of all the...!" She covered her mouth a second too late.

"Come out, Leliana."

_Oh bollocks_. She tried to look as though she had just gotten there when she came out into the open, still trying to shake off the snow she had been sprayed with but only succeeding in getting more of that cold water beneath them."How long did you know I was there? And how did you know it was me?" She saw that he was resting the sword over his shoulder and was looking at her sideways, looking pretty much like a normal dwarf. A very fit, bare-chested but otherwise normal dwarf. She again had to be all but amazed at how young he looked even despite his white hair and the fact that his beard was long enough to reach his sternum (the beard style matched his facial features too. Dwarves really did look good with beards).

He resumed his exercise. "The dogs don't bother keeping silent when they want me to wrestle with them. Sten is hardly stealthy. Morrigan and Wynne aren't overly subtle, and Zevran even more so, unless he wants to kill you. He would have probably come out as soon as he got here and offered to give me 'invigorating massages' if I just accompanied him back to his tent. It's not like he didn't suggest it before." He stopped and sighed hopelessly. "As for everyone else, we are Grey Wardens, so we can sense each other's presence. Thus, by process of elimination, of course it would be you. And you even squeaked, so this whole explanation was probably unnecessary anyway."

The heat in the red-haired sister's cheeks really was getting intense now. She was actually asking herself why she was reacting like this. Maybe it was how he didn't seem to be feeling at all uncomfortable with her there to look at him and his bare torso (and back). _And those muscles are just delici- Wait, dangerous thoughts. Bad imagination, bad!_

_ 'Oh seriously' _ her inner self told her. '_You are so obviously over your heels for him.'_

_ 'I am NOT...! ... am I?"_

_ 'If you need to ask the question...'_

_ 'Perfect, my imagination starts speaking to me and it decides to sound like Morrigan, of all people.' _Her accent sounded even more Orlesian in her head.

_ 'Says the one that offered to buy the witch clothes with a sufficiently exposed bust.'_

_ 'That was different!' _Leliana even pouted, mentally anyway.

_'Exactly, that was just playful banter!'_ Inner Leliana declared in triumph. _'This is the real thing!'_

_ 'Wait... what?'_

_ 'Think of it this way: When was the last time you felt like this? And who made you feel it?'_

Leliana didn't notice the long stare Raonar was sending her. She was too busy maintaining a blank look and having that mental conversation. _'It can't be...'_

_ 'Yesss, it can!' _Inner Leliana pronounced smugly.

_ 'Well... I suppose he is attractive enough, in his own way...'_

_ 'His own way?'_

_ "Okay, fine, he is attractive! Are you happy now? By the maker, how inappropriate!'_

_ 'Hey, I am simply a figment of your imagination. I only know what you feel. Thus, I am overjoyed at how you are finally interested in a man. Marjolaine was many things, but definitely not a man.'_

_ 'Hush you! Go do something constructive and stop badgering me!'_

Inner Leliana muttered something and slipped out of the reach of her immediate attention.

"And you are spacing out because..."

The woman finally realized she was scratching her chin and examining him like he was some prize. She shook her head and flushed. "Oh, apologies. I was... a little distracted."

"Are you alright?" he asked, either genuinely oblivious to how flustered she was or just faking ignorance. He was, after all, known to be a master of misdirection and the bard, naturally, knew this. But oh, how easy it was to forget, and how convenient...

The not chantry sister decided to postpone a rational examination of her mental episode and switched to safer topics. "How is it that you don't have any scars?" _Not that I mind, of course._

The distant gaze in his eyes as he looked to the side took her by surprise, just as much as that mirthless smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I don't get scars, only wounds..." He let his eyes look at the sword in his hand, the gaze sliding down from the tip to the hilt. "Wounds that never really heal..." His vision seemed to snap back into focus and he looked up at her. "Sorry, did I say that out loud? Anyway, I used to have a few scars, but they healed after the joining. Well, I healed them once I gained the ability. It took a while for each to completely disappear though."

The midnight air of the cold season must have finally started to affect him because he went over to pick up his clothes. The redhead didn't feel like she wanted to stop 'socializing' though. After she saw he had finished pulling his sweater over his shirt, she came up to him. "Here, let me help you with that."

The dwarf looked up at her again, one eyebrow raised as he had an expression akin to slight puzzlement (or he was being deliberately vague about it). He didn't refuse her assistance however, and just looked up at her, head tilted slightly to the left as she buttoned up his jacket. "There, now you look like a perfect gentleman!"

"As opposed to having only half my clothes on?"

Leliana's mouth opened to say something, then snapped shut. She decided to back off a step and look at his sly grin. _Why am I getting all flustered? He's not even flirting... I think..._

"So, why did you come all the way out here?"

"I... came to see how you were doing, I suppose..." she trailed off. "That... argument... with Faren. I got the short version of it from Kallian earlier but ... I don't understand. Why now?"

"You mean why didn't I wait until the eve of our arrival to my home city before slamming the news?"

"I mean why so soon, while you are still grieving?"

"That's exactly why."

There was a pause.

"I'm afraid I don't understand," she said.

He reclaimed the blade that once belonged to his second and returned to where he was before. "Sometimes, in order to deal with conflicting emotions, one only needs a distraction." He began to channel magic again. "I told him about how I knew about who his sister had ended up with and let him beat me to a pulp." He seemed to follow a different set of movements and the magic was shining even through his clothes. "And then we made up half-way."

"Half-way?" _I feel like I should be making more sense of this..._

_ 'The reason you're not is because you're having impure thoughts! Some chantry sister...'_

_ 'I thought I told you to go away! And those impure thoughts are yours, not mine!'_

_ 'That's... a very strange thing to say to yourself.'_

Leliana produced a very annoyed mental groan, but was again snapped to awareness when the exile continued his explanation.

"He's a bit frustrated and pissed at me while also feeling a bit guilty for losing it like that. Thus, he won't spend all of his time worrying about his sister. As for me, I have the reassurance that he doesn't hate me, and that he's not irreversibly angry with me, as a means to counterbalance the really bad mood I was in because of the news about my father dying."

Leliana blinked.

Twice.

"I would have never thought about it like that..." _And here I thought I would be able to comfort a grieving hero, like in those tales of love and sacrifice._

Inner Leliana returned. _'You know, the last time you told him a story he thought it was stupid.'_

_ 'Go sulk somewhere! And that doesn't count! Wait, why am I still arguing with myself?'_

Thankfully, the exile drew her attention away from her mental dilemma again. "Well, I **am** weird, I know. The whole fiasco that involved my exile is proof of that,' he said almost casually.

Ah, finally, the bard remembered just what she initially wanted to talk to him about. "About that, I just wanted to say I am very impressed. You would probably be a master of the game in Orlais."

The prince abruptly stopped statue-still. Then, the light of his magic pulsed once before fading to nothing. A cloud had moved in front of the moon and had covered half of it, causing the light to dim significantly. "You think so, do you?" he said flatly, turning to look at her, but not enough to actually face her, which was probably a good thing, considering that he was frowning, almost glaring really.

"Did I say something wrong?" She really didn't understand that reaction.

His voice wasn't exactly hostile but there was a certain edge to it. "Let's just say this is more or less the same situation as when you tried to compliment Theron by telling him how valued elven servants were in Orlais."

_'Wait... what?'_

"Allow me to make a demonstration," he added, turning around and moving closer to one of the bigger trees until he was just several feet away, though not close enough to reach it with his sword. "**This** is what I feel about The Game!" A moment was all it took for his magic to flare again, and he made a wide, diagonal swing with his sword.

The tip of the blade did not reach the tree by over twenty inches, but its trunk ended up with a long cut anyway, straight through the rough bark and several inches deep into the wood behind it. Even a shrill was heard as whatever anger he had summoned gushed out through his weapon, and whatever force rushed past the wooden obstacle disturbed the snow behind it on either side, much like the gust that had hit her earlier.

Only afterwards did he turn his head enough for one of his eyes, now shining with their own light, to meet hers. "I don't play games with peoples' lives. That **Game **you seem to be so fond of**,** I **despise** it."

Speechless was definitely a word whose meaning Leliana was experiencing right now. She didn't expect her attempted compliment to backfire so horribly (again). She did think he had overreacted a little, but she had to admit that, thinking about it, getting his family destroyed because of the Game was probably enough of a mitigating element. it's not like he had lost his temper, after all, and she was already well acquainted with how thoroughly he chose to prove his point when the situation called for it.

"I am sorry," she said honestly. "I did not mean to offend..."

"Meh," he shrugged it off, as though it really didn't matter anymore. "No big deal. I know I can be really confusing. Anyway, I think I'll finally go back to camp and some sleep now. You coming?"

_'This, my sweet!" _Inner Leliana actually bellowed inside her skull. _'He said he was going to bed and asked you to join him!'_

"Ex- Excuse me?" she sputtered.

"I am going to get some sleep," he said, blinking. "And wanted to know if you were going to loiter here or accompany me back to camp. You're supposed to keep watch there right?"

"Oh, yes... Yes indeed..." _'I definitely need to stop indulging my imagination...' _

_ 'You're a bard. What you said is technically impossible to achieve,' _her inner self quipped.

_ 'Especially vocal ones like this one..."_

_ 'You have quite the task ahead of you then.'_

"-. .-"

_Excerpt from journal of Senior Enchanter Wynne_

_28 Verimensis, 9:31, Dragon:_ _We are now some miles to the north of Lake Calenhad, an impressive progress if I do say so myself. After that whole revelation about Faren's sister was over with, our commander has been definitely pushing us to reach the dwarven city as soon as possible, something no one had any complaints about. I think these young men and women actually welcomed the challenge and exercise._

_ I was initially concerned my rickety old bones wouldn't be able to cope with this hurried march, but even with all the troubles going through his mind, Raonar actually took the time to ask me personally if I was feeling alright. I suppose I should have expected nothing less from him. Of course, I should also have expected him to see perfectly through my lie when I said I was fine because he arranged for Bodahn and Sandal to make some room in their cart for me, since our own is packed full with various equipment, our tents and all the other supplies (the cauldron, healing herbs, potions, salves, arrows etc.)._

_ I did my best not to spend too much of our travel time so shamelessly taking advantage of this grace but I found I still had no choice but to rest my feet from time to time (and I'll have to give it to Morrigan that she was right to say I'd just be holding everyone back otherwise, though her aggressive attitude I definitely do not enjoy. What does Alim see in her, I wonder?)._

_ We passed through several villages on our way here, most of them crowded with refugees. We learned that people have been fleeing to the Free Marches, many stowing away on ships and/or paying to be shipped out of the country illegally. Men and women, humans and elves both, have been fleeing the Blight that looms to the south as well as the civil war that should seriously erupt within a month._

_ Bodahn was a bit put out by how he found so very few trading opportunities even with all those people, since they barely had any silver and were interested in food for the most part, something the dwarf didn't exactly deal in. The silver lining in all this was that he decided to offer a sizable discount on his goods, leading to many ingredients and miscellanea being bought by us and eventually made into various trap components, courtesy of our dear Dalish elf hunter._

_ It is almost noon now and I suspect we shall soon make a very short stop in order to have some form of lunch._

"-. .-"

The Imperial highway had been left behind quite some time ago and the group was now progressing through a fairly wide beaten path through the forest (beeches and oaks for the most part, since the coniferous wood was higher up). Everyone had noticed how it had become a bit more chilly, but that was understandable, considering that they had almost reached the foot of the northern reaches of the Frostback Mountains.

The road was the same one used by all caravans that passed to and from Orzammar, but it was also surrounded by the wilderness on both sides, so anyone passing though it could be sure to benefit from armed escorts, in case wild animals or bandits got any bright ideas. Unfortunately, the path itself seemed to have been iced over for the most part, so the advance was slow.

It helped that Shale had decided to go on ahead and stomp the ground with her magical fire-enhanced feet, at Raonar's behest (who actually walked alongside the giant of stone, along with his black hound) though Shale **had** whined about how she wanted to squish something for real. Alim and Morrigan were walking in tow some distance behind the golem, using their own magic to grind the remaining ice patches.

Morrigan cast a glance behind her. Gwen and Alistair were just out of earshot and talking about some nonsense or another (Damon was snorting and whining curiously at their antics), while Faren and Kallian were walking and talking several paces behind. Faren was pouting -again- because Zevran was grinning and talking, probably offering his expert advice on the matters of the bedchamber (Kallian's blush seemed to confirm that assumption).

Theron and Sten were silently holding their places in line even further behind (the elf was guiding the two oxen that pulled their supply cart) but the Qunari was probably having trouble keeping his stoic facade because Leliana seemed to be teasing him about how he had picked up some flowers that had somehow sprouted even through the snow.

The bard didn't look like she bought it when he said they were medicinal.

Finally, that dwarf merchant and his adopted, lyrium-addled kid were at the far back, if one didn't count their own two oxen and the cart (which Wynne was currently riding in).

The witch of the wilds faced forward again and smirked. "'Tis truly amazing how many hours those four can spend smiling." She had a thick cloak covering her and her signature, revealing robes, plus a staff in the shape of a cobra in her hand, whose magic-charged, lower end she periodically struck against the icy ground (it had been bought from the Wonder of Thedas in the capital).

Alim Surana wasn't completely surprised by her sarcasm and only for a moment looked back to the two couples. "They're lucky. Love isn't easy to find." He was clad in leather jacket and pants, as well as a swede longcoat, dyed black, which had been tailored for him back in Denerim, at the dwarf noble's suggestion (he had said that the arguably most powerful of the wardens needed to look proportionally badass and that robes just wouldn't do because they were the same as a huge sign that said 'I am a mage, SHUN ME!'). A couple of spare extra longcoats were packed in their cart too ('just in case' obviously, one with the grey warden crest weaved on the back).

The dark-haired woman scoffed as she blast a pile of troublesome snow away. "Love... such a foolish notion."

"Foolish, is it?" The elf was no stranger to the concepts of survival and how feelings can be seen as weaknesses. He used to have the same ideas, once upon a time, but he found much more meaning in his friendship with Jowan, catastrophic though it was, and in the one with a certain someone else, than he ever did in solitude. "I suppose one should thank Flemeth for the way you think?"

"My mother may have been many things I dislike, but she was no fool and her lessons, while harsh, were valuable," she answered, a bit pointedly, or so Alim saw it. "Regardless, what use is there in love? In attachment? 'Tis all just weakness."

The blood mage used pure intent to cause a small gust of wind to blow a strand of his black hair away from his eyes. "You sound like you you're trying to convince yourself of that..."

The shapeshifter glared at him, but only for a moment. "I am not in doubt... do not be foolish."

"Foolish? Me? How rude," he mock-glared, clearly enjoying her slight uncertainty. "I actually have another hypothesis..."

He could clearly see Morrigan trying to look nonplussed. "Pah! Need I ask why? Or will you say it either way?" She couldn't help but purse her lips.

"I think you're envious of them."

Morrigan tripped (her boots didn't agree with her feet just then, for reasons unknown) but managed to avoid falling on her face. "Why would you... Now that is just ridiculous." She managed to recover enough to resume her walk, though she caused the ice in front of her to shatter a bit more violently than usual.

"Not at all. You can't tell me you don't like receiving gifts, for instance."

She waved him off. "I would not know nor care. The concept is fairly new to me and I feel no urge to change this."

The slightly shorter mage reached into a side pocket. "Oh? Then what is that rose I made for you if not a gift?"

"That's..." her mouth snapped shut, remembering that, even now, that red ice rose was on her person. The one he had given her, supposedly on a whim, when they first met in the Korcari Wilds (and which had subsequently grown thorns when she saved him from death). "I had... forgotten about that... It was long ago," she said lamely.

"Then maybe I should get you back up to speed on the concept." He took out a brooch, made of silver and with a small sapphire on the front. Then, as he walked, he pinned it to the front of Morrigan's cloak. Meanwhile, she was too shocked to do anything but numbly keep stepping forward while staring at him. "There, now all you need is a mirror like the one Flemeth shattered and you'll have a full set of personal effects worthy of your beauty!"

"Why you...! You can be so unnerving... All this... 'tis most unnecessary and pointless!"

"No it isn't," Alim countered, flashing his most charming smile, clearly enjoying the entire scene.

Unfortunately, it that mood was not fated to last, because the two suddenly heard Raonar gasp from up ahead. And when they looked up, they saw how, for some reason, their so-called fearless leader stopped in his tracks and seemed to sway, drawing Shale and Rinne's attention. He then practically staggered back a step and pressed his fingers against his temples, as if he had suddenly gotten a horrible headache.

The very same moment, something similar happened to Kallian, who stooped and leaned on Faren for support, everyone else just flinching from the surprise. Zevran, oddly enough, immediately straightened up and began to look around, searching for anything that may ambush them. "What is it, fair Warden? Do you sense any of those fiends?" asked the Antivan, his voice carrying the chill of one who could kill without a second thought.

The city elf's eyes widened as though she had seen something horrible and the hand not cradling her forehead covered her mouth. "So many..."

"I don't sense anything," Gwen said, confused.

"Me neither," Alistair added, exchanging glances with Faren, whose own eyes said much the same thing.

"**Everyone get suited up**!" the commander's voice thundered, instantly getting everyone's attention. He had already run back to the group but was still massaging one of his temples. "We've got darkspawn incoming!"

"But we can't sense a thing!" Faren protested while supporting the fair-haired elf.

"No... he's right... it's true," the latter uttered. "And they're so many."

"We've got a swarm of those things coming straight for us from the southwest!" Raonar shouted again, so that everyone could hear. "They'll reach us in less than an hour! Just put on your equipment! And take as many healing supplies as you can without impairing your prowess!"

Sten and Theron immediately began to ransack through the bags in their cart and taking out all of the heavy and massive armor suits they needed (only the mages and those used to light armor were already suited up, them being Theron, Faren, Kallian, Zevran and Leliana, the others only wearing chainmail shirts under their winter wear).

"But that would place them about four miles away!" Alistair realized in amazement. "You mean you two can sense them from so far away?"

Raonar was too busy talking to Alistair and Morrigan. "You two, go deep into those woods in **that** direction and find a good ambush spot. After that, this is what I want you to do..." he started to explain something very quickly, Alim nodding once in a while.

"How many are they?" Leliana inquired while looking for her bow and extra arrows.

Kallian straightened up and just went over to prepare as many throwing knives as she could possibly carry. "Too many to count."

"Dammit man, how many?" Faren turned towards the exile, hoping he would have a better estimate.

But the question went by ignored. "Theron, take all the things you can use for traps and go with these two," the bearded one gestured towards the two shapeshifters. "They'll brief you when you find a good place to fight."

"You'd better keep up!" Alim told him, with no sort of amusement, before turning into a wolf, a spell that Morrigan mirrored, before charging off.

Theron tossed Gwen her own breastplate. "I suggest you be quick about this," the Dalish said flatly before running after them faster than any man or elf should be able to.

"Hurry up, we have 45 minutes tops to suit up, get to our positions and engage those things," said the white-haired one as he finally put on his silverite dwarven cuirass. "Bodahn, take care of both our carts, will you?" The merchant nodded.

"I've never seen you so alert before," the Orlesian bard told him with a frown. "Are they truly in such numbers?"

He pulled his gauntlet on and his eyes flared white as he pushed his senses to its limit. "Over 200..."

The atmosphere was suddenly much more tense.

"-. .-"

There was barely a sound in that clearing, save for the very creepy noise of what could only be spider legs. Giant spider legs, that is. Two huge arachnids were swinging and dangling from a tree branch to another in their effort to complete their immense spider web, web large enough to stretch over the entire clearing below and even some distance into the forest on every side.

Below, in the middle of that glade stood the Commander of the Grey, his massive coat of plates shimmering. He had no helmet on, but Maric's Blade was already drawn and a silverite round shield did its job well at protecting most of his left flank (his height definitely helped there). On his right was Alistair, wearing a templar's set of massive armor, complete with full helmet, that they had looted during their Circle Tower adventure. Duncan's sword and shield were almost humming in anticipation as he grasped them tight.

On Raonar's left was Sten, whose great height, combined with the commander's low stature, should let him swing Asala around without overly much concern. He had a full plate body armor made of red steel that could as well have weighed nothing, so natural it looked on him. He had also chosen not to wear a full helmet, because it would have made it hard to see close foes (the visibility was very skewed, especially from his height).

Shale stood erect near the southeast edge of the clearing, her fire crystals burning and with a pile of boulders (as many as could be found on such short notice) waiting beside her. She was brimming in delight at the chance to crush things again. Meanwhile, pressing her back against a tree on the northwest border of the glade (the same direction as the approaching darkspawn) was Gwen, dressed in her own silverite heavy armor (Sophia Dryden's plate would have taken too long to put on). Faren stood crouched on the branch of said tree, right above her, in his Dark Wolf attire (complete with scarf and mask, but with the white side of his cloak in view).

Zervan was doing much the same thing as Faren, only on the tree near Shale, at whose foot Kallian waited. The Antivan had his inscribed leather armor and a grey cloak to obscure him, while the city elf Grey Warden had a specially-made set of armor, a sort of mix between light and medium. A perfectly-fitting leather vest had a silverite scale shoulder pad and sleeve on the right arm, while the left arm made do with a much more flexible suede sleeve and glove (perfect for fast drawing of throwing knives).

The legs had similar protection, though some weights on the left calf made sure the balance of the wearer was not impaired. The boots were drakeskin-made, with plating on the front and the sole. She had chosen not to wear a cloak, because it would have gotten in the way, but she did have her own, brown scarf, whose two ends hung gracefully behind her.

Theron was hidden up in a tree to the southeast, closest to where the spawn were expected to emerge. His armor consisted of a drakeskin vest, boots and gloves, plus a pair of fur-lined pants. A cloak hung from his shoulders. Basically, he had everything he needed to quickly jump around and confuse the enemy by shooting from various places. The dragonthorn bow Far Song was yearning for a workout.

Meanwhile, Leliana and Wynne were on the northeast end of the clearing, for support and to ensure nothing came unexpectedly from behind. The bard had her own suit of chainmail armor, plus a sylvanwood longbow and two red steel daggers, while Wynne had her robes (with many pockets filled with lyrium dust, potions and other things). He staff was at the ready.

As for the two mabari hounds, as well as Theron's wolf, they were laying as close to the ground as possible on the edge of the clearing, near where Kallian was.

Morrigan and Alim returned to their natural forms, each standing up in one of the large trees on either side of the Bard and elderly mage. "Aren't you going to pick up your staff?" the witch asked the elf.

"Not to worry," he pulled out a short, silver rod with what looked like an emerald on the tip. "I have my magic wand," he said, with a totally serious voice.

Morrgan, Wynne and Leliana all stared at him, gobsmacked.

"What? Did you see how huge that thing is?" Alim defended himself. "You go ahead and do your best to keep your balance up here, Morrigan. Besides, a wand is **much** easier to aim, and a lot of Tevinter Magisters have them. They're like an assassin's hidden, spare dagger."

"What kind of self-respecting mage uses a wand?" Morrigan asked sarcastically, holding her own, cobra-shaped weapon (which was taller than her) in the posture of one that promised ultimate punishment to any opponents. Her other hand was on her hip. "Can't you just use your bare hands?"

"A wand adds more focus. Besides, I am no mere mage!" the Warden declared in the sort of humor a certain white-bearded dwarf was known to possess. "I am a wizard! Anyway, my staff is over there." He pointed to a tree across the spider web net. "Just a wave of my sparkling fingers away."

The ones on the ground were anxiously waiting for their enemies to show. Alistair, apparently, was the most curious. "Are you sure this wasn't a false alarm?"

"You'll get your confirmation soon enough," the dwarf said grimly. "Though I admit, 200 of those things coming so far North... It doesn't fit. Why could they be here? And they seem to be coming straight for us..."

"It matters not," Sten said flatly. "We will slay them and move on."

"I hear that!" Faren said from where he was stooped and staring ahead.

The next minute passed in a tense silence.

Then, all the other wardens finally sensed those things approach, like a wave of psychic nausea that they were, by now, more than apt at shrugging off, but they all still widened their eyes in shock when they realized that they really were are many as Kalian and the Warden Commander had said. "Bloody bronto spit!" Faren cursed.

"Keep your wits together!" Raonar ordered in his 'I won't take any whining' tone. "It doesn't matter how many they are as long as we can control how many we face at any given time!"

There was an explosion in the forest up ahead, signaling that the first wave of monsters had been caught in Theron's farthest trap (he hadn't had time to set up many, but the ones he did would cause the darkspawn to scatter and, hopefully, end up tangled in the sipderwebs weaved by Morrigan and Alim.

After some more explosions, thrumming began to be heard, ever closer, until the first genlocks and hurlocks were spotted, grunting and growling as they crushed the snow underfoot and screamed at their natural enemies, leaping with their hideous blades, maces, pikes and whatever else for the kill.

Coincidentally, another exploding trap was right there, and those first beasts were blown to bits. Those that came afterwards, however, were not daunted and just as ugly.

The stench of the taint slammed into everyone like a wall.

Alistair cast a smite on the first emissary he saw. "Take it out!" he yelled, just before a genlock engaged him and the battle was finally joined, with all the grunts, gasps, yells and battle cries that came with it.

By now the two shapeshifters had already returned to their spider forms and were rapidly traversing their spider net over to the other side, where the enemies were thickest. They reached their intended spot and turned back to human and elf just when Theron's first arrow fell the emissary that Alistair had disabled.

Morrigan cast a sleep spell while Alim began to focus ice magic. His left hand sustained the orb of energy while the wand in his right performed small circular motions that visibly added to the intensity of whatever magic he wanted to unleash. Unfortunately, darkspawn kept charging in, and everyone already had their own enemies to fight down below, except Wynne and Leliana (who was proving to have more than decent shooting skills), who were relatively safe at the back.

There were already seven dead fiends, not counting the ones blown up, but three times as many still alive and pressing their advantage, their enraged bellows just barely eclipsing the sounds of metal striking metal.

The three warriors in the middle had come to be a bit farther apart from each other than before, but this only gave them more room to fight. Each of them killed enemy after enemy with one or two strikes, but something was off.

A genlock's head flew as Maric's blade hissed in revulsion. "They're trying to tire us out," the dwarf noble realized. "Everyone, save your arrows and throwing knives for later!" His blade sunk deep into the gut of a hurlock and came out through its back, easily piercing the shoddy iron cuirass.

Finally, the elven mage finished his magic gathering and shot that orb of crackling power straight in the direction where the thickest of darkspawn wave was coming from.

There was a blast and a shrill as a storm of freezing winds and blizzard awoke there, as if it were imploding and taking all enemies with it. The creatures began to freeze and even grow small icicles. "Now Shale! break them!" Alim shouted, and the golem was quite quick in throwing one of the large boulders it has gathered straight at the middle of that onslaught.

Only some had the strength left to scream as their body parts broke from their bodies, most shattering into too many bits to count. So the shapeshifter resumed his spider form and deftly crawled across that spider net nearer to the very large and inviting mass of fresh blood.

"-. .-"

Five minutes into the fight, Kallian had already lost count of how many of those things had died, but she wasn't really paying attention either. She just reached out with her acute sense, to ensure she was reasonably safe, while she took out a flash of red liquid from her pouch.

An arrow flew through the air above her and killed a shriek that was approaching from several meters into the wood behind her, but she ignored the event as she began to dip her throwing knives into that substance. "is that... blood?" Zevran asked from above her, killing an enemy of his own from afar with a knife through the neck.

"Yes," Kallian confirmed. "Mine."

The Antivan was actually shocked enough to completely forget about the fight for a moment. "What? But how...? Why...? Never mind, I assume I don't want to know."

Kallian's sharp ears twitched. '_Seven darkspawn. Three genlocks, two hurlocks and two shrieks, twelve meters behind me.'_ An arrow flew from Theron's bow (he was in a tree somewhere) and struck one of them. '_Okay, just one hurlock then.'_ She took her curved blade by the hilt, that hilt that all had noticed had a sort of hole where the palm grasped it. That same sword also had an indentation that ran along the blade's edge, up until the tip.

She tuned out the sounds of battle coming from what could no longer be called a glade, so littered with bodies and blood and sweat it was that the snow already ran red and black with blood.

Then, she pushed at the pommel of her sword with her free palm, finally revealing why that sword of hers was so strange.

A spike emerged from the aforementioned hole and pierced her palm, her blood flowing through the hilt and alongside the edge.

The first monster she struck wasn't mortally wounded, having been sliced across the arm (if those things shrieks had could even be called arms). But her blood began to burn it from the inside, and quickly spread though the tainted bloodstream, like an ultimate poison that no darkspawn could escape, even causing visible, anatomic changes in the shape of whitened veins. The clawed, hunched thing shrilled in pain and fell to the ground, screaming so maddeningly that all of its so-called brethren were actually startled, enough for a freezing spell to hit them all at once, leaving them more than vulnerable to yet another one of Shale's boulders.

This was one effect of Avernus' research, that her blood had become deadly for darkspawn.

The other effect was an uncannily developed warden sense, which actually allowed her to read darkspawn intent as long as they were within a reasonable distance of her (and detect them from afar if they were many enough, like she'd done earlier). '_This one will try to stab me in the shoulder'_ she bent slightly sideways and grabbed its wrist. '_Now it will try to kick my shin_' she countered with her plated heel while almost casually cut a different hurlock on the leg as it tried to flank her.

The latter was writhing in pain on the ground even before she stabbed her other attacker through the chest. _'Two are coming up from behind me'_ She spun around and parried a sword, but the other assailant fell dead when Zevran descended upon it from above, his kill instantaneous.

Only then did one of their own finally give out a cry of pain as an arrow struck him through the shoulder.

_'That thing will kill Alistair,' _she realized, even while her back was turned to that particular scene. Unfortunately for that darkspawn, she had throwing knives, and she was already bleeding.

"-. .-"

Alistair cringed as that arrow somehow found its way to that vulnerability in his armor, so he could barely bring his shield up in time to block a mace. Unfortunately, the hurlock hit hard enough to throw him to the ground, which was especially bad because no one was close enough to help him.

His full helmet fell off his head, but he was too dazed to recover fast enough. Stilll, for some reason, he did eventually get his wits together. The creature was pulling a throwing knife out of its shoulder. It then screamed and began to claw at that very shoulder as white veins started to creep up its neck, through its skin.

It dropped to the ground soon after, not dead but dying, painfully. "What in the Maker's name?" he muttered and winced as he pulled the arrowhead out. Thankfully, the welcome feeling of healing magic filled him like a blue mist and he was uninjured once more.

But the things were too many, and already they all had too many to engage.

It was then that Raonar whistled.

On signal, the three hounds leapt from cover and ran straight through the ranks of the darkspawn, breaking their charge in a shower of barks and bellows of pain, leaving the rest as easy prey for Asala. From the other side, Gwen came out from where she had gone ignored, her greatsword advancing with massive and wide swipes, dismembering or beheading those things two or three at a time. "Die damn you! Plague this world no more!" she yelled as she took her position besides the only other human Warden, but not too close, so that she could to fight freely.

And all three genlocks that would have overwhelmed the Warden Commander were eliminated when the dark wolf jumped through the air, landing on top of the middle one and driving his chained daggers through the skulls of the other two.

"Back to back, is it?" joked the one whose white hair now had some red spots to complain about. "Stay close."

A chain jingled through the air as daggers began to fly and slay. "Why are these things focusing their attack on you?" he shouted, loud enough to make himself heard over the emerging chaos.

"Stand ready down there!" Theron yelled at them from above, apparently taking more than usual to aim his next shot. "Two ogres on approach. One has Shale's boulder!"

Even Sten's head jerked around, just in time to see a giant rock being flung in their direction. He dived to the side, his heavy armor allowing him just enough speed and reach to barely avoid being slammed directly. Faren was able to actually **run on the darkspawn themselves, **jumping from one head to the next in quick succession before landing with a knife through one's throat.

The dwarf noble was, ironically, close enough to the source of the projectile, so he ducked and, since the rock was still high enough in the air, it passed over him quite harmlessly. The boulder landed loudly and violently and jumped a few times before smashing into the tree Leliana was using as cover.

Splinters and snow flew around as she rolled away, but she hurt her shoulder. Fortunately, Wynne was quick in administering healing before making a particularly worthy effort to heal everyone of their allies at once.

"-. .-"

Some distance away, Theron jumped down next to where Kallian had just skewered yet another shriek. Then, quite nonchalantly, he drew an arrow and dipped it into her flask of personal blood. "You know, you could have told us you were preparing this, lethallan," he said suavely, drawing back his bowstring. "That way, I could have prepared an entire quiver of darkspawn-slaying assan in advance," his arrow flew and sunk deep into the shoulder of the Ogre that was getting ready to launch another boulder.

The horned monster dropped the rock and began flaying about madly, killing its on kin in the process as white streaks began to spread up its neck and down its arm and chest. It wasn't enough to kill it but more than enough to send it into a fit of agony.

"So what, you would have bled her dry?" Zevran intervened, half-mockingly, killing yet another one of those things. He had passed the first dozen of kills minutes ago.

Theron chuckled, and it sounded scary. He almost never laughed. "Only just." His bowstring drew back once more.

"Watch out!" Zevran yelled and violently pushed the city elf out of the way of a stone missile. That was the problem with Kallian's ability to sense darkspawn intent, they had to be within a certain distance of her. Thus, Zevran took the full brunt of the spell and the other two elves only turned to face the danger in time to hear bones breaking under the impact and to see the assassin collapsing, unmoving, on his back.

They dived away from each other in order to avoid the worst of a fireball.

"-. .-"

The problem with forests that were not coniferous was that they had no leaves during the winter, so there was no foliage to hide Alim and Morrigan from view as they kept dashing about on their spider web net. The other problem was how half of that net had been burned by the fireball of a particularly troublesome hurlock emissary.

So a plan was formed. "Wynne, cast your strongest regeneration on Faren!"

The elderly mage came forth, eyes narrowed for any unexpected threats, and spotted the rogue as he seemed to flow through the air, his cloak fluttering behind him as his foot came around in a horizontal flying kick that all but broke all the fangs off his enemy's face. She focused on the spell and summoned it flawlessly.

'_That will have to do_,' Alim decided. "Faren! Take out that annoying emissary!"

To his credit, the rogue didn't look up and immediately tried to pinpoint the target's location. A few seconds later, the fiend was dead with a throwing knife between its eyes. '_Well, so much for having to hack through a dozen of enemies to get to it while enduring their every blow,' _Alim mentally sighed.

It was then that he heard Zevran shouting. "Watch out!" But Morrigan was faster than him and was already creeping in that direction, a giant arachnid moving across what was left of its net. He decided to leave that situation to her and cast a shield on himself, to deflect arrows. The next thing he did was leap through the air and send a fireball straight for where most archers had congregated. He landed on what was left of the spider web the same instant his fireball exploded, and he began to gather electricity in his left palm, his wand again giving it focus.

"-. .-"

"This is quite enough!" Shale declared once her pile of boulders was depleted. Sizing up a challenge, she crouched and charged, with her right shoulder in front, and slammed through the dozens of enemies like a battering ram. She felt sheer delight as those squishy things splattered everywhere, but her real goal was still some meters away. So she heaved and slammed her fists against the ground, sending snow flying and literal shockwaves strong enough stun any fleshy thing in sight.

She then ignored the gnats whose sticks and knives hardly even scratched her and went straight for the ogre, tackling it and throwing it to its back. The giant darkspawn squirmed and tried to push the giant of stone off, but she had already drawn her fist backwards.

She slammed its granite knuckles against its sternum. To the ogre's credit, the bone didn't immediately break, but that only psyched her up, and she began to barrel its fists down upon it, again and again and again,. "There, squish! Be squashed!" she shouted, again and again, not really noticing at which point, exactly, the ogre had died and had left behind just a lifeless heap.

She just liked squishing it.

"-. .-"

Both Kallian and Theron had found cover behind a tree and a stump, respectively. Kallian had no throwing knives left and Theron was running out of arrows fast, but those things just kept coming. Staying there wasn't too bad an idea, since they could just kill whatever came too close, but Zevran was lying on the ground right there and, if he was still alive, that would change the moment those things came close enough to him.

"No, da'mi!" Theron uttered. "If you jump to him now you will just get killed yourself!"

"We can't just leave him there!" she shouted back. "Dammit!" She gripped her hilt tighter, more of her blood filling the indentation in her sword. "I'll see them all dead for this."

Theron momentarily broke cover and killed a hurlock that had approached Zervan. He barely avoided being shot through the head, but only because he heard the bowstring draw back in advance and knew where the arrow would be coming from.

But they had to get Zevran some healing soon or it would be too late.

And then, things got even worse when Gwen was heard screaming Alitair's name.

"-. .-"

"Gwen! Cut a path for Faren to get back here before he gets himself killed!" the commander yelled between gasps and still managed to convey annoyance.

Sparing Alistair just a passing glance (he was fighting splendidly even in that heavy coat of plates), she brandished her long weapon and entered an onslaught that left nothing standing. She did reach Faren's position (Wynne's regeneration magic helped) and they both began to fall back to where they could better hold their own (and were in range of Wynne's healing magic again). "How rash can you get?" she reproached, her own voice a bit strained form all the effort.

"Look, it worked didn't it? I avoided the rock and killed one of those emissaries!" he shot back, barely avoiding a cut to the neck, though his cloak was quite thoroughly shred. "Among other things!" He flung one Duncan's dagger, now chained to the other, through the air, straight though another throat.

"This is becoming tiresome, Kadan!" Sten shouted, revealing that, amazingly, he was almost out of breath as well. "How many more must we slay?"

"Just keep at it for now!" the Grey Commander ordered, before slamming his foot into the ground and bringing his shield to the front. "Come get me you bastards! I'm the one you want! I can see it in your minds! Your master fears us so he sent you underlings to do what he was too afraid to try!"

Either it was true or his taunt worked, because half of everything, even those that had been uselessly trying to cut Shale (as if iron could cut granite) snarled at him and charged again. Some that had maces and war hammers stayed behind to fight her, much to her delight.

Sten intervened and resumed his endless assault. He had gathered some cuts, but his armor was strong and he was tall enough that the darskapwn couldn't easily reach his vitals.

Alistair lacked that second advantage, and since he was a Grey Warden, about half a dozen fiends focused on him, even as he ended up back to back with the commander himself.

There was an unholy chorus of roars.

Not one, but two Ogres charged head-on and struck one of the huge trees with their horns. It wouldn't have been enough to send it crashing, but an emissary had, previously, frozen its lower end solid, so the trunk shattered under the massive kinetic force.

The giant plant was coming down and was going to crush everything underneath, darkspawn included.

"**Scramble**!" the prince yelled from the top of his lungs and had to push as much magic as he could into his legs in order to jump far enough with all that armor on. And oh, how it **hurt** to do it that way.

"Alistair!" Gwen yelled helplessly. The templar had been pinned down by three of those things and the large shadow of the tree had covered him whole already.

A white blur moved at the edge of her vision.

Alistair blocked a sword and parried the other one, but the third one sunk into his hip. He stifled a scream and glared with hate at the sneering monster when his world darkened. So he looked up to see death in the shape of a huge, Maker-forsaken tree coming down on top of him.

Its descent was sadistically slow, as its trunk had not yet completely broken.

And that sadistically slow fall was what saved him.

One of the three enemies recoiled from a horizontal kick to the jaw, a kick that came from behind and was followed by a dagger that brought a chain around the second one's neck, only to crush it under the strain. It was pure survival instinct that drove Alistair's leg into a kick that pushed the third one away, the same one that has managed to land a blow.

They put all their remaining effort into a leap of faith before that giant trunk finally hit the ground and sent snow flying everywhere like a fog.

"-. .-"

"No!" Kallian let out before she could stop herself. She couldn't believe it. That big tree couldn't have crushed Faren and Alistair. It couldn't be...

"Lethallan!" Theron called out to her form where he hid (they weren't easy to spot from the clearing, but they could see some of what was going on). "The only way you can help them is to stay focused!"

"I know that!" she yelled back, blinking, trying to push back her tears. '_Dammit! No, he couldn't be dead. they couldn't be dead...' _"Dammit!" Her Warden sense was too overloaded to distinguish between friend and foe right then, so she couldn't rely on it to detect if they were still alive.

Theron released his last arrow into a genlock that was going to stab Zevran. _'Good'_ he thought. _'That means he is still alive.'_ Ho looked in Kallian's direction, hoping this small piece of good news might calm her down, but only saw her ready to jump out of cover and just attack and kill until she too was dead.

And her eyes were glossed over, like she was fighting back tears.

"No, stay put!" _'Of all the times... Creators, give her strength to endure!'_

So much of her own blood had trickled down the edge of her sword that it was dripping off of it. "Why? The sooner we kill them all, the sooner we can go help the others." Her voice sounded sure, but it was only because she perhaps wasn't thinking clearly anymore. Then again, most people would freeze up instead of going berserk.

She jumped out and rolled, avoiding a few arrows and stopping in a dueling stance just in front of two enemies that had come within reach of the Antivan assassin. She cut one, sending her blood into its body, then she twisted the wrist of the other (it had tried to stab her) and turned its own impetus against it, pushing it around and using it as a meat shield. It was a good idea on the spot, as one arrow lodged themselves in its chest, but another still caught her in the leg.

She cried out in pain and jumped away, but her anger drove her to pull the thing out of her thigh and begin to push herself to her feet not long after.

It was their fortune that only those two archers were currently in sight, and that they were next to each other, because Theron jumped out of hiding, snatched the arrow from Kallain's grasp and the one from the fallen genlock and managed to send them both flying before the enemies could prepare new ones of their own. The archers both died instantly. Unfortunately, the emissary that had taken out Zevran was an elite caster that immediately caught Theron under a curse.

The Dalish began to feel his very life being violently pulled out of him, his own mortality working against him. He managed to drink a potion, but it didn't seem to work and the inside of his head exploded in a new realm of pain. He fell to the ground, struggling as a red symbol shone on the snow right beneath him, and the last thing he saw before everything went dark was Kallian limping over to him and...

... and a giant spider.

"-. .-"

"Spirit, please, give me power," Wynne pleaded as she broke cover and ran over to where Gwen had fallen. Both mabari hounds were nudging at her with their noses and paws and whining. The elderly mage began to glow fiercely as she got closer and released an immense wave of brilliant, magical energy that no mortal should be capable of.

What Gwen saw when she looked up from where she had collpasted on her face was just a comforting and powerful, bright mass of swirling light.

"-. .-"

Raonar pushed himself back to his feet, using his sword as support (after he had driven it through a darkspawn's mouth) and suppressed a groan from the pain in his legs as he looked around, trying to see through that cloud of misty snow. Fortunately, it didn't last for long and the view became clearer. Unfortunately, said view was rather grim.

Alistair and Faren, for one, were nowhere in sight. Sten grunted once and pushed himself up, some distance to his right, so at least he was alive. The others were, hopefully, on the other side of the large, fallen tree, not under it. He searched around with his Warden sense and detected three people still on the other side of the tree, meaning that Alistair, Faren and Gwen were still alive.

Breathing heavily he brought up his sword and shield and made a mental note to thank Wynne for the sudden surge of healing magic he felt. It also felt rather strange, which probably had something to do with the fact that it actually worked on him when it shouldn't. Meaning that it wasn't normal, mortal magic. Meaning...

... meaning his and Alim's previous suspicions about how Wynne was still alive were probably true.

Of course, he didn't waste time considering this because he was immediately engaged by all the darkspawn that had survived, in addition to all the ones still pouring from the forest. He fought fiercely, channeling magic, cutting their weapons and limbs to pieces, but they were too many for just him and a winded Sten to fight. Anor, Theron's Wolf, did bite through one's throat a few second earlier, but seemed to flinch for a moment before running off somewhere.

And the bad part was that the two Ogres, as well as the emissary that had helped bring down the tree, were now turning their attention towards the white-haired exile.

_'Something is wrong,' _ the commander thought as he kept killing. _'Darkspawn don't usually plan, so whatever is leading them must have a high intelligence, at least as far as darkspawn go. A general, most likely, if he could actually force Ogres to act in such coordination. But why would a general be here? Why? Why now? Why such numbers when the horde is amassing in the south?"_

Then a thought same to him, and his link to the group mind of the darkspawn confirmed it. _"They came to kill us, they came specifically to destroy us. But how, how did they know where we would be? Can the Archdemon see us somehow?"_

And his psychic connection with the fiends, the link that all Wardens had, gave him the answer. And all he could think was _'Oh shit!'_

The ogres roared and the remaining emissary cast a curse of mortality on the dwarf noble while he could just helplessly fight off whatever was closest.

The magic dissipated under the weight of the magical torrent he constantly gave off.

"-. .-"

Kallian Tabris dragged herself close to where Theron and Zevran were lying on the ground and felt for their pulse, noting with some relief that they were still alive.

Not that it would do them much good, what with those things now running for them. The city elf knew she would have probably been able to get back up much more easily under normal circumstances. After all, it was just one arrow in her leg, a flesh wound. Unfortunately, she had been a bit too selfless when she fed her blood into her sword.

And now the darkpawn were getting tangled in a spiderweb.

_'Wait... what?'_

Many of those things were now hanging from what was previously an almost invisible wall of webbing, and it was then that a giant spider dangled down from above, right on top of the first fiend in sight, even as a certain wolf jumped out of the shadows from exactly behind the emissary that had cursed Theron. the caster's neck was left mangled quite thoroughly.

The arachnid then backed off a few meters and, like a brilliant mist, resumed the form of Morrigan. He staff was in its baldric on her back and she had her arms crossed over her chest, her lips curled up in a smirk. Her red hood was drawn over her head but her amber eyes seemed to shine from beneath it.

So of course the tainted ones made for her, but all they did was explode, one by one, in a mass of gore and flesh, splattering in all directions but only reaching as far as three inches away from the tip of her boot.

By the end of it, only a few were left, so the aptly-named witch of the wilds channeled some red-looking magic with both hands, at which point sharp, jagged roots sprouted up from the ground, piercing the snow and twisting around them, ever tighter, until they contracted, crushing them to paste. It was a scene that would have probably made Shale very proud.

The city elf finally used the distraction to drink a healing potion and force some down the throats of both other elves.

"-. .-"

When he had started to gather that electricity, Alim didn't expect the tree incident. After that happened (and it was, fortunately, a tree that the spider net was no longer connected to), he decided to keep gathering even more magic, since the enemies had multiplied.

He also did his best to ignore Gwen almost panicking and the possibility of Faren and Alistair losing their lives. This spell was of the utmost importance.

So it was fortunate that he managed to complete it when all those clearly more than thirty darkspawn decided to attack Raonar all at once. The archers decided to stop trying and failing to attack the elf (who was still suspended on that web, so far off) and began to fire at the dwarf as well, pinning him with his back against the fallen tree. His round shield was, fortunately, huge, so whatever arrows did hit him only nicked his legs.

The blood mage would not let them fire the next volley, however. With his emerald-tipped, silver rod, enhanced with enchantments he himself had created, he unleashed that massive barrage of chain lightning down upon the enemy forces. It struck the emissary first, then arched into the ogres, one after another, after which the chain connected, columns of persisting electricity forming between whatever darkspawn happened to be closest to each other.

He kept feeding his magic into that spell for seconds that felt like hours, but he could feel his enemies dying under the unstoppable and unbearable weight of his power, their silenced screams just confirming his assumption.

He didn't remember falling to his knees, or how he kept his balance on that spiderweb. All he knew was that he had to keep that up until every hostile thing in sight was dead. His left hand was free, and the two, sharp nails in the middle and ring fingers pierced his skin as he clenched his fist, letting the blood flow out.

_'Ah, blood. Sweet, sweet blood. Sweet life, I fear I need your might yet again.'_

"-. .-"

Sten had almost lapsed into unconsciousness when vigor suddenly filled him again and the two arrows that had lodged into his chest and leg were pushed out by magic that knit his organs and muscles back together. So he got to his feet as fast as he could, absently taking note of Gwen as she used her blade to chop a path through the branches of that oh so dreadful fallen tree, Leliana and the two dogs following behind her.

He also noticed Shale stomping back to their position. Even her stone body had been chipped in a few places and more than a few of her crystals had been shattered or cracked. "Those annoying things and their maces... and hammers! And ice magic! If I didn't have these crystals, I would have frozen enough to be shattered to bits!" The golem sounded positively indignant.

"What matters is that you are alive, Shale" Sten flatly said. Regardless, what he was really interested in was making sure kadan was fine. And apparently, he was, although looking a bit out of breath, with many dozens of those things, hurlocks, shrieks, genlocks, ogres and emissaries, lying dead everywhere, smoke and steam coming out of most of them and their chest plates bearing holes, as though the metal itself had been melted.

The entire place stank of burned death and corruption.

"Stay alert, Sten," the dwarven prince told him between breaths. "They are still out there."

Gwen decided to appraise them of the situation. "Wynne is doing some really strange healing magic that's constantly healing everyone within a certain distance, but she said she doesn't know how long she can keep this up. Alistair and Faren... they're unconscious but she said their lives aren't in any immediate danger." She was doing her best to sound as battle-hardened as possible, but didn't perfectly manage it.

"Why aren't they attacking?" Sten asked.

"Perhaps 'tis because they are afraid?" Morrigan suggested. She had, meanwhile, crawled back up into a tree and resumed her human form.

"Morrigan! How are the others?" Alim blearily asked her. He was sitting on a branch on the other side of the clearing.

"They are alive, for now. The assassin seems worst off, broken sternum and rib cage I think. I did apply a healing balm, but 'tis only a temporary solution," she said coldly. "Theron is merely unconscious. Kallian is currently trying to drag them over to the old woman's position." She then spoke to the blood mage directly. "Are **you** well?"

The dark-haired elf weakly took a lyrium potion from his pouch and emptied it down his throat. "I'm fine, but I think our time is up."

"There!" Leliana shouted as she raised an arrow. It was released and lodged itself through the chest of a fiend, but many more came forward.

Whatever darkspawn were still lying in wait sprung into action, coming straight for where the remaining ground combatants were waiting, and the bloody inferno resumed, the snow already unrecognizable from the blood at their feet.

The commander was up front, drawing their archers' fire and acting as the buffer, while Gwen and Sten hacked away at the ones coming from their flanks. Meanwhile, Leliana was farther back, releasing shot after shot. They **seemed** to be doing well enough, but those things just kept coming, and even Morrigan's entropy spells could only do so much.

Shale seemed to be holding her own, but immediately switched focus when yet another ogre emerged. She tried to tackle it again, but only managed to enter a deadlock. And it was a really strong one this time. Fortunately, Damon and Rinne seemed quite apt at handling whatever small fires were around the stone giant.

But Raonar still couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. Something just felt... wrong. He just felt like he was missing something, and that feeling grew stronger the more he drew on his magic. He was now cleanly slicing through darskapwn steel and flesh like it was butter, but each time that anxiousness kept growing.

He was missing something.

And if **he** missed something, bad things happened.

He had learned this years ago, when he didn't pick up on the plot to poison Trian, the plot that ended with his mother dying instead.

What was he missing?

_'What am I missing, stone dammit! Tell me, damn you!'_ He did what few Grey Wardens ever did, what few had the courage to do, or the knowledge to attempt, and pushed his awareness into that of the darkspawn themselves, searching for the source of his premonition.

And the answer he found caused him to freeze.

For just a moment.

Enough to fail to counter a shield bash to the face.

It was Sten that jumped in and slew his attacker before it delivered the coup de grace. The qunari then took the spot in front. "Katara! Ebost issala!" He shouted battle cries in his own tongue and became vicious, unyielding, his resolve channeled to one single purpose, to not allow the near the commander. "Stand strong! There are yet more to be fought!"

Things kept dying but kept getting replaced.

Finally recovering, Raonar blocked a mace that would have crushed his skull, the metal banging loudly against his targe. He wasn't exactly in a position to kill it while lying on his back, however, but that problem was solved as a certain city elf's sword came out through the creature's chest.

"There shouldn't... be too many left," the fair-haired battle maiden let out between gasps.

"They're here for me..." the dwarf said, his hand pressing against his forehead as he pushed himself up. He had a nosebleed too. "I allowed this... I enabled this... That's how they found us, why they came for us..."

"What?" Gwen couldn't help but ask. "What do you mean?"

But he didn't hear her. His mind was still too stretched for proper awareness. He only absently registered how spell after spell, fireballs and lightning bolts, kept flying back and forth, some cast by the enemy, others by Alim and Morrigan.

Spider Morrigan dangled down to the ground and turned back to human, immediately releasing a cone of cold at the main wave of enemies, making it all the easier for Sten to break them with his shattering blows.

But by the time Kallian and the commander sensed the real threat, it was almost too late.

The ground practically exploded beneath their feet with a series of nearly deafening blasts.

Blasts from below blew Leliana, Sten and Gwen through the air, along with more than a few darkspawn, and they ended up tumbling, rubble, gore and snow falling around them. Kallian sensed the danger and jumped away, meaning that she could look in the dwarf noble's direction in time to see the purpose of that attack from below.

Four shrieks had jumped out, one through each fresh hole, each aiming for the elf, qunari and two human women, respectively. And as the latter barely recovered in time to avoid instant death, four emissaries and a Hurlock Omega emerged like eruptions from the same holes, in a rhomb pattern around the Warden Commander.

The forest was filled with a terrible cry of agony.

Not just the wardens, but all the dozens of darkspawn quailed at the noise, never before had the second son of the dwarven king screamed in such a manner, not even when he had his nails pulled out by that desire demon in Honnleath. And only Morrigan, Sten and Leliana retained their wits as the same sort of psychic pressure as the one belonging to the Archdemon began to gush out of the Warden Commander, stopping them all as if stunned. Pain was what shot through the Wardens' minds, and mindless did all the darkspawn brood become.

All the darkspawn except the four that had emerged around their target. They had their arms outstretched towards the exile and were slamming him with relentless, sickly waves of green, black and red magical energy, like a bulbous, electrified infection through the very air.

"GuuuaaaaaAAAAAAHHH!"

The scream was terrifying and painful to hear. The dwarven prince had fallen to his knees as those four menaces were shoving who knows what kind of unholy magic straight at his head. He was clutching at it and had bowed low, his own magic flaring wildly but uselessly, out of control while the Hurlock Omega chuckled sinisterly.

Not knowing what else to do, and seeing how everyone else, and the hounds, were either stunned or busy (Shale was still being badgered by that surprisingly powerful ogre), Morrigan decided to cast a fireball straight in the middle of that hellish ritual, friendly fire or no. She did so, but the Omega saw it and used its free hand to raise a forcefield that deflected it straight in Leliana's direction. The bard threw herself to the ground and avoided most of the damage (at least her closest attackers got caught in the blast and died).

Morrigan tried an earthquake next, shoving all of her remaining magic into the spell, but the ground started shaking everywhere, except within that rhomb those four things marked. "What kind of magic is this?" She snapped.

Raonar screamed again as the Omega doubled its sadistic efforts, the sickly green and black spell, like a mix of fog and lightning, slamming into his skull again.

"GET... OOOUUUUUT!" He bellowed at the sky, somehow jumping back to his feet and practically exploding with untamed energy. Waves of white mist gushed out of him, reacting with the hideous spell he was still being barraged with, again and again, and when they dispersed, light began to bend around him, blurring everything as the tear in the veil broke out of containment.

There was a moment when the veil grew thin and flashed large enough to cover the whole battleground, and everyone saw what he had screamed at. The archdemon's shape was looming above him, a giant, twisted Old God that was pressing down upon the barrier made of pure will that barely kept his mind intact.

"-. .-"

Alim just narrowly managed to fight off the mental barrage around the same moment as when Morrigan's earthquake began to shake the earth, but he was still high up on that webbing. It was then that he saw the apparition and understood something of what those four spell weavers were doing.

He didn't need to think long to know what to do.

He pushed his blood magic to the maximum and summoned his staff from where it waited in the tree on the right, even as his skin hardened like a rock armor. He leapt forward the very moment he grasped his weapon, flying through the air above like a dark shape coming down in vengeance, his black longcoat billowing behind him, and drove through that spectral vision like a spear, the bottom end of his staff pointed straight at the ground.

A tremendous, golden shockwave was released the very instant his staff struck the ground, smashing through the anti magic field and completely destroying it as that wave of pure force blasted everyone and everything away like a thunderclap.

Everyone was knocked back through the air, except for Morrigan and Leliana, who were too far away. Gwen and Kallian were knocked out. Shale was unaffected (she was farthest from the blast) and had, fortunately, managed to completely annihilate that ogre when it went motionless earlier, but even the golem stared in awe.

Something akin to a half-foot-deep crater was left, as all the snow and even leftover grass and fallen leaves had been either destroyed or blown away.

The blood mage didn't waste time and made a 360 turn, bloodied hand outstretched. All fresh blood in his proximity rose like rain droplets from the snow and flew straight into his grasp, forming a red liquid sphere that he crushed in his fist.

The blood wound spell enveloped the bulk of the remaining enemy forces and they began to scream in pain themselves for once as their very blood, tainted though it was, began to boil in their veins.

Unfortunately, the Omega and three emissaries were still very much alive and out of the reach of that magic, albeit a bit beaten up. Their tainted robes were torn in places, and their so-called capes shredded. Nevertheless, Alim was unable to keep track of everything and was hit by a bolt of lightning in the back.

He fell to the ground, his face sinking in the bloodied snow, but the blast hadn't been fatal, so he rolled to the side and got back up as fast as he could. It helped that he had cast a spell of elemental resistance on himself.

That was when he saw Wynne, shining blue and coming from behind those two emissaries, and she summoned what looked like a glyph right between those spellcasters. The mana clash caused their own magic to explode form the inside, and they fell dead in the middle of a brilliant magical outburst.

It would have been a great news, but even though Leliana and Morrigan, and Sten and Shale, had recovered, they were all exhausted.

The other bad part was that the Omega was still alive, as were about twenty hurloks and genlocks.

And the worst part was that Wynne's supercharged, area mana clash caught Raonar by surprise (he had barely managed to get back up). He cried out in pain one more time as he struggled to keep his balance, and all the dazed darkspawn seemed to take that as a queue and charged him all at once.

"Kadan!" Sten called out, his voice strained, as five arrows were unleashed upon the dwarf noble all at once.

There was an instant when everyone tried to break free of their own assailants, and Alim tried to gather the energy for a telekinetic push, but he was too drained so he just ran in his direction instead, pulling back the left sleeve of his longcoat. Morrigan was too far away, but even she gasped, as did Wynne, realizing that her spell had ended up harming the dwarf, even when it shouldn't have.

Four fiends had attacked the exile up close and were almost within reach.

Three arrows were headed straight for his chest.

The other two were flying towards his head.

And his expression twisted in anger.

There was a noise like red hot iron being dipped in water, and all five arrow were deflected with a whisking noise when they struck a shimmering forcefield, not spherical, but more akin to a barrier that was perfectly modeled around his body.

"Raonar, calm down!" Alim shouted in his face as his left arm lit up white. He was able to bypass the forcefield and grabbed him by the arm.

And what a mistake **that** was.

He barely had time to notice that the dwarven prince had grabbed a hold of his forearm before he was introduced to the true meaning of pain. There was a clear snap as the elf's radius broke in half under the sheer pressure of that grip. "AaaaaaaaaAAARG!"

That scream seemed to take the commander aback for a moment, and his grip loosened under his shocked eyes, allowing the dark-haired elf to try and wobble away.

He didn't have the time.

A new shockwave sent everything in the vicinity hurtling and crashing in useless piles of bone and flesh well away from the exile, who fell to his knees from the pressure. Alim was flung through the air and he at least had the fortune of falling on his right shoulder instead of his already broken arm. The Omega fell on its back some distance in front of Raonar, while a genlock survivor fell between it and the Warden Commander. The prince's own weapons were not in sight, but one of the hurlocks had conveniently dropped its scimitar right in front of him, a scimitar whose hilt his fingers wrapped around.

He ever so slowly, and wobbly, got up, brilliance unmatched as no shadow could be seen on him. "Stone..." the sword arm was extended backwards **"... fucking..."** all his muscles tensed **"... DAMMIT!"** and magic flared one last time

The swing was perfectly vertical, and the wind burst away from him as the blow was delivered. The sword itself struck nothing, but the cutting force was unstoppable and unforgiving. It cut straight through the genlock rogue that was pushing itself up to its feet two meters in front of him and continued undaunted, dissipating with a shrieking shrill only after it split the Hurlock Omega in two perfect halves, the right and left sides set apart from each other by a cut that went from the groin straight up to the top of its head.

Everyone and everything stood still, waiting for the noise to fade, and the two skull halves, along with the rest of the sectioned corpse of the darkspawn general fell useless to the ground a fraction of a second before the dwarf's knees hit the now bare earth.

Sten was the first to snap out of his daze. "Parshaara!" he killed whatever was left closest to him and dashed straight for the other remaining warrior, but the latter had drifted into unconsciousness even before he hit the abused earth with his face. Leliana soon followed while Morrigan ended the life of her last target by draining its life force and adding it to her own.

The remaining few fiends made a run for it, but the mabari hounds and the wolf were immediately on their tail.

"-. .-"

Sten dropped Asala more hurriedly than was his habit and knelt next to the fallen frame of the Commander of the Grey. He was bloodied and battered, but alive. Still, the qunari was careful not to move him too brusquely as his large hands grabbed the dwarf by the shoulders and pushed him over.

"Maker's breath!" Leliana gasped in fright when his face was finally exposed.

"What devilry is at work here?" Sten almost sneered, putting his arm under his head to sit him up.

"Wynne, you must do something!" the bard called out but became afraid when she failed to spot her. She should have been right there somewhere. "Wynne! Where are you?"

"Over here!" Morrigan answered from afar. She was crouching next to the collapsed old woman and frowning. "She just... fell." Alim was sitting on the ground next to her, beads of sweat and blood on his brow, but the shock in the red-haired woman's voice got him worried enough that he got up (barely) and dragged his feet over to their position.

He stopped and stared at the dwarf. The warrior looked diminished, weak, harmless and totally vulnerable, but what really stood out were the red streaks of fresh blood that went from his eyes all the way down his face, until they dissolved into his no longer clean moustache and beard.

The blood mage went over to the other side and knelt next to him as well, but stopped before touching him, the horrid pain in his left forearm more than enough to remind him how that could backfire. "And he says **I'm** scary..." he muttered.

A somber gale howled above them.

* * *

Author's footnote: I HOPE to get everyone to Orzammar next, but no promises. I'll first have to explain what the heck just happened first. Just a hint though: Raonar is in big trouble right now and he was, sort of, responsible for what happened in this chapter.

And before you ask, no, Raonar can't do this crazy stuff whenever he wants. It takes months of preparation for most of it. I'll explain in Chapter 38.

I repeat: Use blind bullets when shooting me for not getting to Orzammar fast enough.

_The review space is there and waiting!_


	39. Warden Arc 9: I Am the Shield

**Chapter 38: I Am the Shield**

"-. When enemies seek your end and you can't beat them, be their shield .-"

"-. Whether they like it or not .-"

Theron had always liked silence, ever since he was a child, even though the most natural response to total lack of auditory stimulation was fear. In that, he had always known he was different from his clan members, because he relished those moments when life seemingly stood still, like when there was no wind to disturb the trees and whatever critters or birds dwelt in their branches. Oddly enough, the deepest silence he remembered experiencing, though he knew it was half-illusion, was the short moment between the lightning strike and when the thunder was finally heard.

Basically, he found silence entrancing.

Most of the time.

Unfortunately, he was now learning about how deafening silence can actually be.

He looked around, throwing everyone a glance and seeing that they were just as dumbstruck as he was. It was almost the same as when they were all unconscious.

They had made camp not far away from where the whole carnage had taken place. Even with a broken arm, Alim, aided by Morrigan, set up a heating perimeter around that entire space, like a circle with a diameter of 20 meters. It was well into the afternoon and the sun had already started to slip beyond the peaks to the west.

The so-called camp ('so-called' because the tents had yet to be risen) had already been prepared by the time he awoke. He was lying on a cot, set directly on the ground (the snow had long since melted and the ground was actually quite dry). He had been sore all over, and while that feeling eventually passed, his splitting headache still pounded between his temples.

Wynne only woke up some time after him, saying something like she thought she had actually died. She said she'd explain things later but immediately got to work on Zevran, who was most badly wounded. Turned out it had been a close call too, since most of the bones on the front of his torso had been broken, but she succeeded in mending them completely, along with the flesh and his lungs. Nevertheless, she said it would take a while for him to recover fully or even to regain consciousness.

The others hadn't been too seriously hurt, except for Alistair, who had been hit quite seriously in the hip. Fortunately, Wynne had been there to patch him up even during the fight and, with a final administration of magic, he had been healed enough that he would be able to make a full recovery soon enough. The others had just suffered minor blows to the head or simply got their wind knocked out of them.

Ironically, Raonar was responsible not just for Alim's broken forearm (now fully healed, fortunately) but also for smashing the wind out of Gwenith and Kallian, although, true enough, he hadn't actually meant for it to happen.

All in all, they had done quite well in defeating that very large pack of darkspawn. Even Theron himself was of this opinion, and despite his normally solitary tendencies, he wouldn't have minded indulging in a drink to celebrate their victory. It had actually come as a surprise even to him to realize that he had come to enjoy his time with these others, regardless of their race or background.

And this made it all the more jarring when Raonar smashed them with a new problem, or rather revealed the problem he had been smashed with (and had disclosed as soon as Bodahn and Sandal, who had brought along the supply carts at some point, were out of earshot). Gwen and Alistair were sitting on a log and were resting their elbows on their thighs, looking at the dwarf as if he'd just grown a second head. Curiously, it was Gwen that looked more troubled out of the two shems.

Everyone else was standing or sitting on their respective cots in a sort of semicircle around the exile, who was, himself, sitting cross-legged on a pair of furs and was cradling his face in both hands. Faren was at a loss for words, evident from how his mouth kept prying open and snapping back shut. Leliana looked positively worried, as did Kallian and Wynne for that matter. Shale was just standing over to the side and surveying the situation with her eerie white eyes.

Even Sten, of all people, who was standing a few paces to the prince's right, was looking down at him with narrowed eyes. Come to think of it, that was the most emotion the Dalish hunter had ever seen the qunari show, if one didn't count the stupefaction and wonder upon his reunion with Asala and his occasional battle cries when he actually scowled.

Alim and Morrigan had exchanged a look and were silently processing what they had just heard. As for the two mabari (Anor the wolf was probably the only one still unconcerned with it all) were worriedly looking at him with their natural puppy dog eyes, occasionally tilting their heads. Thus, realizing that no one was going to speak, the elven hunter decided to ask what they all wanted to. "What?"

The ailing dwarf noble shook his head, as if to get over some bout of dizziness, and reluctantly let his hands slide off his face. "I said... I've been marked for death." He looked worn out, with eyes red from fatigue. It was actually a miracle those eyes of his were just bloodshot considering how his eye sockets had actually bled enough to stain half his beard red. At least Leliana had taken the time to wash most of the grime and blood off of his face while the dwarf was still unconscious (though he kept grimacing often, as though he was in pain, even though she was as careful and gentle as anyone could be).

"What exactly do you mean?" Morrigan, oddly enough, asked in her ever so edgy voice. "'Tis hardly possible for us to understand what you are talking about from just that short sentence."

"Well **excuse** me for not being overly coherent," the white-haired one uncharacteristically almost snapped back, though his glare was carefully aimed at an empty space. "After all, I **only** just bled from my eyes and am aching all over, not to mention feeling as though my head is being carved open from the inside and am generally in a sorry enough state that I am actually indulging in a rare episode of self-pity, which, though it feels strangely justified and appropriate right about now, I will most likely look back upon with shame once this is all over, unless I die tonight of course, which is really looking like the second most likely outcome, immediately after irreparable insanity!" He stopped and almost coughed but managed to take a deep breath instead.

As Theron had thought, the silence really was deafening.

"Sorry Morrigan," the ailing dwarf apologized, sounding tired. Just tired, as if all he wanted was a break for once. After that, he let his forehead rest against his palms as he continued to sit there.

"You said you would likely die or go insane," Sten summarized, eliciting yet another series of worried looks. He sounded less impassive than usual, as if maintaining his flat tone was taking considerable effort. "What did that mean, Kadan?"

"You also said they had come here for you... and that you allowed this," Gwen remembered, though she really only sounded confused.

"Right..." He lift his gaze and looked at the moon. It was a bit smaller than usual but the sky, at least, was clear. "Urthemiel... the Archdemon... sent those things specifically after us... because he knew we'd be coming this way."

"Urthemiel?" Leliana echoed, searching through her memory. "That's the name of the Tevinter Old God of beauty. You're saying that's the Archdemon now? How can you be sure?"

"Oh, he's anything **but** beautiful now," the solid but short man replied, still staring up. "I know who he is because I saw his mind... the same way he saw mine..."

"That's what we Grey Warden can do, tap into the group mind of the Darkspawn," Alistair told the bard. "We can hear the Archdemon talking to the horde, in our... dreams... at least, and it's the same thing that lets us sense them." He paused. "Only I don't think there's any way for us to know just which Old God this is just from sparse visions," he observed. "So how... how do you know it's really him?"

Without prior notice, the exile just collapsed on his back, still staring blankly up. "Because, Alistair... Urthemiel is really pissed at me..."

"Well, that sounds troublesome," Morrigan said with surprising seriousness.

"That still doesn't explain anything," said the city elf (Faren was too busy being alarmed while knowing he didn't have anything valuable to add to the conversation).

"Back in Denerim," the dwarf finally began to explain. "When I... collapsed and was unconscious for more than half a day... My mental defenses dropped. I'd been using a special mind shielding technique to block the nightmares out. Then, when he sensed the barrier was down, that bastard Urthemiel barreled down on my brain constantly. I did manage to drive him out eventually, but it seems he tore some... information... out of my mind..."

"The information of where we were going," Alim guessed.

"So he sent those over 200 darkspawn to kill us," Faren finally spoke. "But we beat them, right? So what more is there?"

"Well... unfortunately, I don't think he expected to actually kill us..."

"What do you mean?" Leliana broke in, though she was a bit hesitant.

"I thought they were trying their hardest, pathetic though it was, their effort I mean," Shale said dryly.

"I'm sure they wouldn't have minded if they succeeded but... those four freaks that... did that... to me," he covered his eyes with his palms and shook his head a few times. "Each instant felt like a day, and each moment that so-called Old God was blasting my mind, weakening it, trying to force me to... well, I suppose he succeeded actually..."

"Succeeded in what?" Faren was growing impatient. "Come on man, just talk to us. You got us all sweating here..."

The prince sighed and closed his eyes as both arms fell to the ground, stretched away from him. "He wanted me to exhaust my magical core... probably..."

Something akin to puzzlement was all that passed between the Grey Wardens and their allies.

"You'll have to explain what you mean by that," Wynne uttered, rubbing at her forehead. She looked a bit spent, but didn't seem to have trouble following. "All I know is that we mages draw our strength from the Fade and our will. This notion of... magical core is one I haven't really heard of before."

"That's because I'm possibly not using the correct term, but it's the best I could come up with," the commander explained. "All those weeks of meditations, when I channeled magic, did you guys really think there wasn't some goal behind it?" He sat up and took a standard meditative stance. "All those hours, I've been spending them concentrating magical power into a sphere." He focused and started to give out rays of light form his entire body, like everyone had gotten used to seeing him do.

After a while, he brought his hands one above the other in front of his chest, and a sphere of white, concentrated light hummed into existence between his palms. "**This** is what I've been creating." The sphere faded out of sight along with whatever other light he emanated, until he looked normal again, as far as his white hair and beard allowed it at least. "This is, shall we say, my last resort. My 'just in case' magical reserve. This is what Urthemiel wanted out of the way. Or maybe he was just sodding insane and did it for laughs."

Theron was still sorting out his astonishment, like everyone else, even though he couldn't exactly fully understand what all that implied.

"And he pretty much succeeded too," the warrior added, his shoulders slumping in weariness.

"So that's what gave you that sudden burst of power," Alim Surana realized, absently rubbing at his forearm, even though it was perfectly fine now.

"It doesn't matter now," Raonar said, almost a whisper. "It's no longer enough... I'd so far been able to keep my mental barriers up, but those... things... when they smashed that wretched magic into me... they made a sort of channel for that Archdemon to invade my brain... A back door into my mind."

"So that's why you were grimacing!" the Orlesian bard let out. "That... thing has been trying to enter your mind."

"Not just trying..."

Theron felt himself shudder. "He's trying to break you. But I don't understand, my dugen'len friend, you make it sound like it is... personal," he intuited.

Raonar's head hung low. "Yeah... it probably is personal... because, back in Ostagar... our minds connected for a moment and I... kind of told him, to his face... to go screw himself..."

There was a pause.

"What the hell?" Faren gasped.

"Well, in my defense, I thought I would die the next moment, alright? And really, did you ever hear of an Archdemon trying to possess or even holding a grudge against an individual?"

Nothing was said for a while, but whatever hopes or uncertainties anyone had were quite readily snuffed when the dwarven noble spoke again.

"There is a very high chance I won't make it through the night..."

"-. .-"

_Excerpt from journal of Senior Enchanter Wynne_

_28 Verimensis, 9:31, Dragon:__ This is getting severely out of hand._

_ I used to think the fact that I had died and come back from the dead by mercy of a Spirit of Faith was the strangest and most amazing of things, but I do think having an Archdemon with a personal grudge against you is at least as unusual._

_ Especially when said grudge is big enough to cause one to send an actual army to destroy the object of that seething hatred. I am now, beyond any doubt, convinced that I really cannot know what being a Grey Warden is like._

_ Everyone is noticeably worried and, with the risk of sounding cynical, I did not expect Morrigan and Shale to be so affected by this development. The witch has not stopped frowning since an hour ago and she is hurriedly (I think) looking through her book of spells. I wonder if she is really interested in his wellbeing or just unnerved by having run into something beyond her understanding. Meanwhile, the golem actually __**volunteered**__ to go gather up all the dead darkspawn and build a giant pyre out of the trees surrounding the battleground. This should also prevent the corruption from spreading to the whole forest._

_ As I expected, Faren was the most affected by this and, even though he hasn't yet recovered from the blow to the head (he still has some remnant of a concussion from the battle) he started to raise the tents, aided by Kallian, not surprisingly. Zevran is still unconscious. Theron seems to have taken refuge in cooking, while Gwen and Alistair are just sitting by the fire, keeping it going and not saying anything. Leliana, that sweet girl, seems to be the only one, besides Shale, Theron and Alim, who is actually doing something, namely humming and playing that lyre of hers. It is a peaceful tune, calm and not too loud, in Orlesian I think._

_ They probably want to keep things as peaceful as possible, so as to not disturb Raonar, who took to meditation not soon after he relayed exactly what he believes is going to happen. Sten is sitting on a log not too far away from him, his violet eyes covered under a frown, which is unusual knowing how that man rarely shows any emotion. The mabari hounds are lying on the ground next to him. Theron's wolf is silently sitting on its forepaws at the edge of camp._

_ As I understand it, the Archdemon is actively trying to shatter the commander's mind. Raonar even said he could barely hear him even while awake. He says he doesn't know if Urthemiel, if that is even its name, wants to drive him mad, kill him, possess him or whatnot. Alim was quick to suggest that he simply not sleep for a while and just meditate until he gathered enough magic to somehow repair that whole condition. Unfortunately, with the exhaustion of the fight, even our magic would be unable to keep him going for long, especially with how it takes several tries on our part to even barely manage a measly rejuvenating effect on him._

_ Honestly, I sometimes wonder if this power he has is more of a curse than a blessing. I even asked why he couldn't just ask his guardian spirit for help, and he said that whatever struggle is going on is happening inside his mind, and Honor's intervention would imply that he enter his body. And since no two souls can exist in the same body..._

_ He also mentioned something about not being able to get through to him for some reason, no doubt an extra effect of whatever unholy magic he was subjected to._

_ Alim is already asleep. He said he might be able to contact this spirit of Honor and perhaps come up with some way to repair all this by going into the Fade. The only problem is that, even if a solution does exits, he might not have enough time to find it._

_ Simply put, the commander isn't going to just uselessly try and keep his sanity while the Archdemon keeps clawing at his waking mind. He decided he would meditate as long as he could keep focus (meaning until the Archdemon's screeching got too loud to tune out), and then deliberately go to sleep in order to face the mental barrage with the maximum willpower he could muster. Like this, he said he might at least stand a chance..._

_ This all seems so... sudden and the timing of all this is dreadful. And the worst part is that the reason this was all possible in the first place was learning of his father's death. Can't bad things ever come one at a time? Must everything come crashing down at once?_

_ I grew up learning that life can be harsh, but this is still a bit too much. He shouldn't have to... he may actually die tonight, or worse... And if it's the latter, someone will have to end it for him, but I doubt anyone here would have the heart to do it._

_ Maker's breath..._

_ I suppose we'll just have to believe. In the end, when nothing but insanity and desperate measures are left, all one can do is hope and believe things will turn out alright. Hope and do all one can._

_And this is why this entire situation is so depressing. There is simply nothing any of us can do._

"-. .-"

Mages were always aware during dreams and remembered every second of their time spent in the Fade. That said, they had to be constantly on the lookout for any spirit or demon that might try to... interfere with their time there. Unfortunately, the thing about dreaming was than even mages couldn't really control where they would end up.

As such, Alim was severely frustrated.

That ritual performed in Redcliffe, to save Connor from possession, would have been really useful right about now, since it allowed one to enter the exact 'coordinates' so to speak. Unfortunately, they didn't have the needed lyrium for it and, even if they did, two mages (Wynne and Morrigan) would not have been enough to make it work. The elf also considered a blood magic ritual, similar to the one Jowan could do, as an option, but he was the only one who could perform it, so that was a no go.

That said, that deal he made with the Spirit of Honor, so many months ago, was the only thing that allowed for the very slight possibility to establish contact.

A combination of the blood sacrifice (like leeching life force from everyone without outright killing them) and whatever energy was left in Raonar's so-called magical core **could** have, theoretically, worked, but that would have left the dwarf totally vulnerable and, if a solution did not exist or was not found for his predicament in time...

Yes, Alim was beginning to feel frustrated because he had no idea where to go from where he was. Whatever section of the Fade he had reached was, as always, new to him, since everything in that realm was transient. As always, there were a slew of oblivious souls walking to and fro, through each other or in and out of sight. They didn't give any hint of noticing how twisted everything was and how sickly green the so-called sky (which was more of a void) stretched above them (and below, and around, everywhere really).

As part of his deal with that spirit, some of Honor's being had been lodge in his left arm. It was that spirit fragment that had saved his life after his insane stunt in Ostagar, as well as what would enable him to fulfill his own end of the bargain, when the time came (as well as try to ensure the eventuality didn't happen at all, like he did by healing Faren after he jumped off that estate's wall on New Year's Day).

Conveniently, he also had the ability to pinpoint Raonar's position in the Fade, if it ever happened that he was somehow drawn in and not in Honor's domain. Unfortunately, what that deal didn't give the elven mage was the ability to track Honor's realm down or even get in touch with him, not by **his** choice at least (too much of a security risk, apparently). Honor **had** said he would be able to find the elf if it came to it, but the blood mage was starting to have his doubts.

There was a flash of light behind him, and before he could turn, he was pulled into a vortex that disappeared as soon as it flashed into being.

"-. .-"

Morrigan was sitting next to Alim as he lay sleeping, her hands periodically turning pages of whatever books she had. The furrow on her brow made it plain she was not making much progress in finding a solution to... whatever this all was.

Alistair was still wondering just why Morrigan was investing this much energy but he supposed it was better than nothing. He was glad she was shutting up for once. He, plus the other wardens, (save Alim, obviously), as well as Leliana, Wynne, Sten and the hounds (Zevran was still unconscious) had convened in a circle of sorts around the warden commander. He had let himself lie on his back on that cot of his and seemed to be trying to get his breathing to slow down.

"Right," he began with no sort of preamble. "The archdemon's getting... too loud for any sort of meditation, so I guess this is it." He spoke to the silence and his grim stare was directed at the twilit sky. The heavens had a shade of crimson red and the moon was just now slipping into view (the sun was already well behind the peaks). One might say it was all a very fitting view, in a way.

The dwarf turned his head towards the qunari. "Sten, come sit beside me."

Without even a shrug, the giant walked over and knelt next to him. "I am here, Kadan."

"I'll probably start thrashing around at some point, and setting aside the fact that I'll tear my nails off if I start sinking my fingers into the ground, I'll need someone to keep me pinned here. It might get... violent and dangerous, and you're probably the only one strong enough to handle whatever I... do... I understand I broke Alim's forearm in half just by grabbing it."

"You need only tell me what I must do," Sten said, his tone ever so flat.

Raonar regarded him for a very long moment. "For starters just... hold my hand, will you?"

Alistair's eyebrows rose way up, and he was sure Sten would give his trademarked 'No' response.

Sten took the dwaven prince's right hand in his own. "I will attempt to ensure that you do not crush **all** of my bones, kadan."

The almost templar was about to gape. Not only had Sten actually obliged, but he had even said a joke... The human also wondered if that shade of a smile he saw him crack for half a moment wasn't just an illusion. And, of course, just Raonar asking someone, not to mention Sten, to hold his hand through this was mildly shocking in itself. While the reason given was practical enough, the human prince still wondered if maybe Raonar had finally found something capable of making him feel fear.

After all, he may not be afraid of anything in this world, not even death, but what was about to happen, if it succeeded, was scary even through the sheer fact that no one could really be sure what it would be. Insanity? Possession? Ghoulification? Either way, it would be possibly worse than death.

Yes, Alistair was wondering if he was even in the same world anymore, what with Raonar apparently being afraid and Sten being all mindful of his feelings. Thank the Maker Faren was there to assure him this was still reality and not some strange, warped alternate universe.

The dwarf commoner walked up and sat cross-legged on the exile's left, more than predictably, all things considered. "Don't," he said bluntly before the one lying on the ground had a chance to speak. "I know. You might blow up. I'm not going anywhere."

The exile raised his left hand and pinched the brand's nose, smiling every second. "So you** do **care."

"Very funny," he grumbled. Alistair realized the shorter of the two dwarves was trying to keep a strong face but his performance was miserable. Apparently, Faren himself realized this, because he dropped all pretense. "This isn't fair. Orzammar is just two days away and this... Dammit, I know life isn't fair, alright? I **know** it, every day and second of my life was this lesson over and over, but... Shit..."

"Kadan will triumph," Sten shockingly broke in, staring down at the redhead straight in the face. "He always does."

The tired dwarf laughed softly. "You mean like I failed to see the end of the battle just now?" The noble then placed his left hand over his chest, as though he was holding onto an amulet of some sort, despite not wearing any. "Not this time. This time... it's different. This isn't some problem I can dismantle with just my brilliant mind. I'll be square here and tell you that... there really is a really big chance I might-"

"Parshaara," Sten stopped him. "Doubt clouds the mind and saps the will."

"Besides," Kallian spoke from the farther away. "Alim said he might come up with something."

"Regardless," Raonar spoke again. "I want you all to listen to me. If I should... lose it, one of you will have to put me out of my misery." He raised a hand to stop any protests. "You know it might come to it. Secondly, if the worst does happen, Alim will take my place as Commander of the Grey." He turned and regarded Sten with his 'I will not take any bullshit gaze' "And you will **all** follow his leadership accordingly. Am I understood?"

Alistair, along with everyone else, just decided to nod.

"Right," the dwarven noble released a deep breath and looked at the crimson sky again. "And just in case... Live splendidly, all of you."

Faren was having trouble keeping a straight face. "Aren't you..." he swallowed. "Aren't you going to... say anything, about, you know... the whole mess in Orzammar?"

'_You mean some last wishes concerning his family'_ Alistair realized.

The bearded one shook his head slowly. "You already know pretty much everything. And asking you to do anything would just be a means of guilting you all into doing my bidding. It would all be just a veiled attempt at asserting some form of control. It would be the same as someone, on his deathbed, asking for forgiveness even knowing he doesn't deserve it. Pride and manipulation to one's own ends, that's what all last wishes are, at least I think so."

"That's stupid!" Faren protested.

"Stupid for **him** you mean?" Gwen said. "You do realize that everything he did that we thought was silly or stupid turned out to be anything **but** that, right?"

Some of those present escaped a chuckle, and everyone was momentarily pleased for that relief in tension.

"Maybe..." Raonar said faintly. "Maybe all this is a sign, that I shouldn't have let my personal problems interfere with what Grey Wardens are supposed to do."

"Or maybe the Archdemon is just scared of you and would have sent dakspawn after us regardless of where we would be going," Alistair saw fit to state.

"Enough," the commander cut that whole discussion off. "Time to see this through I suppose."

"It should make sure to squish it into fine paste," Shale said, reluctantly. "That big dragon is just another thing with wings, just a bird, so it deserves it, I'm sure."

'_Was that a tint of concern?' _Alistair wondered.

What followed was only the sound of steady breathing, weaker and weaker, until the possibly not totally fearless leader slipped into that trance he had been preparing for. Then, there was only silence, as even the wind seemed to have taken a break from its regular meanderings.

"-. .-"

When he finally managed to get his bearings, Alim realized that his outfit, especially the black suede longcoat, placed him in a very stark contrast with that immaculate marble, round, floating island. He realized he had been translocated to Honor's realm, so he looked around. As before, that realm was **huge**. Mountains marked its edge, peaks from which flowed springs that eventually met, creating larger streams and eventually rivers, until all the water, which was really just pure magic, convened in that circular waterfall beneath and around that haven hovering at the very center.

The platform itself was perfectly level now, but its edge was marked by several smaller terraces, all of them vacant, save for two. One of them had a fully white statue of Raonar wearing what looked like a longcoat of his own (with his collar worn up and reaching as high as his ears) and staring into the distance with his hands in his pockets. The other statue was, oddly enough, Alim's own, looking pretty much like he did now (though being a white marble sculpture, his outfit's real color wasn't possible to immediately guess). His statuary self stood straight and held its hands together behind its back.

Finally, he sensed the appearance of a presence behind him, or it was only then that he was allowed to detect it.

"I assume you have some inkling as to what exactly is happening to our mutual friend," that myriad of voices that was somehow a single whole spoke as he turned to face the source. What could vaguely be made out of Honor's brilliant form was the shape of a person wearing what looked like robes that glided and flowed through the air, like liquid mist.

The elf did not waste time and immediately began to relate everything he knew.

"-. .-"

"So, you're still there are you?" Raonar said to that ever so troublesome crown of thorns. It looked just large enough to fit around his head and, while he was, for some reason, certain it would eagerly take that spot on his body, the exile was sure it would also refuse to get unstuck from his left hand under any other condition.

Looking around, above and below, his mindscape was the same sorry mess as back in Denerim. An endless plain, covered in an ankle-deep layer of blood, with bodies and weapons strewn all over its vast expanse. Some way to his right stood a giant mound of darkspawn corpses. He realized it was what was left from the last time Urthemiel tried to break him, back when he had that breakdown upon hearing of Endrin's demise.

Raonar briefly wondered if that mountain of bodies wasn't just a metaphor for some psychological scar instead of just the representation of a side-effect form that psychic clash. He hoped it was the latter.

Regardless, what truly caught his eye was how the farthest reaches of that plain seemed to shake, if the waves on the surface of the blood was any indication. There also seemed to be droplets of blood falling sporadically from up above here and there, so he looked up and saw them, cracks in the so-called sky itself, injuries that were actually bleeding.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

That was all that actually disturbed that eerie silence, though it was fortunately (ironically at least) not meant to last, for some of those crags grew longer and wider, until things started to claw their way through.

The Warden Commander snorted as about a dozen darkspawn either fell from the sky, came out of the bloody earth or just pushed themselves into his mind through the cracks along the horizon. "So much for creativity."

Four arrows were launched towards him, but he paid them no mind as he looked at his left hand, drenched in his own blood now that the thorns had gone deep into his palm. It stung, but pain was something he could easily detach himself from. "No way to use a shield, eh?" The arrows were deflected with a clatter as they struck an invisible wall just a foot in front of the warrior. "It would be unnecessary anyway."

The darkspawn charged, even as more of them came bleeding though the cracks in his will.

The prince's expression was one of unyielding calm. "Small fry rush is it?"

The monsters wailed and brandished their hideous weapons in their senseless assault.

"Little by little my mind will be flooded, until the breaches connect and become large enough for that bastard himself to come through."

The first wave was getting closer and the silence had long been erased by the splatter of feet in blood and the relentless cries of bloodlust.

"Let him come."

Jagged spikes sprung upwards straight from beneath those things and they were all impaled, ending up suspended and gurgling many meters above the ground. And when the spikes sunk back into the damp ground, all of those things fell, some still 'alive' and flailing about in pain.

"You're on my turf now." Eight swords of transparent, shimmering crystal appeared around him, all of them floating according to his intent. Double-edged and long they were, reflecting the entirety of that 'place' as they flew into position, as a wall of death in front of him. He considered making them look like energy weapons, long, scorching cylinders of blue, green, yellow, violet and red plasma, but between the idea itself and the humming noise they would make when swung, he felt like that would be too much of a cliche for some reason.

"Do your worst."

An alien wind howled around him.

"-. .-"

Things were quiet as everyone just stood or sat wherever they could and waited. It had been five minutes since the exiled dwarven prince had entered that trance of his and nothing seemed to be happening. Except for Theron and Sten, everyone was either fidgeting or doing all they could not to.

Only when Raonar's body tensed and his eyes snapped opened, shining white and giving out blue-ish steam of sorts, did everyone finally learn the ordeal had begun. All they could do now was wait and see.

"-. .-"

In any other situation, or if he was any sort of person, Alim would have expected Honor to be silent for a while after he gave as brief an explanation as he could.

Honor didn't waste any time though. "I see. Fortunately, I did prepare for a possibility of this kind."

"You **prepared** for something like this?" the elf asked with some incredulity.

The specter seemed to regard him with a bland look for a moment, though it wasn't possible to make sure, what with nothing except light being distinguishable about him. "I have existed for centuries. Of course I know how to prepare. Did our deal not make that abundantly clear?"

"Why didn't our **deal** cover this situation then?"

"A battle at the center of the mind is not something one can normally interfere in." As he spoke, Honor's famous cane materialized and, in his deft right hand (apparently, he decided to have hands for now) began to carve runes in thin air (or aether, since this was the Fade) . "Two souls cannot exist in one body, and there is only so much one can do to supplement someone's willpower." The Fade dweller kept drawing runes, making it obvious he was scribing them in a circle with a diameter of several meters.

Just **how** he did that was a mystery considering that Honor's current form was just barely over 1.80 meters itself.

"Can't I just-"

"No," he guessed his thoughts. "While under that psychic barrage, you would be unable to save **all** of him. It would be more damaging than anything else."

"But there is a way to at least help, isn't there?" The mage was not even bothering to force his tone to be formal. He didn't have time for pretense.

"There is one thing you can try," Honor performed a dramatic swipe with his cane and those many runes floated into place, creating a magnificent gateway some distance away from them. The portal flared into existence and gushed in a sort of foam before it drew back and settled into a perfectly vertical... puddle. It looked like water, more or less, only it was ivory in color.

"A portal?" the elven magus groaned. "I can't go on some fetch quest! There's no time for that!"

"Calm yourself," he being commanded, his voice carrying over into the distance and ringing fiercely. "This gate is not for you. I actually sent out an... invitation as soon as I sensed the interference in the mortal world. Hold fast."

As soon as that had been said, the liquid-like conduit was disturbed and a familiar sight stepped through, quite gracefully, all things considered. A talon was the first thing that emerged, followed by the avian head and everything else.

The large griffon crooned, whipping it tail through the air a few times before the portal disappeared, allowing it to spread and flap its wings. "Hmm, I did not expect to be summoned **here** of all places," Duty said as he shot a critical look around before regarding his fellow spirit. "Or by you." He then caught sight of the black longcoat-wearing, very familiar elf. "Ah, now there is a face I recognize!"

"Shouldn't duty demand that you properly greet your host?" he quipped, but before the large, winged creature could respond, he became dead serious. "Regardless, I am in a rush-"

"You are **always** in a rush," the griffon dejectedly let it be heard (beaks couldn't really talk after all, so he created voice-like sounds magically). "I assume you **need** some sort of assistance again?"

"I am unsure," the mage replied. "Honor was about to explain."

"Indeed," the other one spoke again, his voice sounding even clearer. "Since Duty here is more versed in the arts of the mind, as proven by how he implanted you with the full set of a griffon's memories, he will be the one to help you."

"And I half expected I had been invited here because you just wanted to socialize," the winged one said, surprisingly seriously. "The others feel you've been too isolated these past hundreds of years, and you've interacted with too few dreamers, if any, in a very long time. Things are running afoul, Honor, you cannot neglect- "

"This is not the time," the more brilliant of the two cut in, his voice sounding almost uncomfortably loud.

"As you wish," Duty said with a shrug before turning to the elf again. "So then, what is it you need?"

"-. .-"

He'd lost count of how many 'darkspawn' he'd killed, since the whole plain was now littered with them. Genlocks, shrieks, hurlocks and ogres, along with those disgusting, insect-like things, like creatures that had just squelched out of rotten eggs, had formed into a nice blanked of gore. His right hand held firmly onto the hilt of that transparent, crystal single-edged blade he had made for himself while the other eight spun in endless fury all around him, hacking things to pieces left and right.

He briefly glanced up and saw that the cracks in the sky had grown much longer and sharper, an wide enough that blood was actually pouring instead of falling drop by drop.

He had also gathered a few cuts and bruises but, whether adrenaline even worked in this mindscape, the stinging in his left hand was not as fierce as before. The crown was still there though.

A loud roar howled through that entire expanse as the horizon finally began to shake and a large shard of the very scope of his mind was dislodged and sent flying forward, almost singing as it came crashing down, shattering into a million pieces even as it sunk into the soft 'ground.'

His intent had a wall of earth and stone grow right in front of him at the very last moment before he was skewered by a particularly large chunk of it.

"So this is insanity, when the pieces of your own mind become weapons against you," he spoke to no one in particular.

There was no time for philosophy, however, because many more of those things had broken through now, demanding all of his attention.

With a swipe of his hand, the rocky wall was brushed away, and ten spinning razor blades emerged around him as his eight swords plunged like arrows into the chests of the nearest ogres.

"-. .-"

"Not to sound cliched here, but he's burning up!" Alistair shouted as he put his palm on the unconscious dwarf's forehead.

"Move aside," demanded the city elf as she hurriedly knelt next to his head and put a damp cloth on his brow. "Is he **supposed** to get a fever?" Gwen, meanwhile, set a bowl of ice-cold water next to her.

"**None** of this is supposed to happen," Faren helplessly growled from where he sat, right next to him. He would have wanted to take his hand in his but it was placed over his chest and he ordered everyone not to meddle with it. "Damn! What about Alim?" He asked, looking towards where he knew he had gone to sleep, only for Morrigan to shake her head.

"I fear our concerns are more pressing," Sten said evenly, though his brow had reased in a frown.

Everyone, even Theron, scowled when they saw blood starting to trickle from the exile's nose. The impression left by how the dwarf's face twisted into one of pure pain and duress was so strong, in fact, that none noticed Sten wince for an instant as Raonar's grip tightened around his hand.

"-. .-"

The prince of Orzammar felt like he had been fighting that losing battle for hours. Truth be told, he knew from the start he didn't really have much chance of actually making it through that whole mess, and this wasn't one of Leliana's stories, where the hero just magically gained whatever willpower and skill he needed to emerge triumphant. He'd been screwed over good.

Still, he'd be damned if he was going to make it easy for that archdemon to end him. He didn't know exactly what would happen to him if he 'died' in this 'place', but it was enough to know it wouldn't be something good. Thus, he was fighting, pouring every bit of strength into every attack, into fueling the might of those flying razorblades as they flew and cut and diced those many fiends.

Unfortunately, they were so very many, and they kept getting more numerous as every new piece of the sky and the earth came down or up, bleeding and broken.

Of course, he was well aware of the poetic potential of this so-called bleeding, shattered mind of his, but he really wasn't amused, not with the cacophony of noises screaming in his ears and the stench of death filling his nostrils (why did he have to have all of his senses perfectly present in this place again?). Oh, and that annoying crown was really killing his left hand.

A set of horns slammed into his chest for the fifteenth time. The previous times, he had managed to stay unflinching and actually cause the ogres to rear back and suffer the full brunt of their own attacks, so strong his willpower was, but it was getting harder. He was pushed back and almost stumbled over a 'corpse' that was lying in that bloody mire behind him, but still managed to cut the thing in half, much like he'd done to that hurlock omega. Doing this sort of insane stunts was possible here, since it was his home field.

But stone, it was getting so tiresome, and the 'master' himself had yet to show himself.

"-. .-"

"Maker's sword, there has to be something we can do!" Gwen lashed out in frustration after Raonar started to thrash around, as he said he'd probably do. He'd knocked the bowl of water away and had given half a gasp of pain as his back arched upwards.

"Sod it all!" the other dwarf snapped as he forcefully pushed him back down and began to press on his chest, to hold him in place, though it took both his and Sten's efforts to even remotely manage it. His left hand closed around the other one's by reflex and he could only clench his teeth at how tight the grip was. He gave a sneer but coped with it.

"Out of the way!"

Gwen and Alistair jumped aside because of how commanding that voice had been, as well as because it was about damn time Alim finally did something. They forgot to realize that they hadn't noticed when he'd woken up.

"**Please** tell me some good news!" Faren almost begged.

"Depends on your view," the mage said, eyeing Sten strictly.

"-. .-"

And for the first time, the dwarf was knocked off his feet.

It wouldn't have even been all that horrid an experience if he hadn't been sent flying for 20 sodding meters before he finally hit the ground again. Fortunately, he'd been long past the point where getting that rank blood in his mouth made him gag.

The silver lining was that he had been thrown far enough to have enough time to get back to his feet before the 'horde' (more like psychic flood) descended upon him again. It was getting close now, his moment of loss. He supposed he'd done good though, killing so many hundreds of those things, but with all the bodies it was hard to step around. He did change the scenery a few times, causing some terraces or hills to grow here and there, but he found he no longer had the strength to keep at it.

Currently, those things were coming at him like a tide, fortunately from just one direction, but he was nearing his limit and knew he wouldn't be able to keep those razor blades flying around for long.

"Fuck..."

"-. .-"

"You're saying you can send someone in to help him?" Faren asked, some hope finally flaring in those eyes of his.

"You expect me to submit to your mind magic, elf?" Sten asked sharply, oddly enough.

Alim used his wand to point at how blackened veins were starting to become clearly visible beneath the noble's skin. "That or he's done for. This needs permanent body contact and you're the only one except Faren holding his hand right now. And Faren's immune to mind magic so he's not an option."

"I'll do it!" Alistair volunteered.

"Can't you sent more people at once?" Gwen asked.

"To Gwen, no, and to Alistair... admirable offer, but I'm afraid we are past that possibility, since I doubt either of these two will be able to escape the grip of our beloved commander here, and keeping permanent body contact is hard enough as it is." The fact that not just Faren's, but Sten's own face had begun to show pain was proof enough of that. "Now, are you up for it or not?"

Sten and the blood mage locked gazes for an unsafely long moment.

"Make up your mind, qunari! Or did you already decide to let him die?" Alim asked sharply.

"I do not trust your tricks-"

"He is **BLEEDING** out of his EYE SOCKETS!"

Sten's head jerked around and stared at those streaks of blood in shock. "Do it," he said finally.

Not needing to be told twice, the magus began to draw runes out of blue energy on their hands as well as foreheads. Meanwhile, Wynne knelt where she could and did her best to heal the struggling Grey Warden, but she found the task almost impossible.

"Maker, the magic coming from him is like a maelstrom. I can barely manage any sort of healing on him like this," the woman said sadly.

"All we can do is hope this isn't too late," the dark-haired circle mage concluded, tapping the back of Sten's hand one last time. A string of white energy took shape and began to curl around their hands, binding them together with unseen force, until a blue aura began to surround their connected arms. The string kept twisting around Sten's arm and he couldn't help himself from trying to keep his head as far away from it as possible. He failed, of course, but his resistance soon disappeared when his own eyes flared white and he went still as a statue.

It was that very same instant that the so-called magical core flared into view above the commander's chest, only to disappear almost as soon as it showed itself.

"-. .-"

Well, this was it apparently. His next to last ounce of willpower faded away and he now stood alone there, in the middle of that plain of death, the sky broken and torn like a cracked mirror. He no longer had any flying swords or razor blades to keep destroying those things, but he fought nonetheless. Enemy after enemy fell to his blade, that shimmering, crystal weapon he had imagined for himself, sharp enough to effortlessly cut anything.

But it was no longer enough.

"Dammit, I hoped I'd at least last until that bastard showed himself before using this," he said to himself between breaths.

Cutting down yet another hurlock, he began to take wary steps backward. He threw his weapon aside and brought his palm up as high as his eye level, magical force swirling around him enough to start pushing the ankle-deep pool of blood away violently.

Using what remaining power he had would instantly vaporize every one of those things, but would leave him depleted for when that thing did show itself. He actually had come up with a plan, one of his insane plans, for that situation. As it was, however, he had no strength left and, thus, no other choices. The best he could do, in the end, was go out with a bang.

"I'm sorry Trian," he whispered to the madness raging around him. "I really screwed up this time."

All it would take was for him to crush that magical orb in his right hand and...

A lightning bolt as thick as a house suddenly descended from the bleeding heavens one full meter in front of him and his eyes widened in stupefaction as everything within a league was incinerated. Oddly enough, he wasn't overly affected (he only fell on his ass), even though the noise alone should have been enough to render him to bits, but everything else mostly died. A really impressive crater was left too, though it wouldn't be long before it got filled with blood again.

The dwarf didn't realize when his orb of magic went back to wherever it was it resided when unused as all he could do was tilt his head to the side and look upon what had just happened with a raised eyebrow. Standing there, in the middle of that so-called crater, was...

"Well I'll be..." the dwarf muttered, pushing himself up and casting a glance around that expanse, noticing that new 'darkspawn' were coming through the cracks again. He felt suddenly dizzy, making him wonder just how life-like he had made this mindscape of his seem. Apparently, he took a lot of time wondering about that, because by the time he got his balance back, there was a hand on his shoulder.

"Kadan?"

Raonar looked up to meet his eyes and actually saw him bemused for once. "Hey Sten. Sorry about the mess. This is what my fucked up mind looks like right now. I'm afraid I wasn't expecting your sort of company but MAN, am I glad to see you!"

"Kadan, what happened to you? You look different."

"Huh?" _Oh right._ He took a moment to look at one of the long beard braids and realized it was blond. "Well, suffice to say, this is what I would look like if I didn't carry a breach in the Veil inside of me." he also noticed that no blood had stuck to him. At least he still had enough willpower left to **-know- **himself.

"That thing," Sten eyed the crown.

"Don't ask..."

"Humph." Sten seemed to look around and actually widened his eyes. "So many... you slew so many..."

"To be fair, that mountain over there is the one I made back in Denerim, when I... collapsed."

"Regardless, it seems we have more company," the qunari said in a determined voice as he turned around. "You stay and rest kadan. I will fight until I fall. Fear not, I will not die, I will only be sent back to my own body, with a splitting headache if I am correct. You need only more time, indeed?"

"Yes..." the prince answered hesitantly as he studied Sten and his red steel plate mail. "I'm not sure I am comfortable with letting you fight on your own, but I'm exhausted so..." he focused some last bit of will and Sten found himself clad in a silvery coat of plates that felt incredibly light and strong.

Darkspawn were charging and screaming.

But Sten still took the time to study his new clothes. "Impressive."

The warden commander sat down, ankle-deep blood pool and all. "There. That should keep you going for quite a while. Now go forth and fight in my name, my Silver Knight!" '_I wonder what Calenhad would say right now.'_

Sten actually smirked and charged quickly, Asala almost singing in his grasp.

All that was left for the dwarf was to start focusing on fixing the 'sky' and 'earth' behind him, to ensure that whatever threat was left came from up front.

"-. .-"

Honor and Duty were both standing on the central platform in the former's domain. The elf had understood the knowledge immediately, impressing both of them, and had left just as quickly. not even bothering to give more than a passing thanks before leaving the Fade of his own volition.

"Now there is a strong one," the griffon remarked. "He broke out of the Fade even though just being in your realm should make it hard to do so of one's own intent."

"Indeed."

The larger, winged one scoured the horizon of that domain but his eyes eventually drifted to the dark city in the distance. "You realize you will have to eventually stop staying holed up in here. You're one of our Zenith, Honor. How can the world of mortals even maintain any sort of balance if you don't interact with dreamers? Must you really be as apathetic towards them as Justice? Or as single-minded in your reclusiveness as Valor is about combat?"

"Nothing has changed over the past millennium, even with my lack of involvement," Honor had no sort of shape now, as if he was too disinclined to bother with solidifying. "And nothing changed even in the thousand years before that, even though I actively sought to help mortal virtues flourish."

"Things **have** changed now," Duty stated matter of factly. "There are forces moving. And oh, how subtle they are!"

"Nothing of this is new to me, you know this. And humans, elves, qunari, even dwarves, they never learn from their mistakes. Always they will war and hound each other and this age is no different."

"But this time the forces are not of that world. This time not just that world is in danger," the winged being seemed to narrow its eyes as its gaze never left the dark city.

"I am aware."

"And yet you do nothing, save spend your time watching over a single creature who shouldn't even be able to reach this place," Duty observed coolly. "No sort of honor is binding you to this, no sort of pact, so why? Why have you chosen this course?"

"Honor..." the brilliant one echoed. "This virtue I aspire towards... I no longer know what it is." Duty drew back a step. "So **many** centuries I've spent watching these mortals, seeing their thoughts and desires in their passages through the Fade. And not once, not **once** did I see any sort of lasting truth of spirit, at least not enough to matter or to outweigh greed or indifference. Or Pride. Oh, so **much** pride."

"But then why bother with this one mortal? Is he any different from all these others you mention?"

A smile seemed to make it through that bright white mist. "I do not know. And that is the point."

"-. .-"

Raonar had to admit that Sten was actually doing fairly well, especially on his own. As big as he was, it was astounding how well he kept his balance as he spun around in a frenzy, beheading and pretty much annihilating everything in his path.

Now all it took was count back from ten, nine, eight-

There was a roar of rage and a large chunk of the celestial vault broke away.

"Well, not right on queue, but close enough." The exile grinned. This was his show now.

Urthermiel slammed through whatever meager defenses that mind hand and caused the blood-covered ground to shake when its large legs slammed against it. Sten was sent flying by the force of the shockwave alone, but found himself gliding safely through the air, as if an unseen hand was carrying him.

Whatever unseen hand it was set him on the ground right next to the dwarf noble himself, who was looking mighty pleased and had his white armor shining and gleaming, much like his eyes. He had both hands behind his back and a grin on his face.

Then he brought his right arm forward and a globe of energy appeared in his hand. "First thing's first." He crushed the orb in his grasp, and the blood around their feet parted, leaving the ground bare and dry. The next moment, they were floating and a sphere of perfectly reflective ice, like a mirror, grew around them. It was about as large as a barn, just enough to swing a greatsowrd comfortably.

"Kadan, what is the meaning of this?"

"This is where your part ends," was the simple answer. "Next one's my move. And it's in my very own, particular style, meaning it's not safe for you to be here anymore."

"I am not leaving you to face that creature alone," the qunari said flatly.

"Because of what? Duty?"

"Yes."

"Duty isn't you motivation Sten, I saw as much back in the Fade, in that dream you deliberately entertained, despite knowing it was a lie. Your duty is what you want to be free of," the exile slammed.

Sten narrowed his eyes. "You know not what you speak."

"Really?" the short one challenged, looking surprisingly imposing even though he was the one looking up. "Then prove it. Shatter this shell," he waved at the light-casting ice that enclosed them in that sphere. "If your duty really is your ultimate motivation, then you should be able to do it. Your conviction against mine, let's have at it."

Sten frowned and grasped Asala tight.

He tensed.

He swung as hard as he could, even letting out a battle cry as he did so.

The edge of his weapon clashed against the impenetrable barrier and was deflected violently away, without leaving a dent, sending a shock straight up his arms, all the way to his shoulders. He just barely held onto the weapon but didn't even realize when his knees had hit the 'floor.' So he looked back at the commander and expected to see some smug expression. Instead, all he found was something akin to sympathy.

"Goodbye Sten," he said with a smile, before snapping his fingers.

"-. .-"

Sten blinked before the pain in his hand made him realize he was back in his body and still getting his hand crushed by that unconscious dwarf. "No!"

"What happened?" Alistair asked ahead of everyone else. He was just as surprised at how the giant suddenly recoiled like he'd been punched in the face.

"He kicked me out!" For the first time in his life, Sten was seething with frustration.

"You mean it didn't work?" Faren sounded like he was going to have a heart attack of his own, or maybe his hand just hurt from having been crushed in that guy's grasp.

"It **did**,' Sten answered. "But he pushed me out once the atashi finally showed itself."

"The dragon," Alim clarified, still studying the no longer changing blackened veins on the prince's body. "What in the Fade is he doing...?"

Without warning, a shockwave burst out from Raonar's body and sent everyone close enough tumbling. Sten and Faren were the only ones that didn't get thrown away. Sten was too tightly held by the hand, while the redhead seemed to have been completely unaffected by whatever happened.

Unfortunately, whatever that guy did, it made his grip even tighter and much more painful.

"-. .-"

Urthemiel probably hadn't anticipated **that** of all things. But, then again, it seemed to be affected by such an alien sort of insanity that any attempt at understanding him were probably pointless anyway. Nevertheless, regardless of what he was or what he wanted, if anything, there should still be something in him that all creatures capable of dying, of being destroyed, had.

And that little something was the instinct of self-preservation.

_'This is going to be a gamble'_ Raonar mused as he quaintly walked towards the beast, shining and causing the blood to split like a certain sea in front of him. _'But, then again, even if it doesn't work, I'll still be fine, for now at least. Sten really saved my hide today. Totally paid back the year of my life I lost when I drained the taint out of him. And then some."_

He stopped about a hundred meters in front of the archdemon, who seemed to be eyeing him warily. For some reason, no darkspawn, or whatever they were the metaphors of, could come through. That, and the supposedly helpless Grey Warden was shining in that desolate death field.

The small thing drew something like a sword and slowly pointed it in its direction. "Come on! Come get me! That's what you're here for isn't it?"

The great beast roared at the bleeding skies and took to the heavens before swooping down. It dived forward until it was gliding not too far above the 'earth', heading straight for it.

And then, jagged spikes began to sprout from the ground, like lightning, cutting in its path and forcing it to change trajectory, but there wasn't enough time. So it just slammed through them and eventually spat out a giant ball of fire.

A ball of fire that the arrogant thing just jumped into, coming through the other side until he was floating in the air at slightly below the dragon's eye level, grinning.

And just before it got within reach of its claws, time slowed down, and the sound of shattering glass filled that void as the sky and earth truly cracked and splintered, breaking apart in a million shards, some as tall as cliffs and others little bigger than a needle, yet all with edges sharp enough to render asunder anything they touched. All kinetic force was swept away and both the dragon and the dwarf floated motionlessly inside a typhoon of sickly green mist and revolving insanity that extended into an abysmal, dark, empty void beyond.

"You know," he began to speak, a floating mass of light that taunted a god of the old world. "I could probably beat you out of here, but that wouldn't stop you, would it? You'd keep hammering again and again at my head, never letting me rest." He frowned slightly and confirmed Urthemiel's suspicions that neither could move from their floating points. "I **could** just destroy this manifestation of yours, but you'd just come back later."

The beast roared and tried to breathe fire, but found that it could not.

"No dice, my friend," said the gnat. "So as I was saying, if I beat you down, you'll just come back, but there is something you didn't consider." Green and sickly essence began to be drawn towards them, even as all the shards of his mind arranged themselves in a sphere around them, ready to swoop down and impale them both. The Archdemon's essence came to fuel the rage of that monster. "Fighting your intrusion is difficult, but what if I encouraged it?"

The Archdemon actually seemed confused as it saw more and more of itself being drawn in, more of itself for that sharpened will to skewer. It seemed to flinch and sneer.

"Yes, you tried to break me from afar, but what if I pulled more of you in here? What If I decided to destroy this little mind of mine, **and you along with it?"**

Urthermiel roared in rage, but could do nothing. Even as it felt more of its consciousness being pulled, all driven by the flow it itself had started. It could do nothing but sense more of itself coalescing, and the shards of insight hummed and gleamed.

"Oh no, I am not stupid enough to think It'll kill you," the dwarf said smugly. "But your mind, whatever coherence is left in that insanity of yours, what will happen if I **shatter it**? What will happen if I shatter my own and force it to merge with yours?"

The archdemon reared, as though calling its bluff. Surely it would be unaffected by that insect's petty tactic.

"Right, you think you're infallible, and yet you're immobile this very moment!" He shouted back, defiant and certain. "Do not test me, fallen god. I have a lot of reasons to want to live, you knew as much didn't you? You thought it would make me waver, let you have your way. Or maybe you're just insane. It matters not. I know enough now to be sure that you **can** fear for your life! So do not presume, because you're messing with everything I've poured my heart into, and if all I can hope for is to go mad because of this whole mess, and lose every chance and purpose I have anyway, then you be sure that I **WILL** destroy us both! If I have no recourse, than both your mind and mine will be ground into dust!"

Anger burned in and out of that creature, but Sten's intervention **had** allowed the warden commander to preserve enough magic to do all of this, to break his own mind apart. All it would take would be to impale Urthemiel with those things from all directions. It wouldn't kill him, no, but it would introduce him to a whole new brand of insanity, because even if the dragon's mind did put itself back together, the exile's remaining will and mind would be lodged inside it, like a poison that would murder is focus and intent, again and again and again.

Raonar knew that he wouldn't make it through if he did all this. After all, the self cannot exist in absence of a mind and will. Survival was not out of the question, but sanity was. Of course, he wasn't about to do this, because he actually did have an alternative, which was to just drive out that thing and hope this all could be done again if it come to it (including getting outside help). What he didn't know was what the old God would end up like if he did do all this. Getting him comatose would be the best case scenario, and if the 'song' didn't shut down, it would also remove the drive behind the darkspawn. And as long as Urthemiel didn't completely die, those things wouldn't feel the need to look for a different old god to taint.

The prince knew this probably made him immeasurably selfish, but he wasn't sure he'd be willing to do this if he knew for certain this is what would happen, not before fixing that whole Orzammar mess, or trying to at least.

Ironically, there was an equal chance for this to make things worse, like if that dragon became more aggressive or, stone forbid, smarter from getting embedded with sparse pieces of his intellect (yes, Raonar thought he was smarter than the Archdemon, go figure...).

What **was** certain, however, was that he was definitely not bluffing. When slow, creeping madness was all that waited for him, he was definitely going to make it count for something.

"Yes, Old God," he said flatly. "Right now, **I** am your shield! So make your choice! Leave me and bother me never again, or let us meet true madness together!**"**

"-. .-"

Deep within the bowels of the deep roads, a screeching roar of undiluted rage shook the foundations of the earth.

"-. .-"

"Is... is it over?" Kallian asked, rubbing her arm. That blast had really come as a surprise.

"I.. I don't know," the duster answered faintly, but he hoped it was. He hoped it was going to be alright, now that those black veins were fading.

"Uuh, my head," Wynne moaned. "Getting close to him while unconscious is more dangerous than otherwise."

"To put it lightly," Gwen enforced, rubbing at her head.

There was a final flare of magic, only much more gentle, like a white, misty breeze, and whatever magic Alim had used to bind the dwarf's and the qunari's minds together activated on its own once more.

"What the..."

"-. .-"

Sten felt like he was drowning.

All of a sudden, he was gasping for breath at the bottom of whatever that water was, a lake, an ocean, he didn't know. All he knew was that he was confused, and then some force began to carry him up, very fast. And all that time, the water, or whatever it was, offered no resistance to his passing.

He pierced the surface like a bullet, but slowed to a steady flight, oddly enough, not long after. Curiously, he didn't feel at all out of breath and there seemed to be no trace of ever having been submerged. What had, however, returned was that suit of brilliant armor, meaning that this was probably back in kadan's mind.

Only it was completely different.

Gone was the crimson sky and the bloodied plain. Instead, it looked more akin to an ocean with clear, sparking water calmly filling that entire expanse. Many floating islands of what could only be glass or crystal, even diamonds as large as the greatest trees he'd ever seen, decorated that sea, like they had just grown out of it and knitted together in a mirific display of mineral architecture. Some were oblique, others were more level, immobile or loose, but it all meshed together.

Sten finally got over his astonishment enough to realize he was being carried through the air towards a specific point, and he realized it was one of the taller pillars in the distance, though he couldn't tell how far it was, since he could see no horizon.

He was eventually deposited, gently, on his feet right next to a certain, blond-haired dwarf noble, who was leaning against a diamond wall and looking at the remains of a violet mist, like a conduit, that was closing, not too far away. It was then the qunary realized why he had seen no horizon. It was because the vault of the sky was a perfectly smooth mirror that reflected everything back on itself in an unusual display of light, making that place seem endless. And with some of those longer crystals actually reaching the 'sky' itself, they looked as though they just kept going up, until they submerged themselves in another ocean, upside-down and above the one below.

Sten figured it was fitting for that mind's depth and edges to be impossible to comprehend. He also picked up on the almost undetectable hum that all those crystal columns gave out, in perfect harmony.

"A little better than that disturbing plain of massacre, isn't it?" Raonar asked casually, not drawing his eyes away from that purple conduit until it sealed completely.

"What did you do?" The giant's voice was calm now, relieved even.

"I fooled the archdemon into going away without fighting me. That way I was able to use the power left in my magical core to reconstruct my mind. And this is the result."

"I see..."

Sten squinted his eyes, trying his best to distinguish just where the reflection of that world began, but he failed to do it.

The exile straightened up and finally faced his unusual guest. "I'll need you to kneel." _'Like I asked you to kneel back in Redcliffe, things are coming full circle.'_

To his credit, the other one hesitated for just a moment and quaintly did as he was asked, only to be rewarded with a hug, of all things. As soon as he was low enough, the short one wrapped his arms around him and almost crushed his bones without any sort of restraint.

"Kadan... this is... what are you doing?" This was probably the first time in his life when he was absolutely flabbergasted.

And breathing was difficult too.

"I'm hugging you, you dolt!"

Sten didn't realize that one of his arms had returned the hug.

"You really saved me today, Sten." He took and released a deep breath. "Thank you."

There was a pause.

'_And I really did not do it out of duty, did I?' _Sten really was wondering just what on earth had happened, but he at least could realize it was probably something good."Kadan... My name is not Sten..."

"-. .-"

Night had fallen when the weary eyes of the Commander of the Grey opened, and he realized from the horrible headache and the pain in his eye sockets, that he was alive. Oh, it was good to be alive and not crazy.

Well, no more than usual anyway.

He didn't really have enough energy left to register the relief on everyone's faces, but he did feel that both of his hands were being held. So he released his grip and let his arms rest for a moment.

"Oh, thank the Stone or whatever!" the rogue let out as he sagged. Similar sighs of relief could be heard on all sides, but the white-haired one's ears didn't really distinguish what was actually said. Heh, consciousness was a fickle mistress, always coming and going.

Raonar managed a smile and turned to Sten, lifting his hand enough to touch his face. "So... none of that taint leaked out of me, did it?" His arm plummeted to the ground. "Good... that's good... I guess... life is a little fair after all..."

The last thing he felt before he finally slipped into some actual sleep was something soft and damp wiping away the blood from beneath his eyes, after which a pair of huge arms gently lifted him into the air. What followed was a sensation of drifting. The feeling was calming and humbling, and soon he knew no more.

"-. .-"

_Excerpt from journal of Senior Enchanter Wynne_

_02 Pluitanis, 9:31, Dragon:__ Finally, we are reaching our destination._

_ The past couple of days have been actually pleasant for everyone. Well, everyone but Faren and, to some extent, Sten, because Leliana just won't stop teasing him about being a softie. And I know I am rubbing it in, but I happen to agree with her after what happened immediately after Raonar's ordeal._

_ But I should clarify._

_ While Raonar said those few things, and he sounded so very relieved, his eyes glowed for a few moments while his hand was on Sten's brow. Alim later explained he was checking to see if the large man had been infected by the taint in some way. Apparently, our dear prince can drain the taint out of people as long as it has not had time to fully corrupt the blood and flesh itself._

_ Raonar fell asleep immediately afterwards. I can only imagine what had gone on in his mind, and Sten did not bother to speak of it beyond saying something about 'kadan' having scared the Archdemon away. It was Sten's own behavior I found intriguing. Basically, he lifted our dear dwarf in his arms (I think Leliana's pout was one of jealousy) and carefully carried him over to the tent that had been prepared for him. He tucked him in nicely and properly as well, and only __**after**__ that did he come to inform me that his hand required healing._

_ Apparently, that dangerous dwarf with hair whiter than mine (which is saying a lot) had gripped it tightly enough to break all but one of his metacarpal bones, and the fact that the same hand was bruised was hard to see because of his bronze-colored skin._

_ Truly strange. You wouldn't think that dwarf would have such strength. I think Alim said something about changes during the Fade. I still remember how diminished our once again determined leader looked in Sten's arms. And he even seemed younger under that faint moonlight._

_ I wonder what kind of father Sten would make..._

_ As I was saying before, Faren was the only other person whose past couple of days weren't the best, mostly because his hand bones had been even more seriously crushed. They'll recover fully, but my magic couldn't perfectly remove the pain yet. There was also that very... grueling incident involving that scar on his left arm two days ago._

_ No matter, I already know the reason behind it. Well, perhaps it would be more accurate to say that we know more or less what our fearless leader has in mind for us and himself while in Orzammar. He only two days ago explained his plan and I must say even his very succinct exposition was enough to make my brain reel from overexertion. At least now we know what he meant by saying he would shamelessly use us to his own ends._

_ Sten said he isn't sure whether Raonar's enemies or his allies deserve more of our pity. I do believe this is what everyone feels like. His plan is... harsh, and bold, and cunning and everything we could expect from him, meaning something completely mindbogglingly bold in its subtlety. He actually said that if it failed, things would still go according to his will, only in a different way. Faren looked a bit upset, but he agreed nonetheless._

_ Theron said he isn't surprised at how our short but suddenly once again intimidating commander seems to have a plan in place for everything. We were forced to agree, considering that he had thought doing things this way as far back as Denerim. This __**was**__, after all, why he dragged Leliana over to that Orlesian merchant Liselle in the market district last month._

_ Maker preserve us as we enter the bowels of the mountain._

"-. .-"

It would have been a regular day in the Orzammar commons.

The lack of weather was still there, being inside a mountain and all, and the merchants were going about their business in that huge, subterranean marketplace that went from the great Orzammar gates to the left and right, alongside the immense pool of lava that cast its light and warmth upon the multiple layers of homes, shops, estates and palaces carved into the stone around and above it.

The Great Proving Grounds were right at the middle of that gigantic subterrane, basking in the orange glow of the magma beneath it and of the flowing columns of molten rock pouring into said pool from the so-called ceiling far above. The vault of that underground city was so high up that it was so dark in places that it could not really be seen, lava or no. It was held up by columns thick enough that it would take twenty men to create a circle around their bases.

There was a large stone bridge carved directly out of the mountain's foundation linking the commons to the arena building. The foot of that bridge was directly opposite from the great city gates that led to the hall of heroes. They were carved out of white granite and not too large, but enough for any supply carts or caravans to pass through. They were quite unlike the gates leading from the surface to the Hall of Heroes (that hall was the place where the statues of the Paragons were kept, as a reminder for all those that leave for the surface of all they are leaving behind). Those were of such a size that even an Archdemon would have no trouble simply strolling in, provided they were open. Of course, considering that they were wrought out of red steel, being broken down wasn't really something any dwarf considered possible.

The mechanism that moved either of those gates was not overly complex, and the hinges were just smooth and oiled enough to ensure that the grinding of metal on metal was within the bounds of bearability. This way, the construction almost seemed like it had a life, and it wasn't like they were open on a regular basis. Mostly, they were used only during the short time when merchants from topside were allowed to come in with their caravans and sell their wares.

And, of course, there were side-entrances that one could use in order to slip in and out of the Hall of Heroes from the commons. It wouldn't do for every guard to have to pry open those big, noisy slabs each time they changed shifts after all, r for cleaners to stroll through all the time.

Yes, it would have been a regular day in Orzammar, except for two things.

One was the general unrest caused by the lack of a sovereign.

The other, albeit intimately related, factor was that two groups of dwarves had gotten into a very vocal argument right next to that odd sculpture (reminiscent of what surfacers would think of as a tree, of all things). A large crowd of people from all castes had gathered around them to see how things would play out.

"It is the Assembly who makes a king, and a king who nominates his successor. None of it is carried in the blood," said a fairly old-looking nobleman. His hair had grown grey and was worn in a single braid at the back, while his beard was arranged in several braids of its own, just like a certain former second son of the late king. He had green eyes and his voice carried a hard edge, but was also slightly rough, a testament to his old age. He wore a fine nobleman's outfit, silks interwoven with chain mail, and was accompanied by four guardsmen, dressed in red steel coats of plates and fully armed.

"Or, as now, when someone tries using the Assembly to pull a coup," a much younger dwarf shot back, his tone at once hateful and smug. This one was wearing a silverite suit of plate mail and had blond hair and blue eyes. His moustache and beard were gathered up in two, large braids on both side of his cheeks, while a few smaller ones were neatly covering his chin. His nose was larger than those of most everyone else, but somehow that didn't actually make him ugly. He had four of his own guards with him, all wearing full plate mail, complete with helmets, and armed to the teeth like they'd gone off to battle. Only one of them had his helm off, his beard imitating that of the now arguably long-dead prince Trian, though his hair was gathered in a single tail at the back.

"Who's to say what my father said in his final hours when the usurper Harrowmont was the only one by his side?" Bhelen spat, seething with scorn.

That obviously angered the older politician enough that he grew angry. "House Aeducan must be blind to follow you! I'll have you thrown in prison!"

"You've bitten off more than you can chew!" the prince heir apparent disdainfully but confidently said back.

Both stared daggers at each other as the crowd around them became agitated and began to yell at each other to get ready for a riot.

"Handlers!" one of Harrowmont's men called out. "Separate these deshyrs in the Diamond Quarter! I will not have Bhelen incite a riot!"

That flipped the Trian wannabe off as he drew out a hand axe. "You'll not speak that way about the man who should be king!" He lunged at the other man before anyone could react and swiped at his legs with the weapon, knocking him off his feet. His motion continued as everyone drew back by reflex, and the edge of the axe was going to sink through his throat.

There was a bang as the weapon clashed with a shield of unseen force and the attacker winced as the shock traveled up his arm. He only had a moment to look around in confusion before his eyes traveled above and beyond the mob, setting on the sight of a tall elf.

An elf that had a rod of silver with an emerald tip aimed straight at him as he stood over fifteen meters away.

The ones in the crowd jumped aside with various yelps as a beam of white light struck the angered assailant straight between the eyes. The beam arched and boomed, like lightning of a sort, and went for its target passing right above the heads of the gawkers. It slammed the man with pure, kinetic force. He was quite readily sent flying, his weapon leaving his numbed grasp.

He fell on his face with a clatter of metal, after he flipped over through the air, three meters farther from where he once stood, and everyone was staring in shock at what had just happened. Some were staring at the 'victim' of that magic, while others were looking at the mage. He was an elf with dark, long hair, wearing a black leather jacket and pants, along with matching boots and a smooth, suede longcoat of the same midnight that reached as low as his ankles but was not done up in front of his chest. As such, the grey silk-woven griffon crest was clearly distinguishable on his aforementioned jacket's front.

Harrowmont turned to behold him in awe while Bhelen looked positively speechless, though his narrowed eyes conveyed his apprehension at having had his man so suddenly knocked out. Some would have probably protested at that outsider's interference once they got over their momentary shock, but they decided to reassess the wisdom of that impulse when they noticed that the side effect of whatever spell he used was sending the axe flying straight into his grasp.

Not that he actually touched it. He was using pure intent to have it float to the right of his face, above his raised hand's index finger. "You know, my **honorable** ladies and gentlemen," he began to speak as he quaintly approached, wand firmly held in his left hand. "Last time I was here you at least had the sense to kill each other **covertly**." He just studied the floating axe instead of looking at anyone.

"Who are you?" One of Bhelen's lackeys angrily spat from behind his full helmet. "How dare you assault his highness's men! And why was a **surfacer** allowed through the gates!"

The stranger didn't answer, but looked at Harrowmont for a few seconds before meeting Bhelen's reserved gaze. "Why don't you ask your lord?"

Bhelen frowned, but before he could speak, another unexpected voice cut through the tense silence. "That's enough out of you, Alim. Stand down."

The elf stepped aside with a short bow and allowed a tall human woman to walk forth. She had long, dark brown hair, arranged gracefully in a single braid that hung in front on her from behind her left ear. It was her armor that drew attention, however. The flowing, red velvet cape billowing behind her as she walked was impressive in and of itself, but the massive, full-body coat of plates was much more telling. It was a black-tinted dragonbone armor, masterfully-crafted, and had the symbol of a golden griffon with spread wings covering the entire front of the cuirass. A longsword was sheathed at her side, her left hand grasping its hilt.

She was followed by another human, a man this time, with short, dark blond hair and traces of a recently-shaven stubble. He had a massive armor of his own covered by a grey tabard bearing the rearing griffon crest on the front (weaved in silver silk, apparently). He carried a shield on his back and a blade in a scabbard strapped to his waist.

"Grey Wardens..." a random bystander murmured.

"Please forgive my rather **rash** companion," the woman said pointedly, looking sharply at Alim, who nodded just as quickly.

"I apologize, my lady. It will not happen again," '_Not __**exactly**__ this way at least.'_

The victim of the elf's 'intervention' finally groaned, signaling that he was still alive, even though everyone seemed to have forgotten about him. He was ignored as he confusedly pushed himself up.

"It better not," the woman said strictly before regarding the nobles again. "My name is Gwenith Cousland. I am here in my capacity as representative of Ferelden's Grey Wardens. Please accept my sincere apologies for our intrusion into your private affairs. We did not wish to cause offense. With your leave, we will go about our official business and leave you to yours."

"No offense taken, Grey Warden," Prince Bhelen said a little too suavely before glaring at Harrowmont one last time. "Members of your illustrious order are always welcome in Orzammar. **We** apologize you had to walk in just when those who would see us divided saw fit to stir riots." The last words carried a sharp edge.

"An yet it was your man that drew his weapon upon ours," the elderly noble countered somewhat gruffly.

Some noise began to be heard as the crowd finally started to disperse. Apparently, the captain of the commons' guard had finally assembled a sufficiently sizable patrol to come and break things up.

"Please excuse us," Bhelen politely requested as he and his men walked off. Gwen saw from the corner of her eye how he gave the now axeless, dazed dwarf a brusque shove.

"Come my lord," Harrowmont's apparent second advised. He had light brown hair and a bushy beard, but looked respectful and spoke evenly.

The aged one seemed to consider the human lady and her two subordinates for a moment before he reluctantly walked off. He looked like he wanted to ask something but eventually decided against it and gave just a curt bow before leaving with his men.

One of his guards, the one that had almost been killed stopped next to the elven grey Warden and bowed. "Thank you my lord." He received just a barely imperceptible nod in response so he went on his way.

Everyone else who had gathered was surprisingly quick in shuffling away and making themselves scarce, even as the grinding of rock on rock signaled that the front gate was finally opening. While the three of them (Gwen, Alistair and Alim) had used a side-entrance to get in (for certain reasons), the others chose to wait for the gates to open because the chests of equipment they had brought along were too large to fit through the aforementioned undersized passages.

As they themselves finally entered the underground dwarven city, the head guard practically ran on the scene, looking mighty pissed as eager to bash someone's head in just to calm down. "Stone-blind idiots! I won't have fighting in the commons! Especially in front of outsiders!"

Gwen kept her expression perfectly formal as she advanced towards him, followed by the other two on her flanks and with all the others finally coming up from behind. "I find that sodding fool I'll have him in the Legion," she heard the small, armored man mutter under his breath as he paced around.

He spotted the griffon crest and groaned. "Veata, surfacer! I am bid to let you walk the commons, but keep your place. Warden or not, I want order."

"Now see, that there has to be the perfect dwarven greeting," Alistair noted with some amusement. "I bet they practice it every day in front of the mirror."

"Lovely, a surfacer with a sense of humor. Fine fine! Welcome to our city, oh illustrious Grey Warden. How can I help you?" The monotone screamed of annoyance.

"Can I turn him into a toad?" Alim asked flatly. "Just for a little while."

Gwen sighed and just ignored that question, deciding to speak to the dwarf instead. "My name is Gwenith Cousland," she then began to point to everyone in turn, even the ones that had finally caught up.

There was a very tall man, with dark skin and white hair, wearing a red steel plate armor and casually balancing an enormous trunk over his left shoulder (his right was occupied by the hilt of Asala and her baldric). There were also two more elves, a woman (clad in a mix of light and medium armor) and a male (wearing leather and a cloak), both blond, carrying fairly large backpacks and their respective weapons. Additionally, a red-haired, human woman, wearing leather armor stood to the side and was staring around at the architecture in awe. A white-haired woman and a dark-haired, younger one, each wearing robes, completed the human body of that group.

Two dwarves were there, looking almost identical to each other in their massive dwarven armors, not unlike those worn by the Orzammar soldiers but made of gleaming silverite. They had full helmets on and nothing could be seen of their faces. They both carried the same trunk, each holding onto a handle on each side. Their attire was completed by the same Grey Warden tabards as the one Alistair had on.

Behind them was a golem of all things. And it was huge and full of orange crystals that seemed to distort the light with their heat.

Finally, there was one more, dark-haired, tattooed male elf far behind, leaning against a wall and looking bored. He had a leather armor and pants of his own, along with matching boots and gloves, plus a sword on his side and a cloak over his shoulders. He lacked a tabard, but the cloak's clasp was shaped as a griffon.

"These are Alim, Alistair, Zevran, Leliana, Wynne, Shale, Morrigan, Kallian, Sten and way over there is Theron." She gestured towards the dwarves. "He likes to call himself the Dark Wolf, and **he** goes by Duran."

"Right, nice to meet you," the guard replied, clearly not intent on remembering any of that. "You have a golem?"

"Quick to catch on! I am truly impressed," Shale remarked dryly.

The guard scowled and looked alarmed all of a sudden.

"Fear not, I was just wondering where we may find some quarters we may lodge in for likely more than a week," Gwen said casually.

He slowly shifted his gaze away from the big, scary pile of boulders. "That's easy," he snorted. "Just waltz up into the diamond quarter and find the nice little palace with your heraldry above the door. Don't you know you folks have your own quarters up there?"

"Well, we **were** considering that," she replied. "But after this mess you just saw, and knowing of the general unrest, we really would like to stay well away of that entire mess the noble quarter seems to be in until we get a better handle on what's going on."

"Well, I really don't know how to help you..." he seemed to be pondering. "We don't really have inns or whatever you topsiders call'em."

"Surely some sort of lodgings exist? The merchants that are allowed from above to trade, they must have some place to stay, do they not?"

He scratched the back of his neck. "Actually yeah. There are some quarters that should be large enough to fit you and whatever gear you brought along. Nothing fancy like you're probably used to though. Mostly storage space and some common sleeping rooms and baths. They're all vacant now too, since all surface traders were banned from the city until a king is elected."

"Can you point us in the right direction?"

"Well, the commons aren't really as orderly as the upper quarters. There are a lot of side-streets..."

"Can't you just have one of your men guide us?" Alim asked simply, still playing with that axe he'd gotten earlier.

"And we promise not to squish it," the stone giant added, just as blandly. Fortunately, the guard leader didn't realize 'it' was referring to him.

The dwarf agreed just so he could get on with his job and be left in relative peace.

"Until your man gets here, I'd like to ask some questions," Gwen ventured, getting a reluctant nod of agreement.

She asked some question of who she could speak to regarding the Blight and the treaties. As expected, she was directed to speak to the seconds of Bhelen and Harrowmont, respectively. There was something, however, that caused some surprise in the two dwarven wardens, though their helms made it impossible to see.

"Bhelen speaks through his second, Rolik Gavorn, in the Assembly. Lord Harrowmont speaks through Dulin Forender from his estate."

"Rolik Gavorn you say?" The one known as Duran asked, sounding surprised. "Who would hire someone with a name like that?"

The guardsman rolled his eyes. "By the Paragons, you surfacers don't even know what a real dwarven name sounds like?"

"Paragons?" Duran asked, sounding interested.

The other one stifled a groan and grudgingly gave a succinct explanation of what Paragons were. Addled surfacers and their ignorance.

Their so-called guide finally came for them and they went on their way, knowing they would have to find out just why Vartag wasn't Bhelen's second anymore. Needless to say, Shale was amused at the guard leader's frustration and resolved to try and cause that same reaction in as many people as possible.

"-. .-"

The merchant lodgings weren't much to look at, but they definitely beat sleeping in a tent in the middle of winter. They even had a fairly large antechamber that led to hallways with dormitories on both sides. Fortunately, the beds were large enough for even humans and elves, though barely (dwarves liked to think big apparently).

Everyone had found something to sit on, whether a couch, chair, stool, counter or whatever else.

"Maker's breath, Orzammar air is hot!" Alistair let out with a huff.

"Get used to it," said the dwarf looking in the single mirror in that room. He hadn't yet removed his helmet, but did so now. He had a white headband covering all of his hair and even went down over his eyes. The ends of it hung casually behind him, reaching as low as his waist, now that they had come out from under the headwear.

"Honestly **Duran**," said Gwen. "I am amazed you can see with that blindfold on."

"It's actually really transparent," 'Duran' answered. "Anyway, it did its job. My eyes really stand out and I have a feeling they'd glow in the shadow of a full helm." He then examined the dark brown color of his beard, which was currently arranged in a single, thick braid that reached as low as his sternum. "Good, the dye is holding." And it had better. The truth was he had gone through a dozen of different kinds until he found one strong enough, though it was likely not going to last for more than a few days (the one used to dye leather). Liselle really had her work cut out for her. Apparently, in addition to being fire-proof, his hair and beard were almost impossible to alter. The only thing they weren't was impervious.

"You do realize this will not be easy on your... allies. They will think you did not survive," Theron reminded him. "And you also won't be able to immediately learn whether or not your brother and second are still alive after all this time. The same goes to Faren and his sister. Are you sure of this approach?"

"Yes," he said immediately. Faren had already agreed after all, and his shrug confirmed it again. "I'd actually decided months ago that, when it came to returning here, it would be this kind of infiltration. And I have a hunch as to why Harrowmont is running for kingship."

"And if it gets found out?" Shale asked. She hadn't been given the details since she had gone for a stroll at the time.

Duran smirked. "Then people will think our big secret is out and they'll never even consider the magnitude of what's really going on."

Everyone nodded their assent. All they had to make sure was to never slip and pronounce his real name, or Faren's for that matter, at least for now. "So what now? The day is still young," Zervan inquired.

Duran grinned at them with his eyes still covered. "Now we go shopping of course!"

Everyone could practically feel Leliana radiating excitement.

_The review space is, as always, eagerly waiting!_


	40. Orzammar Arc 1: Political Ramblings

**Chapter 39: ****Political Ramblings**

"-. .-"

_Directive 1:__ We will enter Orzammar while concealing any information about ourselves that may act to reduce our freedom of movement and immunity to political bias. In other words, undercover infiltration will prevent either political competitor from making any assumptions as to our probable loyalties._

"Look Faren, I'm not going to force the issue," Raonar told him as he threw a piece of wood into the campfire. Night had fallen, this being two days prior to the arrival in Orzammar, and all they could see of each other's faces was what the flames allowed. Everything else around them was pitch black, what with the new moon. "If you don't like this idea, which I admit is quite unfair towards you, all you have to do is say so. I'm always open to suggestions and I'm definitely not going to make you do something against you will."

Faren pondered his expression for a moment. Physically, he looked fine, even though that whole psychic clash with the Archdemon had happened just the day before. Emotionally... as always, that guy wasn't easy to read, but the brand had known him long enough to realize that he'd always allow some feeling to show when speaking to him. Right now, he looked a bit tense, like his mind was going over an unlimited number of scenarios and sorting them out according to various criteria.

The castless dwarf had initially felt a slight amount of resentment. Basically, the plan was for both of them to go into the city under disguises, at least at first, until they could get a grip on the situation. This, however, meant that he couldn't immediately go check on Rica, and that really made his heart beat faster than it should. It just wasn't fair.

Or was it?

Faren didn't think of himself as overly clever, or at least not composed enough to avoid screwing his wit over by acting rash. He wasn't aware that this was just his low self esteem talking (he was actually very clever according to most standards). Still, he instinctively remembered the beatdown he gave the so-called noble and realized he really, really didn't want to repeat performances, or even get remotely close.

And he still hadn't apologized.

So he decided to set aside his bias and realized this was probably even more painful for the exile. By going anonymous, pretty much the only 'good' thing that would happen to him would be not getting called kinslayer and insulted at every turn (in addition to the obvious benefits in terms of general open-mindedness towards the visiting Grey Warden). That meant that Raonar would not be in any position to find out if Trian was alright any time soon. Not only that, but he'd also be responsible for a very big emotional blow towards Harrowmont and Gorim (Gorim **had **to still be alive... he had to be). Baizyl and (hopefully) Frandlin were most likely hoping for Raonar's return too, like some kind of savior.

Which, actually, that guy kind of was.

"Unfair towards me, you say," the brand scratched his stubble, realizing he should have trimmed it the day before. He stared into the fire, much like the other one did. "You're the one who's making all this suck worse for yourself. Should I even bother asking **why** you won't just barge into that Harrowmont guy's estate? This is about more than not wanting to be called a kinslayer and insulted at every turn, isn't it?"

The white-haired one looked like he wanted to poke at the fire, but he didn't have a stick handy, so he narrowed his eyes and made a swipe in the direction of the pile of cinders with his right hand. Faren's eyebrows shot up as a very small shockwave of sorts, looking like shimmering of water thrown out of a cup, burst from his palm and disturbed the embers. Then Faren remembered that Alistair had been training him and realized Raonar had begun to adapt the techniques, what with his 'condition' and all that.

Another fire seemingly appeared behind them, but they remembered not to jump around in fright. It was, after all, only Shale and her orange crystals (she'd learned how to shut them on and off, among other things).

The golem's stomping was quite muffed by all the snow, and she came and walked around over to the other side of the fire. "If it wishes, I will definitely have no trouble being my usual, scary self around any that would dream of insulting it in my presence." At both dwarves' raised eyebrows (and grins), she saw fit to explain. "Uuh... simply because I find insults distasteful, no other reason, truly..."

Rinne barked from behind the dwarf noble, reminding them that, despite being practically invisible, what with being all black and curled up into a ball, acting like his pillow (again), she was still there. For once, Shale didn't groan at the dog's presence, since they seemed to be agreeing over something. Still, feeling the awkwardness of her own offer, she began to stalk off as soon as she was replied to.

"Thanks Shale, but I'll manage," was the eventual response. "And to your question, Faren, yes, I have a... very firm reasoning for this. And I **could** explain it to you, but I don't want you to agree just on my account. I'd like to think I'm at least not **that** selfish... "

"For you, **anything** can be seen as selfishness," the redhead drawled. He took some time to ask the question he wanted. "If... if my sister's still, you know, with your... with **him**..." He swallowed. Thinking about Rica and that guy, even though he'd never seen his face, made him feel sick. It also didn't help that he'd had a run-in with that Bhelen's second and was very impressed, only not in a good way. He also couldn't really bring himself to consider this Bhelen Raonar's brother. it seemed like an insult to the latter.

He took a deep breath. "After whatever happens... happens... what'll come of my sister?"

"Well, first we have to make sure that whatever happens happens without putting your sister in danger in the first place," the noble swiftly answered (Faren was way past the point where he was surprised to find his every question had been predicted beforehand, and it's not like he was doing his best to be surprising either). He felt... warm though, seeing that Rica's wellbeing hadn't gone ignored. "That's what the anonymity will be for, among other things. Your sister she... she was very infatuated with Bhelen when I talked to her last year, worshipful even..."

The duster cringed in spite of himself. Then, he took and released a very deep breath. "And now that she's got a kid... if it's really her I mean... oh boy..." His shoulders slumped and he looked like he really wanted a break from life. He now wondered if this would all have been easier if those two ex-prison guards hadn't told them about Bhelen's concubine that may or may not be Rica.

The exile prince sympathetically ruffled his hair. "I'm really proud of you, you know?"

The younger one snapped his mouth shut a few moments later (he hadn't registered it gaping open, or his face turning to stare at the other one). "Wh... Where did **that** come from?" he stammered, barely registering how that palm was still stroking his hair.

The smile of approval was unmistakable. "You're such a good and caring little brother, always worried about your sister's wellbeing. You always have been."

Faren quickly turned his eyes in the other direction and blinked in rapid succession. Why the hell did they feel fuller than usual? Feeling so... good and grateful for that sort of praise was way too awkward. He was supposed to be an adult, dammit! Well... almost an adult anyway... (A part of his brain was glad Kallian was asleep because she'd probably tell him he was cute **again**...).

Raonar drew back his hand and both dwarves resumed their gazing into the fire. The rogue, of course, realized that silence was only there because they were both waiting for his decision as to whether he was going to agree with the plan. He didn't need long to realize his mind was already made up. It was going to be a bit hard but... it felt right somehow. The intent behind it, whatever motivation that guy had, he somehow knew it was worthwhile.

And he realized that he understood Raonar's intent just as little as he understood his reasons for just sinking into Orzammar's underworld to spring him from the carta's prison. Faren didn't get it, even now, but he knew that day was probably the first really happy day of his life, beginning with getting clobbered and finishing with being invited to become a Grey Warden, **after** finding out his sister and mother would be moving to better lodgings. Well, just **who** Rica's patron was did turn out to be a bit of a punch in the face, but still...

The fact was that he'd actually come to enjoy his life (and wasn't THAT the understatement of the age!). Coupled with the feeling of hopelessness he'd experienced just a day before, when that guy almost died...

"Alright, let's do it," he was actually proud of how decisive his voice sounded.

The deep exhalation of relief that left the exile's lungs just then made Faren wonder just when he'd managed to take such a deep breath.

"Thank you," he said in little more than a whisper, suddenly looking smaller but lighter, like some huge weight had lifted off of him. "However," he looked at the redhead again, eyes hard. "There is one more thing that needs to be taken care of so that you don't get recognized by accident, especially by Vartag."

"What's that?"

Raonar placed his hand on an all too familiar spot on his left arm. "Your scar. The one you got when you rashly pushed your arm in the flames, back then. I want it gone."

"Is that even possible? Wait, stupid question to ask you of all people... Anyway, I can just cover it up, it's not like I don't have sleeves on my shirts you know..."

"Faren, clothes might get torn in a fight. Depending on how people see our alliances, idiots and fanatics might pick a fight with us. What kind of position will your sister be in if Vartag realizes her brother is the one who robbed him blind and injured him?"

"Damn, you always have to turn just the right screws," he muttered, unconsciously clutching at the arm in question. "Should I bother saying magic doesn't know the difference between scars and normal skin...? I'm not gonna like this am I?"

This time, the smile was one of reassurance. "Don't worry. All you have to do is drink this," he held out a flask. "Some of the drug I used to make you sleep, back when Kallian... wasn't feeling well."

There was a pause.

"Wait... YOU DRUGGED M-?" a palm was instantly over his mouth.

"Shhh!" The noble's frown was fierce enough to totally smack the outrage out of him. "You'll wake everyone else. And yes, I did. Can you blame me?"

Whatever protests he had were rambled under his breath. "... not really, no..."

"So, are you going to do this or not?'

The castless young man allowed himself a moment to hopelessly sag.

"-. .-"

_Directive 2:_ _While in Orzammar, I will be known as Duran of the Grey Wardens. If asked of my past, the general consensus will be that I prefer to keep to myself. It isn't really a lie either, since I really AM going to be known as Duran for at least a period of time. If no one thinks to ask if that's my actual name, it is entirely their own fault. Also, I suppose this is where my weird name comes in. Since you all are reluctant to even speak it (yes, I DID notice that you find my name weird and hard to pronounce, so do I), it will be harder for those less... alert of our group to accidentally blurt it and break my cover._

_ Faren, likewise, will go incognito. The Dark Wolf will do as a nickname. Thus, Bhelen will not be tempted to lull him to his side, and Rica will not have a reason to seek the Wardens out prematurely. Basically, I want to make sure whatever interaction occurs between the Grey Wardens and Orzammar's relevant citizens happens on our terms. _

_ There is, of course, the obvious likelihood Harrowmont will suspect the two dwarves are us. It pains me that we should extend their uncertainty, but an immediate revelation would possibly cause undue tensions between Faren and his sister, given that we would obviously look like we would be inclined to help Harrowmont and she would obviously want to get Faren to help Bhelen, the father of her child and the insurance to her future. Granted, this all is speculation at this point, but the corresponding measures will still be in effect._

_ Of course, Bhelen's paranoia may allow him some gnawing suspicion that I may have returned to destroy him. After all, I did practically call him out on his lingering fear of me when he attempted to taunt me when I was in prison. And as with all suspicions, the best way to deal with them is to turn them to our advantage. We will let them grow, offer faint supporting arguments as to their supposed validity, and then so utterly crush them that the shock will be enough to cause the one plagued by said suspicions to go as far as to question his own judgment._

It was after dinner, the day after he'd been told about how his scar had to go, and Faren was still not very sure about all this. Somehow, after the whole eating dinner episode, he ended up sitting cross-legged on a bearskin, some distance away from most of the tents. He was just sitting there, his right hand grasping the scarred portion of his left arm. He was even bare from the waist up, in preparation of what removing the scar would entail (Alim had decided to keep warming the entire camp with magic each night, so cold was not a problem).

It really was an ugly thing, come to think of it. A large, shapeless cicatrice that went from beneath his shoulder, over his triceps and ended above his elbow. The way he got it was kind of a surprise to even him, but even though he knew it had been a very rash thing to do, it didn't feel wrong, not then, and not later. Sure, it hurt like shit, and it stung for a while after he got it, but he didn't regret getting it.

What was really on his mind was his confusion at not being sure he **wanted** the scar to go away. Of all the hurts he'd suffered, of all the crap he had to put up with his entire life, that one burn was the first injury he -chose-, and the first one that actually meant something, that was made for something worthwhile. And the scar was a sort of proof, a palpable proof that he had actually made a difference and that he could actually make choices of his own. That he had the freedom to do so.

That he had control over his life.

And there was also the fact that he actually liked the outcome of that rash decision, the same way he liked the outcome of his 'rash' decision to jump in and get those darkspawn off Alistair before the tree came down on him, back when that swarm of monsters assaulted them, several days ago. Alistair even thanked him... and Gwen hugged him afterwards, thanking him as well, but also saying she was ashamed of how she had just frozen at the sight. His attempt at explaining that her heavy armor would have made it impossible for her to get there in time to help matters didn't seem to help much either.

Friends were... nice to have. He wondered how Leske was doing. Faren had seen him before leaving and Leske almost shooed him out of Orzammar, telling him to not be stupid enough to refuse the Wardens' offer. Good old Leske, it'll be nice seeing him again... provided he's still... no, he was alive. He could always take care of himself.

"You're frowning."

Faren almost did a double take but relaxed when that familiar touch settled on his shoulders and made its way to his front, until a pair of arms were wrapped around him, hands clasped in front of his chest. "You startled me..." he said before he could stop.

"Well, there's a first! You getting snuck up on," Kallian chimed in his ear. She had meanwhile let her chin rest on his right shoulder. "I heard about the scar thing," she let her left palm slide down his arm and stopped it over the burn mark. "It's really a grizzly thing, isn't it?"

"It's not so bad." A part of Faren's mind was dimly aware of his right hand rising and taking a hold of her own. "And I'm not sure I really want to get rid of it..."

"Really?" She sounded genuinely surprised. "He told me you'd probably say that."

He shrugged. "I don't know how to explain it..."

The city elf hugged him closer until her cheek was pressed against his. He felt himself shiver slightly when her long hair brushed against his back. "He said you'd say that too, and told me to tell you that you don't need scars and wounds to let you know who you are."

The sun had long since passed beyond the mountain tops, but light had yet to completely fade from the sky.

"Well, what about you?" He asked slowly, casting his gaze to the ground. "What do you think?"

"I think you've already made up your mind," she replied with a smile, not even thinking too much about it. He found himself looking at her, and she lightly kissed his cheek. "This brooding thing you've got going on is really manly, though. I actually think it's cute."

The dwarf groaned and rolled his eyes all the way to the other side. "How the sod do manly and cute even go along with each other?"

"You somehow make it work," Kallian answered him, running her hands over his chest, even as he twisted his upper body around to face her. "Are you surprised? You do a lot of uncanny things."

"What, like turning my blood into poison for Darkspawn?" the dwarf challenged, alluding to her odd change since drinking Avernus's potion.

Kallian would have responded, but her mouth was very suddenly preoccupied. The surprise lasted but a moment and was gone as soon as it came, swept away on the wings of thrill as he wrenched a passionate kiss from her. By the end of it (and she didn't really bother to keep track of how long it took), her hair was quite thoroughly mussed.

She grinned. "You really needed that, didn't you?"

He ran his fingers through her hair, to straighten it a bit. "Yeah..."

"Well, give me that kiss back."

"Wha-" He found that she took the lead this time and didn't stop until he quite reluctantly pulled away by force, since he needed to breathe. "Whoa," he almost gasped, blinking widely. "Why is that you're so much better at this?" He complained before he could think of keeping silent, then abruptly covered his mouth.

So she poked him on the forehead. "Because **you** always hold back like I'm some fragile twig and you're afraid I'll snap if you come on too strongly."

Maybe she was right, Faren thought as he gazed aside. But it's not like he could help it either. The fact was that, whether she liked it or not, she really was fragile, with her lithe build, graceful curves that he really wanted to preserve the beauty of while letting his palms slide down... okay, maybe this wasn't the appropriate train of thought.

Eventually, he met her eyes again, and the way the skylight had dimmed made her look even more beautiful, with her face half-shrouded in shadow. He didn't really realize it, but his voice fell into little more than a whisper, like he didn't want to dispel the mood by accident. "I love you." It was just as that guy had said. Saying those words really was easier than he would have ever thought.

However, of all the reactions he would have expected, Kallian's snort was not among them. "So you finally came out and said it! Took you long enough!"

There was a pause.

"Huh?"

The elf pouted. "Seriously, you actually told my **father** you loved me before you specifically told **me**. How should I react now, do you think?"

The dwarven rogue froze in place. "Wait so... when you dragged me to see your folks, and you and your cousin fell asleep in your bed, because of all the ale you drank... you were actually **awake**? I can't believe you did that!... Well, actually wait, I do believe it... but how could you!"

"Oh please, like I get drunk that easily," she drawled. "Anyway, it was really rude. Father asked you if you really loved me and you said 'Yes sir, I love her' immediately. I know it was like, 2 in the morning and that he immediately gave you the standard 'take care of my daughter or else" speech, but really, it took you several more **months** to say those three little words to me?"

"But... but I had to... I mean, well... Look I didn't... I mean... I'm not even an elf and it was already awkward... And then... Sod it! Look I... What I mean is..." he broke off and was fidgeting like he wanted to get away from there and go sink beneath the bottom of the deepest lava pit. " You already knew! Look, I was going to... I mean I didn't think it was-"

"Important?"

"Yes! No! **NO**! No no no, that's not what I meant-" his tirade of incoherency was finally broken when Kallian just couldn't help herself anymore and burst into laughter, holding her sides and letting her forehead rest heavily on his shoulder. "You- You're doing this on purpose!" he finally realized.

"Hahahaha," she could barely link two words together and she just managed to twist her head enough to meet his eyes, though her forehead remained pressed against the side of his neck. "And you wonder... haha, you wonder why me and everyone else keeps saying you're cute!"

He did the predictable and pouted.

"And now you're pouting so adorably," she teased, brushing her fingers against the brand-less side of his face. "I love you too, Faren."

The sky was really starting to get dark now, but they still lingered in each other's arms a bit before the red-haired short man was ready for what would hopefully leave his arm as good as new. He didn't think about that for the moment, though. For now, he just enjoyed her company and silently felt grateful for that special way she had of teasing him back into high spirits.

He also decided he'd return the favor. She couldn't really be immune to teasing, right?

"Drat, I should have talked to your cousin Shianni a bit before we left..."

Tabris looked at him, puzzled. "What?"

"Oh, nothing that can be helped now," he brushed it aside, kissing her one more time just to shut her up. Of course, he also resolved to pry Kallian's 'weak spots' out of her cousin Shianni the next time he ran into her.

"-. .-"

"Friend, if you wish, I could do that in your stead," Theron offered, actually sounding sympathetic, as opposed to his usual, toneless voice.

Raonar shook his head. Faren had finally taken that drought and was quite fast asleep, guaranteed to not wake up because of anything for at least five hours. Kallian had said she didn't want to watch what was going to happen, while some of the others had already turned in. Currently, the dwarf commoner was lying on a cot. The exile was next to him, while Wynne was kneeling across from him. Alistair, Alim and Theron stood behind the commander, several paces away. The only other person walking about was Zevran.

"You know, my dear Wardens," the Antivan began, "It is strange that Wynne cannot replicate our commander's ability to heal his own scars."

Wynne quirked an eyebrow at that, but it was Raonar himself that intervened. "Actually, it took me several hour-long meditation to get rid of each of my scars, which were a lot smaller and less obvious than this one, and we don't have so long anyway." He was now tapping the side of his dagger's blade against his left palm, studying the scarred arm.

"Look, I get that this will prove good in the long run," Alistair spoke, "but I really could understand if you didn't want to be the one to, you know..."

"Look, I admit I'm really nervous, but I **need** to do this myself alright?" the dwarf argued. "I'm the reason he did this to himself. I should have realized in advance that he'd fallen prey to this terrible ability of mine to inspire utmost loyalty. If I had, I could have stopped him from burning himself, but I didn't. I have to fix this."

Zevran's eyebrows were a lot higher than usual. "My friend... I must say your frankness can send one's head spinning."

"So there **is** more to this..." Wynne implied in a low voice. Oddly enough, she had a thin smile on her face. "More than just not wanting to risk him being recognized by whoever it was you spoke of before."

The observation went by ignored. "Anyway, here we go." Without further delay, the blade in the noble's grasp sunk into the skin right below Faren's shoulder and began its trek. It would go around the scar, cutting right through the skin, after which the scarred tissue would be peeled off, blood and all. Only then would Wynne be able to mend his skin like it had never been burned in the first place with her impressive healing magic.

"-. .-"

_Directive 3:__ Gwen will act as leader of the Grey Wardens while in the city, for three main reasons. For one, everyone we meet will be at least neutral, while 'politicians' will believe they will more easily make the Wardens sympathize with their interests if a human appears to be in charge. Surfacers are naturally surmised to be ignorant of us and, to some extent, this is actually true, and Gwen has hardly asked me much about our ways, so it'll be easy for her not to inadvertently let show that she know more about dwarves than she should._

_ The other two reasons for her being the logical choice are quite simple. One, she looks great and leader-like in Sophia Dryden's Warden Commander armor. Second, my people are, unfortunately, remarkably sexist, and it will be very convenient for them to get all unnerved at having to deal with the much shunned concept of a woman warrior that could kick many of our warriors' asses._

Zevran Arainai was not the sort of person to turn away chances, but he'd be damned if he really knew how on Thedas he'd gotten himself into this sort of life. Until the middle of the previous year, he didn't really know what other sorts of life there were except for the one led by a tool. He used to belong to the Crows, lacking a purpose and having nothing but what was allowed to him by his superiors, no, his **owners**, for that is what they were.

He had no illusions as to his supposed worth, which wasn't much. He'd been bought for a bargain, after all, when he was an infant, and as he grew up, the reality that he was as expendable as anyone could get was one that his masters periodically drilled into him. He was a weapon, someone that brought death at the whims of those not bound by circumstance yet slaves to their own egos.

He'd actually lived that way long enough that he wasn't even bothered by it.

Then, the incident with Taliesen and Rinna happened, and he took the decision to throw himself at the Grey Wardens.

And now, here he was.

Life would have made a lot of sense if the ones he'd attacked had just killed him on the spot, all those months ago. It would have also made sense for them to interrogate him and **then** kill him, or to torture him as punishment. But when he found himself conscious, that all too familiar survival instinct kicked in and he bluntly offered to join and assist them. Needless to say, the reactions were varied.

Beautiful Kallian looked a bit stand offish, no doubt still suffering the aftereffects of having used that kiss to distract him. He had to admit, he was also a bit surprised at the fact that had worked on him. He prided himself as an excellent lover and seducer, but the fact was that girl really knew how to kiss and totally got him that time.

Faren, that dwarven lad, was understandably against the idea, and he scowled in an all too predictable way, still angry at him and probably a bit jealous for all the stolen first kiss thing. Alistair and Gwen shared the opinion that allowing Zevran to come along was a bad idea, while Theron just made a point of watching him carefully. Wynne had a sort of 'I wash my hands of this' attitude, while the giant Sten looked like he couldn't care less. Leliana was the only one who actually welcomed him, and Morrigan made a snide remark of how they all should be careful to check their food for poison from then on.

That left the dwarf and the elven mage. The two stared at each other for a long moment, as though holding an unspoken conversation that no others could guess at. After that, the commander (Zevran was, at least at first, surprised it was a dwarf of all things) agreed to the idea and cut his bindings.

Then, the dwarf told Theron to shoot him in the back and finished the task of knocking Zevran senseless with a nice punch to the face.

That was the first thing he learned, that he could never be sure what to expect. And yet, in the months since, he came to a realization that was, more than surprising, a little confusing.

The point was that, Zervan Arainai was actually feeling good.

The tension between him and the two lovers he had come between ironically faded surprisingly quickly, since they were all too busy rushing against time to find Kallian a cure of sorts. Zevran remembered how he actually felt worried for her, which actually came across as unusual to himself.

After that whole ordeal, he had the time to study everyone and realized that it was a very odd but cohesive gathering. The young dwarf seemed somewhat protective of his loved one, but not enough to seem possessive. Zevran was a bit surprised and approving of this, since it implied that the redhead actually held a subconscious respect and faith in her own ability. Still, the so-called flaming disposition between him and Faren remained, but it only rarely lapsed into physical violence that took the form of supposedly friendly sparring sessions... most of the time.

Kallian herself... she had bluntly told him not to leer in her direction because it made her uncomfortable. She didn't seem uneasy around him after he complied and even asked him about his exploits, but he continued to feel a sort of desire whenever he was in her presence, stronger than just the regular lust.

In regards to everyone else, there were multiple so-called rivalries, and the feeling between the likes of Alistair and Morrigan was an outright disdain, for instance, and yet they had no doubt that they would watch each others' backs while in battle. As for his relationships with them all, the proverbial painting was all very colorful and refreshing.

Between the assassin and Gwenith or Alistair, there was always a sort of amusing awkwardness, but no outright discomfort, not really. The innocent templar had also seemed very easy to embarrass for a while, until the tutoring on Raonar's part, and the business with his sister, made a visible change in his attitude and he begun to be much more self-assured. That did rob the Antivan of some of his fun, but it was no great loss. After all, he found that he could always bring about the desired reaction in Wynne when he ever so innocently asked her to allow him to rest his head in her bosom.

Well, it wasn't **his** fault that woman still had such a great-looking body, and age was just a trifle anyway.

Leliana was reserved and did not encourage his innuendos, which was unfortunate. He would have enjoyed assisting her in assuaging those urges that had gone neglected after so much time in the Chantry. Morrigan treated him with the same snide sarcasm as she did everyone else, while Sten didn't even seem to notice him most of the time. Shale had made it very clear from the start that she wanted the **Crow** to keep its distance at all times, though there had been some conversations about beauty and whether or not Shale would want to become flesh if possible.

Theron, the Dalish hunter, had proven somewhat open to conversation, as much as someone like him could be said to actually converse. However, he didn't seem to bite onto any of the former Crow's baits, and he even criticized him a few times, saying he should have more dignity and respect for his Dalish heritage. He wasn't being disrespectful either, just a bit disapproving.

Who was left? Ah yes, Alim Surana. That man was always the one who kept everyone in line when the Warden Commander was off somewhere, especially while in Denerim. He'd also given him some headaches and other unusual yet unpleasant conditions with his magic for a while, during the early weeks of his existence in that collective. Each time, however, there was no malice or any sort of negative sentiment, just 'punishment' for not abiding by the leader's initial demands. Other than that, he looked like one of the sanest in that group, even though he was a blood mage.

As for the Warden Commander himself, Zevran was actually quite intrigued by him, and it wasn't just because he had the most well developed muscle mass the elf had ever laid eyes on. He did try to gauge the stout dwarf's personality by using his standard array of allusions, but found that all he got from that was looks that transmitted only disappointment. The elf hadn't been asked to stop 'looking at him like that' but Raonar did say, at one time, how he found it sad that he (Zevran that is) didn't see himself as anything more than an object.

It was then that the Antivan understood exactly why he'd been so harshly treated upon his 'acceptance' into the group. He'd begun his coexistence with everyone else by being shot in the back and then punched in the face. After that, he got introduced to the very strict system of conditions he had to fulfill in order to find his stay enjoyable. The first instinct made Zevran think this wasn't going to be all that different from the Crows, but he was soon proven wrong, as he realized that the warden was just protecting his charges.

When that prince told him about how he didn't approve of the way he saw himself, things clicked. Basically, he was being told that he wasn't a tool any longer. That gave him some pause, and a subsequent conversation with the aforementioned dark-haired elf mage involved the latter telling him how he was now part of that group and, inevitably, being looked after by 'the so-called fearless leader'... whether he liked it or not.

It was a really strange feeling, and it changed his perspective on his situation, to the point where he actually looked forward to writing that book he'd been told to put together. Granted, the first sample veered more into bedchamber tactics than poison, but even the dwarf's reaction to that was unexpected. Surprisingly, he picked apart the information and told Zevran to keep writing things in whatever way he wished in that particular manuscript, if it helped his inspiration, while also writing a second book, the proper one.

This proved quite easy to accomplish, especially during their stay in Denerim, where he could make up for not having any of his companions as a bed partner by visiting the Pearl regularly. He'd written several dozen pages already, describing the symptoms of various poisons and how one may counteract them, complete with antidote recipes. The recipes for the poisons themselves were, understandably, not going to be included in the tome.

Currently, however, he was not doing this. Right now, they were climbing the fairly steep road towards one of the higher reaches of the Frostbacks. The dwarves, along with Sten who refused to let Kadan out of his sight, had gone ahead. While the dwarves were understandably in a rush, they probably figured it wasn't going to hurt overmuch if they allowed all the others to bask in the view and look at the immense statues of the Paragons that stood on the side of that wide path, here and there.

The gigantic sculptures depicted dwarves, both male and female, holding the tool representative of their craft. Paragons they were called. They were weathered by age, cracked and splintered, but they seemed to have been carved out of single, enormous blocks of granite, long ago.

"Grand... I can't wait to see Orzammar from the Inside! If this is the scale..." Leliana trailed off, staring up at the sculpture, marveled.

"There is definitely an allure to it," Wynne agreed.

Fortunately, they didn't stand there staring overly long, and they were all well on their way again. Gwen, apparently, had yet to truly come to terms with her role in all this. Zevran listened to her rant with a grin all over his face.

"So let me get this straight," the woman began, striding quite purposely at the head, flanked by Alistair on the right. Her plate armor, with the golden griffon crest on the front, gleamed in the winter sun and her velvet cape billowed behind her. "I am going to be the target for all the sexism inherent in Orzammar's culture..." Her tone sounded idle, but there was an obvious undercurrent of annoyance there somewhere. "I wonder if **Duran** is actually enjoying this."

The assassin was right behind them, so he could well hear Alistair's glib answer.

"Look at it this way," the templar said, "You'll have the chance to show them the error of their ways. And besides, the dwarves respect us Grey Wardens for being the only ones that care about their constant war against the darkspawn, and for how we go and take our Calling in the Deep Roads," he snapped his mouth shut, realizing how not so encouraging the current direction of that talk was. "What I mean is that the respect our Order enjoys here will probably make up for the discrimination against women."

"Well, I still think it's annoying," the brown-haired woman said with a shrug. "If they're all miniature Stens, I'm going to want to kill something."

Once they ascended enough, the ones that had gone ahead came into view. One of the silverite-clad dwarves was casually sitting on top of the body of a human wearing a silverite coat of plates, underneath whom was another man, also heavily armed and armored. The other dwarf was leaning against an ornate, blocky pillar (one of two that were connected by some sort of grate, above, like an archway), an archer's body sprawled in front of him. Sten was casually resting his body's weight on Asala's hilt. That the tip of that greatsword had gone through the mouth of a dead mage before sinking into the ground at some point in the past was just a minor detail.

"What on earth happened here?" Wynne gasped as she ran. To her credit, however, she began to check them for injuries instead of asking why they had engaged in such bloodshed. She had seen enough to know that Ra... Duran never did any unnecessary killing.

"Mercenaries hired to kill Grey Wardens," said the one sitting on the bigger men, in Duran's voice. "They even boasted as much when they tried to kill us."

Kallian walked up to the one next to the pillar. "Faren, are you hurt?"

There was a pause.

"Uhh... Faren's the one sitting on the bodies," Duran said, sounding amused behind that massive helmet of his. He even had his right hand flare with colorless energy for a moment to prove it.

Sten actually snickered.

"Ah yes, voice imitation," Zevran realized, pressing his index finger against his chin. "I am envious! I have no doubt it comes in very useful while roleplaying."

"Zevran!" Gwen and Kallian shouted at the same time, though their cheeks had turned a strange shade of pink for some reason.

"Hey, what he said technically makes sense."

The number of gaping maws that turned in Duran's direction was not a small one. Even the other dwarf's head jerked towards him with a muffed noise of shock.

"What? It does!" And he made off.

Several minutes of teasing and awkwardness later, they reached a sort of plateau where caravans could well stop and unload, so as to bring their goods in or out of the underground city. The wardens and the others (Bodahn and Sandal had separated from them and left south for Redcliffe) reached the steps leading up to the immense Orzammar Double Gates. Two dwarves, armored and armed to the teeth, stood on either side of that entrance, while a third was arguing with a human, who had three bodyguards of his own, one of which was a mage.

"Veata! This land is held in trust for the sovereign dwarven kings. I cannot allow entry at this time," stated the entry guard. He sounded like he'd had enough and just wanted some peace.

"King Loghain demands the allegiance of the deshyr or lords or whatever you call them in your Assembly! I am his appointed messenger," the human barked.

"I don't care if you're the king's wiper, Orzammar will have none but its own until our throne is settled."

Their plan already in motion, Gwen took the lead and firmly walked up the stone stairs. "I see Loghain was quick to dispatch his dog to bark at the door of his neighbors," she said idly.

"You're a Grey Warden!" Imrek spat. "The Wardens killed King Cailan and nearly doomed Ferelden! They're sworn enemies of King Loghain!"

"Actually," Gwen replied, "The grey Wardens are the sworn enemies of no one." Then she ignored his sneer and turned to the dwarf. "I have urgent need to talk to your king." Yes, playing dumb will make sure to paint the image of the Wardens as uninformed, to some extent.

"Orzammar has no king. Endrin Aeducan returned to the Stone not three weeks ago, sick over the loss of his sons," the guard replied, sounding a bit weary. "The Assembly has gone through a dozen votes without agreeing on a successor. If it is not settled soon, we risk a civil war."

"If I don't get in, no one should," Imrek demanded.

"How did Endrin die?" the woman ventured to ask. She wasn't really being deceptive either, since they really didn't know the details.

"Losing two sons, one to murder and one to exile? Who can blame him for seeking peace among the ancestors? Even despite his remaining son's best efforts, sorrow finished what the second son's kinslaying started."

Gwen had grown accustomed to wearing an iron mask, so she was able to suppress a scowl. Hypocrites were among the people she hated most, and she could stand murderers that passed themselves up as saints even less. She also had to restrain herself from looking back towards ... Duran... who was keeping his place in line, no doubt thankful for having his face totally covered. "Regardless, I have important business in Orzammar and you **will **allow us passage."

"Your business will wait. Orzammar must limit outside influence until the throne is settled. No one gets in," the short man said firmly.

"Well, I'm afraid I am exempt from that rule. This treaty demands the Assembly's aid." Gwen produced the papers and handed them over to be examined.

"Well, that **is** the royal seal. That means only the Assembly is authorized to address it. Grey Warden, you may pass."

"The Wardens killed King Cailan and nearly doomed Ferelden!" Imrek angrily yelled. "In the name of King Loghain I demand that you execute this... stain on the honor of Ferelden!"

No sooner had he finished speaking that a sword settled around his neck. "Truly, you men are so driven by your hormones," Kallian idly stated. "And so self-absorbed that you can't even pay attention to what's happening right beside you."

The two armored men that were with Imrek found that they had daggers at their throats as well, one courtesy of Zevran and one on Leliana's part. The mage was glaring at Alistair, who was right in front of him and grinning. No doubt his magic was being drained, if it hadn't already been.

"Run to your false king. The dwarves will not hear him today," Gwen demanded.

Imrek looked scared as hell and quickly began to back off once the holds on him and his men were loosened. "You... you'll hear of this. King Loghain will see you quartered!"

"You've done me a service. That fool Imrek was barking for a week," the guard said with relief. "You are free to enter Orzammar, Grey Warden, though I don't know what help you will find."

The humans, elves, dwarves, qunari and the golem proudly walked through the gigantic doorway once it was opened for them, and the wonder with which all Orzammar dwellers looked upon the construct was more than enough to make sure Raonar and Faren, looking like identical soldiers, went by almost completely ignored. This also meant that no one noticed Kallian passing one of the dwarves an envelope.

To King Bhelen of Orzammar the missive said on the front, while the back showed the seal of Loghain Mac Tir.

"Hmm, so you pickpocketed that annoying man," the one known as Duran realized in a low voice. "Very good."

"-. .-"

After they managed to get settled in the quarters usually employed by merchants, Gwen took Alistair, Leliana and Alim to the diamond quarter in order to speak with this Rolik Gavorn, Bhelen's representative. Bhelen and Harrowmont were apparently equally matched in terms of support as far as the Assembly went, and they had been for about three weeks. The short session that the two elves and two humans assisted to, and which crumbled upon the threats of family axes, pretty much only confirmed that. Bhelen had actually lost some supporters, according to a certain woman, Nerav Helmi, whom they ran into while passing through the commons.

Apparently, going directly to see either lord Harrowmont or this Prince Bhelen was not possible, since they had both holed themselves up in their respective homes. Harrowmont had his own estate, while Bhelen was still living in the Royal Palace. Their seconds were the people to see if contact was to be made with either party. As such, they entered the Diamond Quarter, and some idle conversations with less grumpy nobles revealed that, indeed, Bhelen had a noble hunter concubine named Rica.

At Duran's direction, Gwen went to the Assembly chamber first, to find this Rolik, while Theron took Kallian and Zevran on a trip through the expansive commons, possibly making a stop at Tapsters Tavern, to fish for information. It was supposedly essential that the dwarves in their group not show themselves in public yet, to both quell and feed suspicions.

Gwen found Rolik to be extremely obnoxious. He wasn't disrespectful, but his amiability was so obviously faked that, while her face did not show it, Gwen's stomach twisted in a very tight knot. Needless to say, after he gave them the promisary notes meant to cause Lord Helmi and Lady Dace's votes to change (they stated Harrowmont had lied to them by offering them the same property), she immediately dropped by the Shaperate, where the documents were proven to be fake. This didn't come as all that unexpected, not after Duran drilled them mercilessly into what Orzammar was going to be like.

She confronted Bhelen's second again and, though he did make a show of trying to assure her of how her fears were unjustified, he eventually laid everything out for her. Gwen decided she really disliked playing dumb, but she figured it would be worth it, eventually.

"You want to know how the game is played? I wrote the papers, and left a sizable fee with the registry office to back them," he said smugly. "But if you think figuring it out gets you off the line, you don't understand how this works. I'm asking for a show of loyalty. So, exactly how much truth is involved shouldn't matter in the slightest."

"The Grey Wardens do not need to show their loyalty to any sovereign," she said smoothly. "By denying us an audience you are basically accusing us of dishonorable intentions. I wonder just how wise it is to challenge the honor of the Grey."

"Interpret it the way you wish," he almost waved her off. "What I'm asking you is where your allegiance lies, Warden."

Gwen was really growing annoyed with the tone of his voice, but Alim decided to speak instead. "Allegiance? Are you serious? Bhelen must be desperate, or good help must be hard to find these days, because you are an utter moron."

There was a pause.

"Excuse me?" Rolik sounded shocked.

"I understand you were not important enough to be around at the time, since Prince Bhelen didn't have you as a second then. He had some other guy, Vorteg or something," the elf explained casually, not letting show how delighted he was at Rolik's frown. "But I actually was here last year, when good King Endrin was still alive, and even **he** understood that it is **we** Grey Wardens that may demand the allegiance of **entire nations** in times of Blight." He let his eyes glow irisless blue and glared down at him. "So do not presume to think you or your master may demand **our** allegiance. The Grey Wardens serve Thedas, and those that do not heed our call could very well be seen as committing treason against all the world."

"You should mind your words, **Warden,**" the dwarf almost spat. Unfortunately for him, his brown hair and overall bland appearance and brown eyes, plus a boring stubble, didn't really make him look all that threatening. That he was several heads shorter than the four people looking down at him also didn't help. "No matter what you say, My Prince will not see you as long as you're no use to him."

He probably meant "He'll be of no use to you while he can't trust you" but the taunt had played its part.

"Ah, a magnificent slip!" the mage said, narrowing his eyes. "The Order of the Grey has always been above and beyond any sovereign's meager reach, and yet this Prince Bhelen, not even king yet, has the gall to think himself relevant enough to seek to **use** **us**," Alim noted with a shade of a smile. He then turned to Gwen and talked to her like Bhelen's second wasn't even there. "What do you think, my lady, should we invoke the right of conscription?"

Rolik did a double take. "WHAT?"

"Not on you, you're useless to us," Alim said with a dismissive gesture. "I meant on Bhelen. Drafting him into our ranks would pretty much totally solve this division crisis, wouldn't it?"

"You be careful," he warned. "That's just a formality."

"I beg to differ," Gwen broke in again. "We can draft anyone we wish, especially in times of Blight... Unless you plan to contradict some of your most ancient public records held in the Shaperate."

"You'd better watch your step, or you'll have to fight half of Orzammar's soldiers," Rolik growled, though he looked somewhat taken aback. He probably had never considered this. "Even Grey Wardens can't take on a whole army."

"Really?" Alistair finally spoke. "That's weird. From how we slaughtered over 200 darkspawn just a few days ago, sustaining just minor cuts in the process, I'd say we're pretty good at fighting armies."

"And the other half of Orzammar's soldiers would not doubt support us just so that order may be restored sooner," Alim hypothesized out loud. "Really, if we decided to, we'd drag the conscripted one out of the city kicking and screaming. It's not like it hasn't been done before."

"Enough!" Gwen said tiredly, turning to leave. "It is clear that, while I am... barely... undecided about Prince Bhelen, his **second** knows neither his place nor how to truly serve his lord's best interests. Though I admit, having such an unseemly hound does not speak well of the master. And I really was going to ignore the rumors about him being a kinslayer until I had a chance to talk to him in person."

"You'll regret this!" the dwarf shouted at their backs, drawing the eyes of the assembly guards. "And you'll see that you won't have better luck with the usurper Harrowmont either!"

Leliana was pleased to leave the Assembly halls because she could finally start giggling. "I'm amazed you actually came out and said that."

"Well, the option actually is under consideration," Gwen said absently, hoping Harrowmont's second would be less slimy. She was glad that she wouldn't have to be choosing between Bhelen and Harrowmont though, because the latter didn't sound like an overly brilliant option either. She decided she had to go see the situation of the castless for herself. Regardless, the events so far had definitely convinced her of one thing.

Orzammar was fucked up.

She understood 'Duran' a lot better now. She only hoped all his efforts wouldn't end up meaningless in the end. There was just so much blatant corruption here, so much that any attempt at purging it could seem all but hopeless. She thought Howe was bad, but at least, for Ferelden, he was the exception. Here, at least half the 'nobles' were just like him. And what was worse was that Duran's... Raonar's... own 'Howe' was his own brother.

Gwen was glad that she wasn't really in charge of things.

"-. .-"

It hadn't taken the three elves (Theron, Zevran and Kallian) long to prowl through a small part of the vast area of the commons and learn a great many things. The city may have been sealed off from surface trade, but that hadn't happened too long ago and goods were still in abundance. The Wardens could safely say that their gold supply wasn't too bad, but it could also be better. Regardless, they picked up some interesting tidbits.

"Bhelen's where the gold is," a merchant predictably said. Harrowmont was supposedly in favor of isolation. Another merchant said that Bhelen wouldn't be the kind of person he'd have his daughter marrying, not after seeing him slap around his second just minutes after being all friendly like. Some also spoke about his concubine, some castles noble hunter that had already borne him a son.

Tapsters was the real information den though. Corra, the hostess, was remarkably forthcoming when asked about pretty much anything. At some point, Zevran started to be himself, but the other two noticed something in where he was leading the discussion.

"I must say, my dear, this establishment you have is wonderful," he said earnestly, leaning over the bar. "A real shame the more... refined of Orzammar's citizens don't see its beauty as we do, or they'd all be here."

"Actually, Dulin Forender, Harrowmont's man, comes here a lot. Good guy too. If you'd come sooner, you might've seen the **prince **here too, but now he's holed himself up in his estate."

Zevran easily detected the undercurrent of disgust for this Bhelen fellow. "You sound a bit upset about something, my dear hostess," he said sympathetically. "Does this have something to do with that kinslaying the entrance guard told us about?"

"Oh, I stay away from the games of the nobles, but that kinslaying business in House Aeducan, that I don't like. With Prince Bhelen, at least you know what you're getting, but I never thought his brother would turn out to be such a murderous fiend."

"I assume this is about how King Endrin had three children," Kallian 'guessed' while making sure not to let any unwanted emotion filter into her tone. "Which one are you talking about?"

"The middle one, that's who," she said sourly. "He always acted oh so honorably and had pretty much everyone worshiping the ground he walked on, and then he goes ahead and murders Prince Trian." She really sounded disdainful. "I ain't gonna lie to you, I don't really trust any of the Aeducans, Bhelen included, especially not after that."

"You sound like you fancied this Trian," Zervan uttered with a shrewd glance.

She paused for a bit, making sure that there was still no one listening. "He was a good man, despite what others might say," she said in a clipped voice. "Regardless, I don't have time to talk all day, so if you don't want to drink anything..."

"Perhaps you know of someone else who would be willing to put us up to speed with Orzammar at large?" Theron queried.

"Lord Denek Helmi should be around here somewhere. Yes, he's the one raising rabble on the right. Go talk to him. He's always trying to see the 'real' Orzammar and speak about his progressive idea that his peers will have none of."

"-. .-"

It was quite late when everyone finally reconvened in the merchants' quarters that they had taken as their own during their stay in Orzammar. While the others were out, the ones that stayed behind made sure to prepare the quarters and baths and to determine which of the chambers were the most secure and unlikely to be overheard from. When the other came back, those that had not been out (Sten, Shale, Morrigan) didn't really do much but watch and listen.

Theron's group returned first, and Kallian immediately gave Faren the assurance he needed. The dwarven rogue practically let himself fall on his back on one of the beds, sighing in relief. While the idea of Rica with Bhelen wasn't exactly pleasant, just knowing she was mostly fine took a great weight off his shoulders.

The rest of the information they had gathered only confirmed what the undercover dwarf noble already suspected. Zevran somewhat hesitantly explained how there wasn't anyone among those that they 'interrogated' who even thought the second son may have been framed for the crime, or they didn't care enough. When they told them of Corra, 'Duran' immediately made the connection that the Tapsters hostess's opinion would surely have spread and been adopted by most of the common folk.

They had also expected Raonar to be put off by all they learned, but instead he smiled when they told him of what Corra said. "I thought she would know better than to believe the lies about me," he said with some warmth. "Especially if she knows Bhelen for the snake he is. But still, I'm glad at least **someone** likes Trian, for all his faults. And I suppose my refusal to defend myself during the trial was interpreted as a sort of confession in itself." He grinned and his face showed something none of the others present had ever seen before. "Good. The more people believe that assumption, the larger the impact will be when that assumption is ruthlessly shattered."

Some time later, Gwen's group finally returned and they all looked a bit annoyed and tired. The high Orzammar temperatures weren't really helping either. When they told him what they did, however...

"By the Paragons' breeches!" Duran let out. "You actually threatened to have Bhelen conscripted?"

There was silence as those eyes were more silver than cyan for once. And blinking.

Repeatedly.

Alim and Gwen shared a look and were getting ready for the tongue-lashing of their lives, since the original plan didn't really involve them blurting out that particular tidbit. But man, that idiot Rolik had been so infuriatingly annoying!

But the exile burst into laughter, like he'd never laughed before, and held onto both sides. He was sitting cross-legged on top of a bed, but the laughter sent him tumbling and he fell off the bed before anyone could react, still laughing himself to tears even after the thud signaled his hard impact with the stone floor.

"Bwahahahahaha!" he tried to climb back on the bed. "Hahaha, you guys... oh boy, I can't breathe...!" he was able to make it half-way back up, with a lot of assistance from his arms, and his face was really wet with actual tears. "Oh man, hahahaha! Man, I so **wish** I could have been there! I can only imagine the face Bhelen made when that Rolik idiot went and told him you said that!"

Alim was glad he'd cast a forcefield that made the room mostly sound proof.

"Thanks guys," the prince told them. "I really needed a good laugh."

"Anyway," Alistair intervened, rather awkwardly. "We also managed to find out just why that Vartag guy is no longer Bhelen's second. From what we learned, Bhelen discarded him not long after you were exiled. The Shaper only said that Vartag Gavorn's service to Bhelen had been terminated after he was found lacking in ability and acting in a manner that shamed his house... or something. I heard he was almost cast out of said house."

The two dwarves shared a look, then it was Faren's turn to start laughing wildly. Fortunately, he proved more graceful and only hit the sheets with his face, not the floor. "Hahahaha, that's rich! I didn't think this would happen when I robbed him blind and scared him shitless!" He calmed down after a while, "I guess even Bhelen couldn't really put up with how he got out of Dust Town covered in dust and without his guards, and with a knife in his shoulder... And he'd also screwed up in his task to kill Trian too! Any idea what he's been up to lately?"

"Well," Zevran cut in. "As I understand it, he has been drinking himself silly ever since. He's supposedly a regular of Tapsters, grumpy and growly, always snarling at everyone. Some people referred to him as 'The Second Coming of Oghren' so we had to ask about **him** too."

"Ah, Branka's husband," 'Duran' remembered, looking a bit distant. "Became a drunken wreck after his wife took his whole house and left for the Deep Roads to find something she never talked about. About 300 men and women were there in total. He was left behind and didn't take it well. Shame really. He used to be one of the few people who could kick my ass."

The discussion continued with Gwen's explanation of what Bhelen's second wanted them to do.

"Hmm," the prince pondered. "The promissory notes aren't really an unexpected move. The way his second just blurted out that whole forgery thing is kind of sad though. While leaving it to Rolik does enable plausible deniability, it's still a really sloppy move on Bhelen's part. Goes to show that he has no real experience in this, and that his thinking has become limited since he doesn't even conceive the fact that surfacers should be approached differently. And the fact that he actually expects the Grey Wardens to show allegiance... well, that really is just stupid. And smug." His expression changed. "I'm really disappointed. I suppose some could just say it was his second being an idiot and choosing wrong words, but it's still Bhelen's own failing if his supposedly most trusted man is such an imbecile. Ah well."

Gwen smirked at that and went on to relaying what Dulin had greeted them with.

"So, Dulin Forender eh? He was polite, wasn't he? Now you know why I told you to go see him **after** Bhelen's man. So, Bhelen's hosting a proving in Father's memory. Good political move I guess, but still nothing special. Blackmailing Gwiddon and Baizyl though... What did Baizyl do, I wonder..."

"Dulin wants us to fight in Harrowmont's Honor," Alistair said. "And if we can, get Gwiddon Torgan and Baizyl Harrowmont back in the ring as well."

"When does the event start?"

"Tomorrow," Aim said.

The silence was not exactly deafening this time, because the people there could almost hear the cogs turning in the prince's head as he held his hands clasped under his chin and stared blankly, in that all too familiar position that could only spawn some new, convoluted plot. Alim idly wondered if he could devise a spell that would make the proverbial light flash above the commander's head when he got an idea.

Slowly, a grin spread over the currently brown-bearded one's face. "We are going to enter the provings."

"So you're going with Harrowmont after all?" the heavily armored human woman inquired, surprised that it was already coming to picking sides.

The dwarf looked at them incredulously. "Are you kidding? Of course not!"

There was a pause, but no one spoke. By now, they were well used to how he always ended up giving one of his weird explanations.

Everyone except Morrigan it seems, who was frowning by the door. "Oh, do speak will you? if you are going to get us curious, 'tis only proper that you stop creating suspense."

"Grey Wardens are supposed to stay neutral from a political perspective," he began. "And unless there's some universal law that dictates that we cannot progress without choosing a side, we are going to do things our way. So of course we won't support either candidate, and this will also raise or reputation as people that uphold their creed and 'tradition'. Many of my and Faren's people are suckers for the word tradition. However, this doesn't mean we can't do a whole lot of other things. For instance, Zev talked about some guy who had lost his nugs. Anyway, getting permission to meet the king wannabes in person can be done in more ways than one."

"So what is your plan?" Wynne asked.

"We are going to shake things up," he declared ominously, making them imagine thunder striking a tumultuous sea behind him, albatrosses flying hurriedly out of the way of the natural rampage and giant, tornado clouds siphoning water up into the air. "We will confuse the hell out of everyone in Orzammar, In our very own, special way." He noticed the pointed looks everyone was giving him. "Alright, alright! We'll confuse the hell out of Orzammar, in **my** very own, special way. Sheesh..."

Everyone was of the same mind when they thought tomorrow would be a very interesting day.

_The review space is there and waiting!_


	41. Orzammar Arc 2: Grand Disproving

**Chapter 40: Grand Disproving**

"-. .-"

The 'evening' (more like near the so called 'curfew' that Orzammar held to, so as to ensure a sort of generally coordinated sleep cycle) before the Grand Provings held in the memory of King Endrin were set to be fought, it occurred to Duran (or so Alistair figured) that several things were needed from the merchants. Some spare weapons and sharpening stones were required, as well as everything else involved in the maintenance of equipment. Food they had in abundance, as Theron had dutifully done much hunting the few days prior to their arrival there. Several already processed hares and quite a bit of venison were neatly crammed inside a trunk that Alim had cast a freezing spell on, spell that he renewed every so often.

Magic really was very handy.

Spices they had bought quite a bit of back in Denerim, since Duran was adamant that they be well prepared since Orzammar doesn't know of too large a variety of ingredients and, with the city sealed off, chances were merchants wouldn't have much of what they would need to make good food.

Duran insisted that Gwen go buy the equipment and maintenance supplies personally, saying something about how she had to make her presence felt in Orzammar and stir gossip. The people talking about what **she** was doing will have less time to think about the mysterious dwarves (not that they'll be mysterious much longer). Sten went with her, since he was the heavy lifter, as did Alim, since he'd become a really big subject of 'discussion' after all of his 'feats' (his entrance, calling Rolik Gavorn a moron to his face, etc.), or these were the reasons Duran had cited for sending them along.

It also happened that Duran sent those three out just after Alistair had finished taking a bath, so the templar wasn't exactly in a position to accompany his significant other. And since it 'happened' to be more or less late when Duran even 'remembered' he really wanted those purchases to be done **that** very day, they had to hurry before shops closed, so they couldn't wait for Alistair to dry off and get dressed either.

Alistair found this to be strangely convenient. He was now sitting on a sort of sofa that went along most of the wall of the first room of those merchant quarters. The entrance to the so-called enclave accessed a hallway that went both ways. The room Alistair and the dwarven noble were now in was just across that hallway from said door and separated from it by a very solid, stone door.

As stated, Alistair was sitting on a sofa, right next to his pack of personal belongings that had ended up there for some reason he had not yet guessed. He was wiping his damp hair with a towel (he had just some trousers and a shirt on at the moment), thinking about whether or not to do what he was thinking of doing ever since he overheard Ra... Duran giving Faren advice, back when he was all panicked about going to see Kallian's father and cousins.

He'd been meaning to ask him some things for a while but he wasn't sure how awkward it was going to get. Then again, with Gwen having just left, this would pretty much be the perfect opportunity, especially knowing Zevran would take a while to shower.

Speaking of that, Alistair couldn't help but think that dwarves had very convenient baths. Basically, the naturally heated water was guided through a system of aqueducts and pipes straight to where the baths were built in a residence (or whatever). There, one needed simply turn or pull on some levers and said water could pour forth through some weird pipes with larger than usual ends, with many holes in them. They were simply called showers. The dwarves had also made a point of placing them higher than usual, meaning that even humans and elves could find the height satisfactory.

There was probably a joke about overcompensating in there somewhere.

Alistair had taken his sweet time washing all the grime off and was sure Zevran would do the same. There was also how those were more or less common baths, with so-called shower cabins, so multiple people could clean up at once. And the fact that bath tubs were also among the assets of that 'modest' establishment, that no one would hurry to come out was a guarantee.

That meant that Alistair had the rare opportunity of speaking to the not-currently-commander in private. Duran himself was, for once, not meditating. Instead, he was lounging on the sofa opposite from him and enjoying a tankard of ale that he had had Zevran pick up from Tapsters earlier. He looked... well, Alistair couldn't really tell for some reason. All he knew was that one wouldn't think that dwarf could be the same that tongue-lashed him and Goldanna into actually talking to each other.

Not that he minded the whole second try. He'd even given her their mother's amulet, the one Gwen had found back in Redcliffe and returned to him. It felt... right to do it somehow. At least that way it would get passed on to those younger and who held the hope for the future.

Back to the exile. The regular clothing the dwarf had on did make his very solid frame and wide shoulders stand out more than usual, and the shirt wasn't done up completely in front either. Alistair only now noticed how strange he looked, even with his hair and beard dyed and arranged differently. Apparently, even his enviable chest hairs were white.

Being the innocent man that he was, Alistair Theirin somehow managed not to wonder about whether or not a certain other hairy region was white as well.

"Hey... can I ask you something?" the almost-templar finally had the nerve to ask.

"Hmmm?" he looked completely open to discussion, even though he was in the process of finishing the first half of his dwarven ale. He wasn't even looking at the human.

"How do you..." the bastard prince stopped and scratched the side of his neck, feeling really embarrassed. He decided to drink some of that ale. Maybe that would give him more guts. He took the miniature barrel and poured himself a mug. After that, he hesitantly brought it to his mouth, taking a slow sip. The taste was strange, but not really foul, and he was surprised that the level of alcohol wasn't higher-

"How do you woo a woman?"

There was a comical spouting sound as Alistair toppled over and sputtered all the ale in one sudden heave, almost spilling his whole mug as his throat descended into a fit of chokes and coughs. "Mak-Ack!" he choked and heaved, feeling himself teary-eyed. "Maker's breath! How did you...?" he eventually managed to give out, still heaving.

"Fun," the dwarf noted casually.

"You evil, sadistic man!" Alistair accused him with a desperate gesture.

"Well, that **was** what you wanted to ask me, wasn't it?"

The human really didn't like that honest smile of his. It was too disarming. "Yes... but did you have to make me spit my ale everywhere?"

"Right, blame it on the dwarf," he said dryly.

The templar sighed and sunk into the sofa. Still, now that the first part was out of the way, and had gone on with a lot less awkwardness than he expected (or had it?), he figured he may as well wing it. Thus, he began to rummage through that pack of his until he pulled out something long, wrapped in a cloth. Carefully, he unwrapped the package, revealing it to be a rose. A red, flawless rose that looked like it was timeless.

For once, the dwarf was surprised. "It's the middle of winter on the surface and I don't remember you going to any weird flower shops, or if there are any in Denerim. And a normal one wouldn't have lasted that long either..." He flashed his eyes white and the human felt a subtle wave of energy wash over him. "Hmm, odd magic. I assume it keeps it fresh?"

There was a pause.

"Now see, that's what I really find creepy about you. Your deductive ability is really scary. And shouldn't something like this put you off even a little bit?" the man was a trifle peeved.

"Oh please, with all the weird shit I've been through, that doesn't even make it in the top fifty," he waved him off, drinking some more ale. "As a templar, you could easily make the same deductions. Not to mention Leliana also talked about her vision and how some gnarly, ugly bush bloomed a rose just like that all of a sudden last year, in Lothering, like it was a sign from that Maker of theirs or something."

There was much staring on the human's part, his gaze shifting from the speaker to the flower, and back and forth and back and forth.

And the dwarf was staring at him and blinking. "No... you can't be serious! The gift you want to offer Gwen is Leliana's rose that you picked up all the way back in Lothering! Last year!"

"Oh, Andraste's heaving bosom! How in Ferelden can you guess things so outrageously accurately?"

Duran was looking at him with a raised eyebrow, making him feel a bit dumb. "Did you **actually** ask me that? You do know that having this kind of deductive ability is what's kept me alive so far, right?"

The other man bit back a cry of exasperation and just sat back in the couch, breaking off one of the last thorns that the rose's stem still had. The silence stretched for a while, but Alistair had a rare flash of insight and realized Zevran and the others wouldn't take long to finish their baths or showers so he should probably hurry.

Fortunately, the exile helped things along. "So, why are you so distraught?'

"I uh... I wanted to ask you if you could... advise me on how to best... regale Gwen with this simple gift."

Duran had, meanwhile finished his ale and was now granting his brother-in-arms his undivided attention (or so it seemed). "Why ask me?"

"Well, you helped Faren back in Denerim and you also helped me set things right with my sister so I figured you would, you know... have some pointers about this too. And please don't even bring up my reasons for not asking any of the others about this." Alistair was able to say this with almost zero stutter because he'd actually thought about how best to broach the subject for quite a while.

"Yes, the only ones that have even an inkling about these things are Leliana and Zevran," Duran agreed with a thoughtful nod. "But didn't you already prepare a whole speech?"

The senior Warden suddenly looked panicked. "How did y-.. oh no, if you know, who else does? Did Gwen hear me? Oh no, this is a disaster!"

"Calm down Alistair, only Zevran knows because he was sneaking around one night and overheard you." Those words somehow didn't exactly reassure the templar. "Something about how you wanted to give her the flower because it's beautiful, like she's beautiful and so on."

There was a sigh of hopelessness as the human visibly deflated. "I've actually wanted to talk to her and offer her this for weeks but... I can't gather the stomach for it. I'm afraid I'll just start tripping on my words." Not knowing what else to do, he decided to drown his worry in some more of that weird ale.

"Alistair, you'll most likely never be able to give her that flower without stuttering, regardless of how much you rehearsed," said the dwarf, quite matter-of-factly.

He paused in his drinking. "Why not?" he resumed drinking.

"Because, Alistair, you've never had sex before."

This time the sputtered ale was a lot more and the dwarf used a worn pillow to shield himself from the onslaught (he'd somehow had it handy, like it had been prepared beforehand). Chokes and coughs again erupted in a torrent from the bastard prince's lungs. "How did y-" his jaw snapped shut. _Andraste's flaming sword! _"You're wicked! You're worse than Wynne!"

"Hey, I was just answering your question," the currently non-prince retorted innocently. "And it's obviously true."

"Well that's not the reason!" he claimed, quite defensively.

"It's not like it's anything to be ashamed of, you know," the prince said with a smile that threw the human for a loop.

"Well it really isn't the reason," Alistair said again, looking aside. "She has this really fiery temper and I know it's just because of what happened to her family, but I don't know how to handle it. I **want **to get her to talk to me about it more and I tried to talk to her but... I don't know, she's just... she's really intimidating, you know? And she also seems, I don't know, a bit... annoyed lately, probably because of this whole not-really-being-the-leader thing."

"I don't think that's the reason," the exile said casually. "At least not the only one."

"What do you mean?"

The prince cast a sideways glance in his direction. "Alistair... she's jealous!"

There was a pause.

"WHAT? Jealous of what? I haven't done anything!"

"Jealous of Faren and Kallian," he clarified, ever so candidly. "Their relationship has obviously progressed a lot faster than yours, and they're both younger than you two. So of course she'll feel a bit annoyed. Well, at least **I** think this is the reason."

The human prince opened his mouth a few times, but snapped it shut just as quickly until he was actually pondering the implications. "I never even thought of that... But what should I do?"

"Some question!" Duran scoffed. "Tell her you love her, you dolt! Give her the rose! Kiss her. Do all of them at once!"

"Easy for you to say," Alistair muttered, though his cheeks were a bit more rosy all of a sudden.

The piercing stare coming from those silvery eyes was intense. "Unless you **don't** love her."

"I do love her! Honestly, some things you just don't joke about!"

"Well sorry Alistair, but you haven't been doing a great job of proving it lately," he said blandly. "What have you done for her besides offer to arrange her tent and other minor things? As I recall, she did sit and listen to you brood about Duncan. Maybe you should try the same for her."

"I already said I wanted to but couldn't..." Alistair replied lamely. "Come on man, cut me some slack! I have no idea how to approach this... I **want** to talk to her alright? I want to tell her that I'll do everything I can to help her set things right, to make all this Grey Warden life more bearable, to bring Howe to justice. I** want** to tell her I'll always protect her and be there for her, I just... don't know how..." By now, he was staring at the rose he was fiddling with, so he didn't immediately see his listener's bright, approving smile. He didn't really look up either, until he heard the door to the right creak open.

"I think you summed it up just perfectly," said the dwarf noble as he stood up.

Alistair, of course, had gone into some serious shock from seeing Gwen at the door. He didn't know when he'd jumped to his feet because he was more concerned with finding out something else. "Oh, bugger me, how long have you been listening at the door?"

To her credit, the human lady was smiling as she entered the room. Conveniently, she didn't have her massive armor on either, wearing some chainmail-patched, sufficiently elegant clothing instead. This consisted of a fairly tight vest that gave her bust all the prominence it needed as she walked into the chamber. "Oh, I've been there long enough," she said absently, advancing until she was close enough to take Alistair's hands, brought together, in hers. "That is, since you first called him an evil, sadistic man."

That was way before the never having had sex part. "Oh," a distant part of Alistair's brain registered the flower sliding out of his grasp into hers. The rest was busy staring at her as she leaned close.

"The rose is beautiful," she whispered.

Alistair had imagined what his first kiss would be like, but found that the idea didn't even remotely do the experience itself justice. Case in point, his head felt like it was spinning the moment her lips touched his and he felt a foreign tongue pushing against his own. The rest was mostly blurry afterwards, and he just stood there, stunned, after it was over. And the way Gwen snapped him out of the revelry was positively outrageous.

She looked down at the dwarf, who was standing some paces away, grinning at her. "You know, Duran, when Alim 'suggested' that I check the amount of gold we had about half-way to the shops, I thought he was kidding. There was no** way** you would end up handing us less gold by mistake, but it seems you did. I also found it odd that Alim 'remembered' to ask me about when we were just far enough from this establishment that I just 'happened' to return in time to hear this conversation unfold."

Alistair's eyes widened in shock and his head did a 90 degree turn, a searing glare leaving his eyes right then and there.

Predictably, the not-prince was totally unfazed and ignored him, responding to the woman with a shrug. "You two were taking ridiculously long." And he walked towards the exit.

"You... You set this up!" the man cried out in horror. "I **knew** it was weird that my personal pack was just sitting there!"

"Humph! Setting people up is what I do, remember?"

"You know," Gwen added. "When Wynne told me she thought you had a matchmaker's complex, I didn't believe her at first, but now..."

The dwarf was already closing the door behind him and didn't even turn around to respond. He actually talked like he was the only person alive. "Ah yes! Playing the matchmaker is so satisfying!"

And the door was shut.

"-. .-"

Apparently, Sten and Alim were not in the hallway, even though they were supposed to be accompanying Gwen. They'd probably decided to wait outside. That didn't mean the hallway was completely empty, however, as the exile came upon Leliana waiting just around the corner. The sound of something, or someone(s) falling on the sofa (along with a -meep- on Alistair's part) was heard quite clearly the same instant.

"That was a nice thing you did," the bard said with half a grin. She was leaning against the wall and had her arms crossed in front of her chest.

Duran stopped and looked back towards where the room was (which was in the direction of the snuggling noises). "I'm sure Alistair would have disagreed with you until a few seconds ago."

There was a strangled yelp and the noise of people jumping to their feet, startled. Through it all, one could also faintly hear the sound of a heavy dwarven door lazily swinging open. Both the dwarf and the orlesian woman contemplated the sudden silence.

Then, Alistair was heard speaking. "Nothing happened!"

"Yet," was all that Zevran's coy tone could muster from behind an eerily approbative chuckle. Both Leliana and the commander-in-hiding realized the assassin had to be wearing little besides a towel draped around his waist and thighs. He HAD, after all, just come out of the bath and, well, he was Zevran Arainai.

The prince met the not-chantry-sister's gaze as the familiar sounds of a flustered couple ensued. "That was not my fault," he said flatly.

The woman just giggled and followed him to the sleeping quarters, where she decided to just climb up to her bed. Since those weren't exactly luxurious conditions, the dormitory was really a large, long room with two rows of bunk beds which, as already stated, were actually long enough to fit humans and elves. Sten had already said this was the dwarven way of overcompensating, though the context used made it sound as though he wouldn't have assumed that dwarves had this 'problem' just from knowing Faren and kadan.

The currently not white-haired prince was forced to explain that surface dwarves actually often had mercenaries with them, as escorts and weight lifters, so the decision had long ago been made that quarters of this sort would be designed for the possibility of human or elven 'guests'. What was more, since qunari mercenaries weren't too big an oddity either (Faren could confirm that the carta had them as well), that such giants would come to Orzammar was not excluded.

Case in point, there were actually two larger beds at the back, both of them just perfect for Sten. The proud warrior decided dwarves had more foresight and sense than he had been led to believe.

Leliana climbed the ladder up to her bed and looked down to the bunk beside hers. The only other person in that room, beside the dwarf noble, was Faren himself, only he wasn't conscious. Even though it was not that late yet, he was sound asleep, lying on his side, one hand under the pillow supporting the weight of his head. The fingers of his other hand seemed to hold onto the blanket that wasn't perfectly covering him, meaning that it stopped short of his shoulder.

The position meant he had his back turned in her direction. The bard remembered how she had overheard Duran talking to Alim about how Faren hadn't been getting enough sleep the past week. Now that he was reasonably sure his sister was fine, more or less, he had finally given in to fatigue.

The orlesian minstrel didn't really bother being discrete as she watched the other dwarf walk over to the other side of the bunk bed and carefully pull the blanket over him, tucking him in properly. That warm smile of his that, oddly enough, reminded her of her revered mother didn't escape her either.

Faren shifted in his bed a bit abruptly, but calmed down and went still again when a hand set itself on the side of his head. Leliana noticed that the prince's smile was gone, replaced by an expression of deep concentration and his eyes appeared to glow slightly, though she couldn't see clearly from up above. After all the months she had spent in the company of those Wardens, however, she could guess at the cause. "Those nightmares again?"

Duran frowned. "Tch... Urthemiel is really pissed off, but it doesn't matter. I'll keep him away. Faren deserves some good rest, especially with what's going to happen tomorrow."

"You can do that?" Leliana asked, in a low enough voice as to not wake Faren up.

"I've been... learning," he closed his eyes for a moment. "It's how I was able to prevent Alistair from sensing Gwen at the door." The woman then noticed a trace of apprehension coloring his face for a moment. "It's a good thing the Archdemon's mind is garbled and he can't really pinpoint us as distinct from darkspawn very easily. I'm an... odd case, since he **knows** me, so to speak, but at least he can't go after the others out of spite for failing to overcome me. They still get nightmares though..."

The woman remembered a conversation with Zevran. The assassin was a bit confused and told her how Alim had informed him that, whether he liked it or not, he was 'being looked after' by the head Warden, now that he was under his command. Leliana was only now starting to get just how straining it all was, and that maybe that was the reason the exiled prince seemed oblivious to her subtle flirting attempts.

She then realized there was no way in hell Ra... Duran could possible miss something like that, meaning that he either wasn't interested (but in that case he would probably had bluntly told her so) or he just didn't trust her enough to make up his mind. The latter she could understand, since she had yet to tell anyone about her past. She supposed they must have guessed at it by now, but holding things back was obviously not something that would help the whole mutual trust thing.

Still, knowing she was undeserving of their trust was not enough to stop her from 'discretely' watching as he, while facing away from her, took off his shirt and got ready for bed himself (Leliana was still amazed at how wide his back was). She wondered if he acted so completely nonplused on purpose. After all, he had just stripped from waist up while knowing that a beautiful woman was probably staring at him.

While waiting for sleep to take her, the Orlesian bard realized that, whether it really was teasing or not, it was working.

"-. .-"

The Proving Grounds were a very massive structure set in the very center of Orzammar. It was bigger than any other building in the underground city, even the Royal Palace. The giant bridge over the lava sea led to the solitary establishment that stood proud in the center, lava flows pouring around it form the mountain's 'ceiling' up above. The inside opened into a roomy entrance hall, the ceiling higher than most human buildings and held up by two rows of columns.

The walls were well decorated with bas-relief and recesses into the walls that proudly displayed many, teal-colored, sharp lyrium veins, unreachable behind thick panels of glass that were only slightly irregularly molded, enough for a suitably intriguing optical illusion to be created. There were even some benches along the walls, where fans were sitting and talking, plus some stalls that sold refreshments and snacks, as well as healing supplies.

At the far end of the entry hall were three double doors. The center one led to the Proving Master's platform, while the other two were used to access the stands. Dwarves were scattered about everywhere, wearing their finest clothes, though it seemed that one could distinguish between the higher and lower castes by checking whether or not they had silks on.

The Grey Wardens and all their companions filed in quite neatly. All of them were present, except for their mabari war hounds and Theron's wolf. The loyal beasts had been left back at their quarters, to make sure no one snooped around, provided they bothered breaking in. Dwarves made solid doors and the locks were good, though not the best. Still, the quarters they were using had the entrance quite close to the main market, so any thief would have a hard time going by unnoticed. In truth, the animals were left there because no one wanted to risk them making unfortunate... messes in the stands.

Gwen led, of course, flanked by Alistair and Alim, since they had the most badass equipment. They were followed by the dwarves, Kallian, Leliana, Morrigan, Zevran, Theron, Wynne, Sten and finally, Shale, who had quite the apathetic expression on. Gwen rather enjoyed the looks they got on their way to the grounds and made a point of walking in stride, to ensure that her cape and the others' cloaks fluttered magnificently behind them. It was nice, for a change, to not be in a place where you were considered an outlaw and, even better, had the respect of everyone.

They had taken quite some time to discuss what they were going to do and how, and they had even established a set of subtle hand signs and body language, whatever could be noticed through that armor. Still, Lady Cousland figured she would take her role as leader seriously. While the major decisions still went to Duran, the fact was that, for all intents and purposes, she really was the lead figure now and it fell to her to make judgments on the spot, as well as show off a strict, authoritative countenance.

She decided to use a random fan as warm up. His name was Varick, mining caste (had the plain clothes to show it too) and he was very enthusiastic about the matches. Gwen asked him the general facts about the Provings but the small man inevitably started gushing about his idol.

"Watch for Piotin Aeducan. He's won the squad combat four years running," he said. "He has eleven decapitations so far. He needs just three more for the one-season record."

Unexpectedly, one of the dwarves, Duran that is, spoke up. It was hard to tell exactly which of them was him until he said anything, since they looked almost identical with their silverite, massive dwarven coats of plates on. "Is he related to Bhelen Aeducan?" Of course he would play dumb. Rumors were fast things, and the sooner people started talking about ignorant surface dwarves, the better. He had even said that Bhelen might be paranoid enough to think either of the unknown dwarves was him, so he wanted to build an image as incompatible with that idea as possible. Bhelen may even see this whole proving as a means to call his brother out, a challenge of sorts.

Which was the reason for their, ahem, crazy plan.

"You sodding bet! First cousin, son of Endrin's own sister, **and** second cousin from the Kenaldan Aeducan line," Varick answered excitedly. "When he was alive, Prince Trian called Piotin the horns of the Aeducan army."

"Prince Trian," Duran echoed. "I keep hearing about him. You think you can tell me just what it was that happened to him?"

"Don't you know? He was found dead in the deep roads last year, while participating in a mission," the other one replied with a sigh. "Assembly ruled that he'd been killed by his brother so they dumped **him** in the deep roads to die fighting."

"What kind of monster would kill his own flesh and blood?" Duran asked, sounding genuinely disgusted. Gwen couldn't help but admire his acting (though it was easy considering his face was invisible behind his full helmet, as was Faren's. Come to think of it, she couldn't really be sure Duran was really the one talking, knowing Faren's stunt with voice imitations). It was also really amazing how he could avoid actually telling lies by phrasing his lines as questions or suppositions that could be wittily 'clarified' later, should the situation demand it.

"Gotta tell ya, a lot of people had and still have trouble believing it," the dwarf said. "Especially House Harrowmont and, even though few openly said it, a big chunk of the common folk too, especially the warrior caste." Varick looked like he was getting nervous.

"Anyway, enough politics," Duran waved aside. "Any other interesting warriors we should know about?"

"Oh, this time, there seem to be many," he began, reassuming his candid behavior. "Prince Bhelen's got Hanashan of the Silent Sisters, Myaja and Lucjan, Frandlin and Wojech Ivo, that young guy Seweryn and, as I said, Piotin."

"What about Lord Harrowmont?" Alim cut in, for no particular reason.

"Well, he had Gwiddon Torgan and his cousin Baizyl as top contestants, but I heard they pulled out a short while ago. Harrowmont's got a few others but the only one that really stands out any is Melec of Warrior House Medra."

"What can you tell us about him?" Duran asked again, shifting his weight, apparently, looking around, studying the architecture.

"Oh, you won't believe it!" Varick said, eyes glittering. "But he actually caused a scandal last year by barging into the assembly and demanding that Endrin's second son be allowed a trial, when that whole kinslaying mess happened. He actually threatened to take his whole house and leave for the surface. I heard King Endrin intervened and made sure he wouldn't suffer any repercussions, saying that it was enough of a humiliation how Prince Raonar didn't even try to defend his innocence. Come to think of it, the prince actually insulted all the deshyrs."

"Wow, wasn't that a bit stupid?" the other dwarf, who had been silent until then, asked from behind his own massive helm.

"I imagine it must have been," Shale said flatly.

"I try not to think about nobles and their games much," the proving fan said weakly. "Anyway, after good King Endrin died, Melec threw his lot in with Harrowmont and I heard he was even assaulted a few times. Heard he killed all his attackers. Either way, he's not someone you can intimidate, even though he's past his prime."

They all talked a bit more, finding out about Captain Roshen and Darvianak Vollney while they were at it.

Next stop was to see another dwarf, wearing a nice leather armor suit and with a face that put him in his early thirties (Duran had informed them he was 32 no). He had dark brown eyes and hair, plus a beard and moustache arranged fairly commonly, for a dwarf at least. Duran had described Baizyl beforehand and Gwen remembered him saying (and grinning) how Trian had the same beard style, the reason being that, while he would never admit it, the prince heir was hopeless when it came to cultivating his image (the least of his problems being that he sucked at arranging his hair, facial or otherwise). Basically, Trian didn't have enough patience to wait until his servants did more than make three modest braids over his chin and tied the ends of his moustache.

Currently, Baizyl Harrowmont looked sullen and was sitting, hunched almost, on one of the benches. He perked up and stood when Gwen, the two dwarves, Alim, Kallian and Zevran approached. "Look. I already told the proving master I withdrew. Do you have to keep harassing me?"

Aim just couldn't help it. "What are you **talking** about?"

The dwarf blinked. "Well... that sounded genuine..." He finally noticed the blatantly obvious Grey Warden crests on Gwen's and Alim's chests. "Oh, sorry Grey Wardens. Um, if you weren't looking for me, do me a favor and pretend I never said anything."

"Ah, you must be Baizyl," Gwen remarked, dryly. "Dulin Forender mentioned you. Some family loyalty, walking out on your own cousin like that."

"Oh, don't put it that way..." he genuinely sounded, and looked, hurt. He seemed to hesitate, until his eyes fell on the two dwarves standing to the side. One of them was looking around randomly, while the other had his heavily armored hands crossed and seemed to face him. Only Gwen and Alim caught the momentary widening of Baizyl's eyelids but he didn't say anything.

"What are ya lookin' at?" the one facing him asked in a gruff voice that no one recognized. The only reason the Wardens, and Zevran, didn't bat an eyelash was because they'd expected it. Faren had, basically, made himself sound different from anything he'd used before.

"Nothing," he said slowly, giving the other, seemingly distracted dwarf a long look before facing Gwen again. "I know it hurt my cousin and I-I don't mean anything personal. Just tell Dulin... Tell him I sprained my wrist. I'm going to sit this out."

Alistair sighed and dryly addressed Gwen. "You know, that didn't sound convincing at all. He's so obviously hiding something, I just can't put my finger on it. Oh wait, being threatened or blackmailed. That's what it was."

Baizyl finally caved when Gwen brought out the raised eyebrow. "It's not that simple. I'm a good man. I try to live by the Paragons' examples, but... it's not always easy. Look, it's just, when I was younger, I had a thing with this Aeducan girl named Revelka. Lesser cousin, nowhere near the throne. Her family wanted her marrying up, so they matched her with a Bemot. But... we didn't exactly stop seeing each other. Bhelen's fighter Myaja showed me love letters they have, from Revelka to me, and said they'd expose us if I fight. She'd be disgraced, her husband would cast her aside and I would be lucky to be allowed to die in a duel."

Gwen listened to that disclosure with a blank face. Duran had said blackmail might be the case but he wasn't sure if this would be the leverage. He knew of the old relationship but not if Baizyl and Revelca were still meeting.

"So I have to slink out of here like some worthless brand for fear Bhelen will tell the whole city," the man sat back on the bench and sighed in defeat, meaning that he didn't notice the subtle hand gesture on the part of the silent dwarf, or Zevran and Kallian's nearly unnoticed departure from the scene. He also didn't notice the **other** dwarf clench his armored fists at the words 'worthless brand.'

They decided to leave the man to his brooding for now and spread out into several groups that went through the two side-halls, where the preparation rooms for the fighters were. Alistair put Duran's tutoring to good use for once and managed to convince Gwiddon that he'd heard lies and got him to fight for Harrowmont again, while Alim, accompanied by Morrigan and Leliana, noticed some off-hand 'trade' that involved a certain book that the people at the Shaperate had spoken of the day before.

One short fight and four unconscious thugs later, the elven mage was casually flipping through the tome's pages as he walked up the corridor, back to the entrance hall. Gwen had taken the chance to be briefed by the Proving Master on how the Provings work.

When Kallian and Zevran came back, looking smug and pleased (with a stack of papers in hand) Lady Cousland led the two of them back to where Baizyl looked ready to finally leave.

"We have your letters," the fair-haired city elf said brightly, handing them over in one casual move before turning around and taking her place behind the others.

"Where did you get those? No, no, no, no, I-I don't want to know. Just... thank you," he slumped in relief and practically clutched at the papers. "I can't say what it means to know my Revelka is safe. I don't know how to thank you... I know it's my own fault, but I'd have married her if I could."

Gwen smiled and made to leave.

"Wait," Baizyl uttered. He then looked over to where the others were waiting, including the apparent surface dwarves. He considered things for a moment but then shook his head. "Nevermind. Thank you again. I wish you could see the true value of what you've done. I'll go to get myself enlisted again."

Gwen knew he'd want to ask if either of those two is a certain someone, but she approved of his discretion. She also felt a bit uncomfortable, blatantly deceiving everyone, including those that were on their side (if one even raised the question of sides in the first place). After getting a taste of 'dwarven politics' however, she decided she'd go through with whatever Duran had in mind.

Once she retook her position in the lead, she walked up to the Proving Master as all the others lined up neatly behind her.

The stout man, wearing high-tier clothing, gave his most appropriate smile. "Ah, you're back. Did you wish to fight in the Proving today?"

"Yes, but I won't be fighting personally," she gestured at the two dwarves behind her. "One of my men will enter in the name of our Order. I imagine the crowds will be more excited to see one of their own in the great arena."

The Proving Master eyed the two questioningly, but didn't really dare demand that they take off their helmets. "Are they identical twins? We have Myaja and Lucjan and they are allowed to fight as one. I'm not sure how you could prove it though..." he trailed off.

"No, just one will fight," the lady commander answered.

"Unless it's paired or squad combat," he noted. "Very well, I'll just put him in the schedule here. We have an opening for the first bout in fact. What name should I list?"

"He does like 'The Dark Wolf' but 'Grey Warden' will do just as well. I imagine a metaphor involving a surface animal would be wasted here. No offense."

"None taken," the dwarf said diplomatically, before addressing the contestant directly. "Now then, go below and speak to the staff. They'll lead you to your preparatory quarters. All fighters get access to all they need to prepare. You'll be informed when your fights are announced and if they are single, paired or squad combat."

Gwen addressed her apparent subordinates. "Duran, you'll go with along and assist him."

One of the dwarves nodded, picked up the large pack they had brought along and accompanied the competitor to his destination.

"The rest of you will want to enter the stands, yes?" the Proving master guessed. "Go through any of those doors. I imagine you are all eager to see the fights."

Gwen seemed to consider things before she made her demand. "My companions will do that. I, however, would appreciate being allowed to join you on the highest grandstand. I would like to take this chance to scout for potential talent. With a Blight coming, I am interested in any potential recruits. I would also like Shale to be allowed to accompany me," she gestured at the golem, who just happened to cause some flames to start burning around her crystals. "So that she would not... damage the regular stands by accident, you understand."

"So long as you try not to be overly... bold in your conscription efforts, I imagine there shouldn't be any problems," he said slowly, making the Wardens realize that he had probably heard about the blatant declaration that they may decide to try the Right of Conscription on Prince Bhelen.

"-. .-"

As everyone shuffled in, they were amazed at how huge the arena actually was. Just the ring was larger than the Hall of Heroes, and it made up just half of the entire arena. The stands were fit to burst with and the air was filled with murmurs and discussions.

"Is that a Grey Warden?" a woman was heard asking, pointing and the Proving Master's stand, where a human lady had taken her place on a sort of stone throne right next to the seat of the mediator himself. "And she has a golem! Wow!" Shale stood to the side and looked around with her ever so bored expression.

"I heard they're recruiting," another one, a man said. "I think they said a Blight was coming. Kinda believe them too, after what miners and those legionnaires said happened a few days go."

Alistair, Sten, Wynne and Morrigan may have been uninterested with the drivel around them, but the others did sharpen their ears to listen in.

"What do you mean?" the woman asked again.

"Don't you know? There've been reports about a scary, loud roar shaking the Stone itself. It sounded like an Archdemon, or so they say, like it was angry."

The talk degenerated into the usual debate about whether or not it was an inflated rumor, but the new arrivals didn't take long in surmising that the supposed dragon's rage may have been the effect of Duran's triumph during the psychic clash.

"-. .-"

"Are you ready for this?"

"Ready as I'll ever be."

"Good, here's how we're going to make you thrash our greatest warriors... again... Oh, the bitter irony! Imagine me sighing in defeat. You can do it right? Visualize! Visualize! Okay, nevermind..."

"-. .-"

The true challenge in a Glory Proving was to defeat one's opponent without killing him or her. it was a truly ironic thing that Honor Provings were the ones where killing was allowed.

"This is a Glory Proving, fought under the eyes of the Paragons of Orzammar to honor the memory of King Endrin," the Proving Master shouted. His voice certainly carried through the air, and it was because of more than just the good acoustics that all dwarven buildings seemed to have. "First up is Seweryn of the Warrior Caste. Many of you remember when Seweryn made history as a lad of twelve by defeating his own father in this very ring."

The crowd cheered enthusiastically as the dwarf entered. He had a suit of steel chainmail and just a sword and shield.

"Today, he fights as champion for the royal Prince Bhelen against a member of the famed Grey Wardens!"

Everyone's attention was drawn to the opposite side of the arena, where the double portcullis swiveled open to allow entry to the competitor. From high above, one could still see how he was dressed overall. Gone was the massive silverite armor. The dwarf looked very fit and had a black cloak, lined with fur, covering him almost completely as he quaintly walked up to his opponent. He was obviously lightly armored, if at all. What was even more odd was that he wore a black headband of sorts, that doubled as a mask that covered his eyes. The rest of his face was hidden behind an equally black scarf whose two ends flowed behind him as he steadily advanced.

The fighters now stood on their respective starting places, which looked like eight-pointed stars.

"In the name of House Aeducan and our future King Bhelen!" Seweryn shouted.

When the Grey Warden refused to say anything, the fight was started by the overseer. "First warrior to fall is vanquished. Fight!"

It was a generally accepted fact that everyone in Orzammar was excited to see a member of the famed Grey Wardens enter a proving against their best fighters, especially if he was a dwarf himself. Of course, the audience was divided between rooting for the Grey and their own warriors. Most fighters also most likely thought they could gain more glory than usual by defeating a member of that legendary order.

Seweryn was, understandably, on edge because of this, but he was still young and rash. He charged, putting his left shoulder forward, preparing to bring his shield in a bash to the face. His footwork was decent, his speed also and his tactic arguably sound against one with little protection.

His bash met resistance from only thin air and he, along with all the spectators, could only gape at how instantly, the Warden was airborne, vaulting right over the warrior in a sudden display of acrobatics. He flipped and twisted through the air, looking like a specter because of how his garments flew around him, and landed right behind the other fighter, kicking the back of his knees the next instant.

Five seconds after the start was given, Seweryn was on his knees. A hand had grasped him by the jaw and was holding his head back while the outstretched fingers of the Warden's right were pressing against his gullet.

There was a moment of silence.

And another one.

Seweryn dropped his weapon and shield after the other one seemed to whisper something in his ear. Only then did Gwen's nudge get the Proving Master back to his senses. "The Winner is the Grey Warden!"

And there were cheers.

"-. .-"

There were a few fights before the Warden was called out again. Melek Medra beat Captain Roshen in single-combat. He impressed with his skill and the curved, white steel, single-edged blade he wielded. Zevran and Kallian were quick to pick up on the murmurs that said that sword once belonged to the kinslayer that killed Prince Trian Aeducan. Melec had excellent form and fought ferociously, but didn't lose his cool. Verily, Roshen didn't last long against him, even though his skill had earned him a reputation.

The next fight was between one of Harrowmont's fighters and the twins that fought for Bhelen, Myaja and Lucjan. It was single duel, but the twins were considered of the same body so they were both allowed to double-team him. The dwarf held his own bravely, but Lucjan eventually stabbed him quite seriously in the back, even though participants weren't supposed to aim to kill in a Glory Proving. He was carried out on a stretcher, dripping blood all the way.

Wynne left the stands as soon as the fight was over. The others nodded their agreement with her intentions.

Harrowmont's champion Gwiddon Torgan fought next and lost (barely) against Hanashan of the Silent sisters (who fought for Bhelen and was left mostly battered after it all). Piotin Aeducan (he had a big, nasty, double-edge two-handed axe made of silverite) faced Mandar Dace in four-man squad combat and won, but the former did put up a decent fight before he fell.

Finally, Baizyl Harrowmont was faced in paired combat with Darvianak Vollney (the latter had once been accused of kinslaying in the past but had 'proven' his innocence by winning a Proving, and three others after that). Baizyl won against both enemies single-handedly (Dravianak's second was Olaniv), making it clear just why Bhelen wanted him out of the fights so badly. He wielded a sword and shield more gracefully than anyone would expect from one of the stout folk, and his light armor gave him much freedom of movement.

Then, it was time for the Warden to fight again.

"-. .-"

"Baizyl's even better than I remember, and Melec is really going at it," Duran noticed with a smile. The participants had their preparation chambers isolated from the arena, since there were those that preferred quiet and meditation. Nevertheless, there was still a special stand for them to watch the fights while waiting for their turn, this being where the two wardens were now.

"He's got your old sword too," the Dark Wolf whispered, squinting his hazel eyes.

The other Warden still had his full plate armor on, complete with the massive helmet, but looked very at ease. Content even. "You're up against those obnoxious twins next. I've studied their movements. It was really fortunate that poor fellow held on for as long as he did. It allowed me to understand how they fight. Time for some of your real tricks to show."

Had anyone been close enough to hear or see, they may have sense the fighter grin darkly under his black scarf.

"-. .-"

"This is a Glory Proving, fought under the eyes of the Paragons of Orzammar to honor the memory of King Endrin!" the Proving Master bellowed again. "The Grey Warden will face the notorious duo, the Warrior Caste's twin terrors, now fighting as champions for Prince Bhelen: Myaja and Lucjan!"

The Twins smugly walked to their starting position while the Warden almost lazily advanced to his own starting point. He looked just like before, meaning that no one could really know what he could pull from under that cloak.

"Hiding your face 'cause you're scared?" the elder, female twin taunted, loud enough for everyone to hear. When she got no reaction from the impassive, dark shape, she snarled. "May the Stone honor you..." Myaja said,

"...when you fall," Lucjan finished.

"First Warrior to fall is vanquished! Fight!"

The twins didn't waste any time and spread out, until they and the Warden formed a line, with him in the middle. He seemed just as unmoving as during his first battle, except for the subtle fact that one could notice him standing straighter and, from the way his cloak hung around him, with both arms at the ready.

Myaja launched herself and began to strike at the warden with her hammer, sometimes with her shield, but he made no move to attack. He just kept dodging, evading every blow, sometimes by a hair's breadth. The audience had fallen silent and was just watching how Myaja's hammer just seemed to glide by the Warden, but also because they could see Lucjan slowly traipsing towards him from behind.

One could clearly hear anyone in the audience gasp as the male twin tried to backstab his opponent, but the Warden somehow sensed him coming and side-stepped, finally bringing his arms out from under his cloak. Apparently, he'd planned for it all along, just so he could goad the assassin into coming close enough.

In an instant, the Warden's feet were moving. He side-stepped and bound a chain around Lucjan's wrist in a loop as the arm plunged through the empty space he once occupied. This all was done in a single movement, an as soon as the hold on said wrist was secured, the warden's feet left the ground once more as Myaja tried to smash her shield against him. His side-long air flip landed him right behind her.

There was a strong heave and Lucjan was pulled forward mightily by his chained arm, even as a strong kick landed his twin sister straight in the back of her head.

The two banged their foreheads against each other with an audible THWACK.

By the time the winner of the match was announced, the 'twin terrors' were indecently sprawled over each other and the other participant, now being hailed and cheered as the Black Warden by the raving crowds, was already leaving the arena.

"The winner is the Bla- I mean the Grey Warden!"

"-. .-"

The Proving Master turned to Gwenith Cousland and stared at her, astonished. "I can see now why you chose him as your Champion, Warden. Not only is he skilled but he fights in a way that our warriors are unaccustomed to." He didn't even make any connection with the 'brand incident' of the previous year. Back then, the imposter had been forced to wear Everd's massive armor so he had to fight more or less normally.

What really drew his interest was the Warden Commander's smug grin.

"I see you are amused," he said, quite politely. "Might I ask why that is."

The human woman looked at him with a look of complete serenity. "Ah, not much."

But Shale just couldn't help herself. "The Warden is amused because the fighter down there has not even drawn a real weapon yet."

"-. .-"

The next round was between Baizyl and Hanashan. The former proved that Pyral Harrowmont had the ancestors' favor by defeating the Silent Sister at her own game, namely that of unarmed combat. Silent Sisters revered the Paragon Astyth the Grey, who proved women could be fighters by cutting out her tongue and training until she won a Grand Proving bare-handed. All Silent Sisters muted themselves in the same manner and became warriors.

Thus, Hanashan said nothing as she hit the arena floor with her face. Simply put, her chainmail armor was just enough to take her edge off and allow the lightly-armored man to overcome her.

Melec Medra and his second, a crossbowman apparently, had the misfortune of being pitted against Piotin Aeducan and his right hand, whoever it was now. The wardens had spoken with Darvianak Vollney before the fights started and learned that a large part of Piotin's prowess was the fact that he had the best armor (the Aeducans were filthy rich after all) and his men fought savagely because they didn't want to incur his wrath if they failed him.

That he had red hair, shaven short, and a thick stubble no doubt contributed to his intimidating appearance. He was a really smug ass though, and Duran could confirm (he'd even said he'd have to 'work on his behavior' when he was again in the position to do so.)

Amazingly, house Medra's leader held his ground very well and even injured the smug warrior a few times. The young crossbowman even managed to take out Piotin's second with some nice shots to the knee and elbow. He was very accurate with that thing, apparently. Piotin eventually managed to get close enough to the lad and smack the side of his two handed axe against his head (he'd succeeded in shoving the melee warrior on his back to gain enough of a respite). The heavy helmet no doubt saved the young one's life, but he fell unconscious nonetheless.

The rest of the fight was a war of attrition. Piotin was slower but armored to the teeth, and his head was the only weak spot he had, especially considering how Melec's weapon was a blade and, thus, very inefficient against massive plates. That Piotin's head was exposed was also, as some, Melec included, realized, a deliberate choice, because it made attacks against him predictable (since the head was the weak spot, it made sense that that would be the main target). The non-noble warrior had a heavy, red steel chain mail of his own so he wasn't exactly light on his feet either.

The fight ended when Medra decided to at least cripple the overly proud one by striking him in the shoulder, slipping that white steel blade straight though the weakness under the arm. Piotin fought off the pain and eventually got the other man to fall over. He ended up pressing the blunted 'tip' of his double axe against the other one's neck.

After he was declared the winner, Piotin swiftly left the arena, leaving his subordinates to be taken care of by healers (of course, that was only because he was probably bleeding like hell himself and was pissed off he wouldn't fight as well in the next battles).

"-. .-"

"Piotin was holding back," the not-prince assessed matter-of-factly, once again from their special stand. Some of the others were there, including Baizyl, but he was not sitting close enough to overhear. He still seemed to eye them occasionally, however, hopeful, suspicious, and everything in between. "Melec fought very well though. Too bad he wasn't matched against Wojech. That guy deserves a beating so bad."

"Why?"

When certain they wouldn't be heard, Duran spoke again, sounding peeved. "You know I fought a proving just before that expedition in the Deep Roads, about five years back? The one that gave me my... Veil issues. Anyway, you know how Leandra participated, and so did I. I heard Wojech gossip with the Lantena heir after the whole thing and he called her worthless breeding flesh... And that was AFTER he said 'Little lord Aeducan's gonna have to do better than win Provings against little girls."

"Ouch. Kind of stupid to actually say that out loud about the sodding prince..."

"That wasn't the main issue I had with him, and It wasn't in public. I also wasn't a good enough close combat fighter back then to be sure I'd beat him in a fight, even if I did barge in and reveal I had overheard so I couldn't just blurt out a challenge to a duel. It was even worse when I got back to the palace and heard Trian mutter how women should just stick to bearing children instead of fumbling about with swords..."

"Are you serious?" Faren really couldn't believe it.

"Yeah. And the funny part was that Leandra could have probably mopped the floor with him, huge and strong though he was. Of course, honor demanded that I take... the appropriate corrective measures for his regrettable lack of wisdom..."

"Uh-huh..."

"He was plagued by a fairly nasty case of looseness of the bowels for much of the next few days."

There was a pause, and Faren totally missed Wojech Ivo defeating someone irrelevant in Bhelen's name. "You're kidding."

"Well, I was, originally, a prankster bookworm, remember? And he deserved it anyway," Duran said with a shrug. "Anyway, we were talking about Wojech needing a beating. Soon."

"Well, he got a bye in the first round. Maybe if I have to face him in paired combat..." the masked one ventured.

"I am **so** going to be your second," Duran confirmed in a predatory tone of voice.

"You being **my** second is going to feel so sodding weird..."

"-. .-"

After Wojech Ivo won, the next bout was going to begin. The Grey Warden (Black Warden really), Baizyl, Piotin and Wojech were left.

Piotin and Baizyl were pitted against each other and fought almost savagely. Baizyl was visibly better than even Melec and kept jumping close and far, trying to land a blow though the few weak spots of the Aeducan fighter's armor. The only reason he didn't win was because Piotin eventually surprised him by moving much faster than he'd shown before and swept his feet off the ground (Apparently, Piotin's arm had been healed in the meantime. He must have had help from a mage healer, maybe one of the ones that participated in restricted squad fights).

With one semifinal over, it was time to see the Black Warden face off against Wojech, multiple times Grand Proving champion and fighting in Bhelen's name. He and his second, entered the giant ring under the loud cheers of the populace. As before, the Warden approached impassively, his body still concealed under his cloak.

The only complication about that whole mess was that Wojech's second was his younger brother, Frandlin ivo. Where Wojech had a solid massive armor, complete with helmet, Frandlin had a veridium suit of dwarven chainmail and a single saw sword as his weapon of choice, for this fight at least. Wojech dual-wielded an axe and a mace and had several throwing weapons on his belt.

"This round is paired combat. Just as Kiotshett fought as King Bloadlikk's second defending our empire, so have dwarves always fought alongside a second," shouted the Proving Master. "Master of all weapons, prisoner of none, Wojech Ivo has never won the same way twice. What will he do today, lords and ladies, and will it win the day for Prince Bhelen? Grey Warden, choose your second, for you face Wojech and Frandlin Ivo!"

The Warden raised his head to look at the cheering crowd who kept shouting his title, Some Grey Warden, some Black Warden, some both, one after the other. It felt good, though what would happen at the end was most likely going to make the day really perfect. He drew a deep breath and chose a voice that sounded deep and strong. Basically, he did a perfect imitation of Sten. "I choose Duran of the Grey Wardens."

The one that came through the portcullis was a slightly taller dwarf, completely clad in a suit of dwarven massive armor, similar in shape to the one worn by Piotin and Wojech himself. The difference was that it was fully made of silverite and bereft of embellishing decorations, so it reflected the light cast about by the giant braziers that lit that entire building. His face was completely obscured under the massive helm but his walk was firm. His right hand grasped the hilt of a longsword, same metal, while a large, round shield, also silverite-made, protected his left flank.

He took his place right beside the contestant.

"-. .-"

"Wow, those two really contrast each other, don't they?" a fan told another.

"Black Warden, Silver Warden, who cares." said another one.

"I want to see their faces," a young woman pouted. "I'll be they're cute!"

"Or maybe they have weird tattoos or scars. These guys fight darkspawn, they don't spend their lives lounging and smelling incense."

The crowd kept cheering regardless.

"-. .-"

"Last one standing will be declared victor! Fight!"

In an instant, Duran's shield was in front of the other Grey Warden and deflected a throwing axe tossed by Wojech. The unknown second then performed a sort of pirouette and clashed weapons with the overly confident warrior. That was all the time the Black Warden needed to roll away and dash in a semicircle, straight for Frandlin Ivo, who hadn't closed the distance just yet.

Wojech had a reputation for being one of the best warriors that arena had ever seen. He was also known for using exotic weapon tactics, a habit that his younger brother seemed to also have developed. He also had a very big ego, greater than Piotin's even, though some felt it justified. So it was with great stupefaction that the mesmerized crowd watched that scene unfold.

The fight between the Black Warden and Frandlin wasn't the shocking one. Granted, it was interesting how both seemed to hold their own. Frandlin proved quite skilled at wielding the sole saw sword while the Dark Wolf kept jumping around and avoiding his hits while, apparently, not being able to draw overly close and use those two daggers he had in his hands. This was odd, considering how easily the Warden had won the other fights.

The really shocking part was seeing Wojech Ivo getting his behind handed to him so thoroughly. The Silver Warden went at him mercilessly, swinging, bashing, kicking, forcing the dwarf to back away lest he get knocked about even worse. It really was interesting how the multi-timed champion had been immediately forced on the defensive, even though he had attacked first.

The first time he fell on his ass was one and a half minutes into the fight. It would have been over for him right there, but the Warden's second decided to just back off and casually lean on his sword, as if it were a cane or something, until he got back to his feet.

Frandlin and the Warden were now warily circling each other, watching the other fight from the corner of their eyes. Wojech wasn't getting pounded, he was being humiliated. If the audience didn't know better, they'd think this Duran fellow had a grudge against him or something. The Warden's second wasn't trying to hurt him, not primarily. Instead, he did his best to make Wojech's efforts seem as pathetic as dwarvenly possible. Of course, this eventually made the elder Ivo brother snap, and he charged with a roar.

Only to get tripped and fall on his helmet-covered face.

Duran just casually walked away from him and began to look at the walls, as though he was studying the way the stone was carved.

The crowd had gone eerily silent, so they perfectly heard Wojech sneer. The warrior finally seemed to start using his brain again and made for the Black Warden instead. If they managed to double-team him and take him out, they could take care of that other bastard too.

Duran spun around, and that was the first time that the dwarves of Orzammar ever saw a metal round shield being thrown like a frisbee. That was also the first time they saw such a maneuver work.

Wojech was yanked off his feet as a loud bang howled through the arena. Metal struck metal as the shield hit him in the side of the head. His helmet flew off and away, landing and bouncing off the floor with a series of clangs. The Black Warden was forced to jump aside, so as to avoid the deflected targe. Wojech, of course, had been knocked out. Whether because of the force of the impact or the loud, ear-splitting noise was unclear.

The shield landed on its side and kept rolling until it hit the wall and rattled to a halt. And before long, both Wardens were next to each other and staring at the remaining fighter. Perhaps they expected him to forfeit, perhaps he was going to. All three of them just stared at each other, two wardens with faces hidden and one dwarven warrior unmasked, yet it looked as though they were having an unspoken conversation, ignorant of the many people cheering or just plain staring.

After a long minute, the Black and Silver Wardens looked at each other and nodded, at which point the former turned around, grabbed Wojech from under his arms and quaintly started to drag him away.

Frandlin Ivo had a saw sword held along his forearm.

Duran of the Wardens held his longsword pointed at the opponent, the hilt at shoulder level while his left, gauntleted palm pressed against its pommel.

They began to circle one another, studying each movement, tuning out all sounds (even though barely anyone was doing anything besides watching silently). Frandling closed the distance first, Duran merely mirroring his maneuvers, until their blades were close enough to cross.

There were a few exchanges, and Frandlin was immediately pushed on the defensive. He seemed to be doing well, but some strikes just came out as clumsy compared to his usual ones, as though he was constantly drifting from good to bad with his weapon. This kept up until, even heavily armored, Duran managed to slip through his guard and led the top of his weapon to his throat.

But instead of ending it, the Warden leaned close and seemed like he was whispering something, if the change in Frandlin's expression was any indication.

The only Ivo still conscious abruptly jumped away from the other dwarf and had a completely different look on his face. More focused, determined, and his stance was now flawless.

The sword masters clashed again, and they were like totally different people, solely focused on their battle as their hands and weapons moved in a blur. Each attack was planned, each counter predicted, and neither managed even the slightest glancing blow against the other as their feet almost slid across the floor in that perfectly matched footwork. Clank after clank and chink they blades struck at each other, yet instead of blocking they just seemed to slap the other blade aside, so that no dents would be left on the edges.

Since he was more lightly-equipped, Frandlin seemed to be faster. Duran, on the other hand, made up for it through precision and efficiency. None of his moves were wasteful, the sword went precisely where it should at exactly the right time and no farther than it had to. So they kept fighting, pushing that whirlwind of blades to go faster and faster.

No one even paid attention to the other two anymore. Thus, no one noticed Wojech finally waking up. No one heard the Black Warden casually teasing him about how his younger brother was a better fighter. No one noticed Wojech growling and sneering because he had been disarmed and humiliated.

There was a louder bang than usual and Frandlin's saw sword flew out of his grasp. It landed and slid across the ring's floor quite a distance before it came to a stop, but which time the other warrior's sword had already found its way to his neck one more time.

"I yield," he said, his breath obviously strained, but he also seemed to be smiling.

The Warden withdrew his weapon and gave him a deep bow, and the crowd practically erupted, exploded in applause and whistles louder than any Proving had ever seen before. The clamor kept growing as the Dark Wolf ever so slowly walked up to stand by his side and wave at the spectators.

"The winners are the Grey Wardens!"

And they still hadn't drawn any blood in any of their fights.

"-. .-"

"Ah yes, I just love beating the crap out of people without even making them bleed!"

"What did you tell Frandlin?"

"Just told him to fight me seriously. And I whispered, so there was no voice for him to recognize."

"What about Wojech, did you have your fill?"

"Not really, but it'll do for now. Anyway, next up is the squad championship round. I want to fight Piotin myself. You can take the other three guys right?"

"I think so but... you sure you can handle him even with your... handicap?"

"Not really, there's just something I want to 'see'. This is how we're going to do this..."

"-. .-"

"Well little brother, was it him? Were they white?"

"Sorry Wojech, I didn't see his eyes so I don't know. I couldn't see anything behind that helmet."

"-. .-"

Piotin Aeducan knew he was the best warrior in Orzammar and had no problem playing the part. He'd participated in many Deep Roads expeditions and had won many Provings, meaning that the Ancestors' favor was obviously his. He also prided himself for his family loyalty. For dwarves, loyalty to one's house and kin was paramount so he felt there wasn't really much greater honor than showing that the Ancerstors' favored his cousin, Prince Bhelen Aeducan.

In that, he actually had felt quite a bit of grief at the death of his cousin Trian, as well as disdain for Raonar. Piotin was like Trian in many ways, at least as far as their indomitable sense of honor went, and Trian had had no problem acknowledging his skill. Trian was decent in a fight and was almost as physically strong as Piotin, but his movements had always been a bit too predictable. Trian was straightforward and a bit too rash for his own good.

In hindsight, that was probably why he even fell victim to Raonar's scheme in the first place, although Piotin had to admit to himself that he'd been fooled just like everyone else. Raonar had always been amiable and seemed to know exactly what and how to say to anyone. His charisma was beyond anything he'd ever seen, far above even Bhelen's really, and his unusual hair and eyes definitely added to the idea that he was favored by the Ancesors. After all, it was really easy to associate that pristine white with the concept of honor. He'd actually gotten people to worship the ground he walked on, and his own skill in battle, which Piotin had to admit was well above Trian's, definitely got him points.

It was a real shock that he'd turn out to be a treacherous murderer, but the Ancestors weren't so easily fooled. The only sour part was that the king refused to see the truth even as his life slipped from him. No matter, Bhelen was house head now and he would become the next king. Loyalty and honor demanded that Piotin make it happen. The Crown would never leave House Aeducan, he would see to that. As the greatest Aeducan Warrior, he was determined to win this Proving in his uncle's, king Endrin's, memory.

But that didn't mean he wouldn't enjoy himself. He was a fighter, so he liked a challenge. He'd held back only a little against Melec, since outright murder in a Glory Proving wouldn't sit well (the whole Oghren incident was obvious proof of that and Melec wasn't really too bad at fighting either), but Baizyl had really pushed him. Now was the championship round. A four on four battle against the Grey Warden and whoever he called to help him. He hadn't watched the Warden's fights, but he was informed of the results. He was sure petty acrobatics wouldn't work against him but was surprised when he was told that Wojech and Frandlin were defeated by the participant's second.

Piotin didn't particularly like Wojech, sine he sometimes forgot his place, but he was one of Bhelen's champions so he could respect that much. Piotin was also of the opinion that his skill wasn't bad at all, which is why he was taken aback when told that he'd been knocked about like a punching bag (and that Frandlin was apparently a better fighter than his older brother and still couldn't land a hit on that silverite-clad, unknown surface dwarf. What do they teach these guys on the surface anyway?).

The other surprise came when he and his three henchmen (two melee fighters with swords and shields, plus a crossbowman) entered the ring, only to be faced with just those two Wardens. The contestant hid his face behind that headband mask and scarf of his, while the other one stood to his right. He held his sword and shield firmly but his stance was oddly relaxed.

"You did well to come this far," Piotin said to the one whose entire body, except the black, inscribed leather boots, was invisible behind his dark cloak, "but that's no excuse for overconfidence. You're foolish if you think you can take us two on four. I'm not like the amateurs you faced so far."

The Black Warden tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. Then, he entered Sten voice mode. "I doubt I have to worry about a sycophant who only fights when his cousin snaps his fingers."

"If you're trying to insult me with my loyalty to my House, you'll find it's a tough road to hew," the red-haired Aeducan said brusquely, balancing his double axe over his shoulder and glaring. "There is no greater virtue than family loyalty... but I'd hardly expect a **surfacer** to know that."

Much to his surprise, the masked warden laughed heartily while the armored one shook his helmet-wearing head. "Oh, that's just the thing," the former said brightly, in a different voice this time. His narrowed eyes were all they could see of his amused expression. "I'm not a surfacer."

Before Piotin could say anything more, the Proving Master finally announced the final battle.

"It is down to just two warriors. With backbones of stone and wills of iron, they have defeated all others this day! Fighting for his royal cousin Bhelen, Piotin Aeducan has overcome all enemies so far. Challenging him, the Grey Warden came from nowhere, cutting a swath through Orzammar's finest warriors!"

"It will be a pleasure seeing you fall," Piotins said smugly.

The wardens just shook their heads in unison, radiating disappointment.

"Last standing will be declared victor! Fight!"

Piotin and his two melee henchmen charged instantly, but the silverite-clad Warden jumped between them and the other one just as fast. For some sodding reason, he was able to engage both shield users at the same time without much problem, even as Piotin made his way to the side, preparing to take him out with one solid blow of his double axe. Then, unexpectedly, the armored warden ducked and the black one was on his back, only not on his feet, but his left arm as he used it to push himself forward and deliver a solid kick to the face of one enemy.

The unfortunate one had, unlike the other, a helmet that didn't cover his face, so blood spilled out of his nose as he was sent tumbling backwards.

The armored warden then pushed himself to stand as fast as he could, giving his partner a solid boost in the process. The latter vaulted through the air, evading a bolt shot as he did so, and even as he seemed to float, his legs pointed at the ceiling, his hand came out of the dark shroud composed of his cloak and scarf.

A dagger cut the distance in under a second and sunk deep into the ranged fighter's shoulder, yet its hilt ended in a ring, to which a chain was fastened, chain that had never left the Dark Wolf's grasp. Not long after, the Dark Wolf landed in a crouch exactly behind the still standing shield attacker, who was now too preoccupied with fending off his other opponent.

The masked one heaved and mercilessly pulled his chained knife out of the crossbowman's joint, even as his other hand send a throwing knife at his other arm. It all happened so fast that the ranged soldier dropped his weapon and used the same scream of pain to acknowledge both injuries.

What followed on the Black Warden's part was a sweeping kick to the ankles of the warrior behind him, and Piotin's Right Hand man was knocked off balance. That allowed the metal-clad warden the respite needed to jump back and avoid being hit by Piotin's descending axe hit.

The large weapon left a big crack in the stone, sending a loud crumbling noise to everyone's ears, but the Aeducan Warrior pulled it out swiftly and began to exchange attacks and blocks with the other fighter, just as heavily armored as he was. A part of his brain registered his two melee aides getting back to their feet and charging the cloaked one in tandem. Had most of his attention not been captured by his own enemy, Piotin would have been able to keep track of how subtly the dark warden slipped through their attacks and somersaulted, landing heavily exactly on the injured crossbowman's gut, knocking all the wind out of him.

Piotin was starting to get frustrated because, for the love of him, he couldn't see his adversary's eyes, meaning that he couldn't predict his movements. He was long past the stage where he held back. He fought with all his might and attention, yet each swing was deflected by that annoying round shield. That surfacer was smart enough to know he couldn't actually block a huge axe, but it was still annoying how accurately he seemed to tilt his targe at just the right angle needed to change the attacking axe's trajectory.

The champion and his challenger fought with abandon, until the former slammed his armored foot hard against the ground, producing a eardrum-splitting twang. Combined with his war cry, a shockwave of compressed air exploded around him and blew the other one away and off his feet, yet he rolled back into a crouch in a second and spun on his heel, after which he dived away and rolled again, out of Piotin's reach and narrowly avoiding yet another massive blow of his axe in the process.

More than just a deep fissure was what the crushing noise signaled, as the slab of stone unlucky enough to receive the full brunt of that strike was cleanly rendered in half. Dust was thrown in the air and the fractured rock shifted, until it looked like a pile of debris left behind after the collapse of a tunnel. "Lucky dodge," Piotin growled, yet his voice betrayed the fact that he was a bit winded. He shrugged the fatigue off quite easily, however, and resumed his stance.

The Warden's chuckle was heard even from several meters away. He didn't wait for Piotin to recover fully. He let go of his shield, let it slide off his arm and grabbed it by the edge, after which he did a 360 degree spin and hurled it straight at his head.

It was only the discipline of many campaigns that enabled the dwarven soldier to duck in time, but he still did a half-gape at how unceremoniously that had just happened. Discarding your shield just wasn't done! (He would later realize it would have probably been wise to have someone inform him of how the other fights progressed, since he would have known of the whole flying disk thing).

There was a bang behind him, followed by the noise of one of his henchmen collapsing with a rustle in a nearly motionless heap and the clattering of that shield-turned-frisbee as it swiveled to a stop on the arena floor. The member of house Aeducan couldn't stop himself from looking back and blinking in stupefaction at the fact that hitting the one behind him was exactly what the heavily armored Warden intended. The one struck wasn't out of the battle yet, but he was probably seeing triple and had lost his helm too. Things were certainly easier for the Black Warden now.

Oh yes, Piotin Aeducan was pissed. He'd just been goaded into fighting and moving exactly the way his enemy intended. He looked back to his attacker just in time to realize he had to move before that rapidly nearing sword impaled him, so he barely leaned to the right in time. The blade grated as it slid across his chest and along his right side, but the plate escaped with just a scrape and he remained uninjured. Unfortunately, the enemy was close enough that his helm-covered face was just inches away from his own.

"I guess your own dodge wasn't as lucky as mine," he heard the warden whisper, just before a gauntleted left fist smashed him square in the face, breaking the only slightly oversized, trademarked Aeducan family nose with an oddly amusing crunch.

And that was the first time in a long while that Piotin Aeducan, described by many as a force of nature, ended up with his legs almost aimed at the ceiling. He basically staggered back and tripped on the debris that he himself had left behind when he split that stone slab in half just a minute earlier. The crowd went silent the moment they realized just how ridiculous his posture was, sprawled on his back and with his legs spraddled higher than where his head ended up, held there by the stony mess.

Not even the proud dwarf was able to make his efforts to climb back to his feet look any less ridiculous that those of a turtle that was unfortunate enough to fall on the back of its carapace (not that dwarves even knew what turtles were). Once he was finally back to his feet (he was glaring and gnashing his teeth), he brusquely crunched his nose back into place with his left hand and sneered in the other one's direction (though he was more angry at how his lack of a helmet had worked against him). "You'll pay for that!"

Piotin did consider the idea of just going over to help take out the main contestant but honor demanded that he appropriately administer retribution for the insult he had just suffered. There was also how the silver warden had had enough time to walk between him and the Black Warden in question.

No matter. This was just a little nosebleed, nothing to be concerned about. He knew he'd managed to nick that other guy a few times, as evident from the several places on his gleaming armor that were chipped and even stained with a bit of blood.

The armored warden may or may not have guessed his thoughts, because he took a very loose stance and did the 'come at me' gesture with his free, left hand. He didn't even look back, as though he had no doubt his partner would win on his own. That was another really grating thing, that just one of those Wardens was enough to take on all three of his henchmen. Granted, Piotin knew that he himself could do the same, but it was troublesome to see two people that could match him, and allied against him.

Yes, he had to quickly take care of this one. No hesitation anymore, regardless of lethality.

When the two clashed again, they fought like they were possessed. Piotin kept swinging or chopping while Duran proved strong enough to lead away every movement of that battleaxe with just his sword, unless he could just evade. Footwork was perfect on both sides as they circled each other, trying to break through their respective guards. It had to be, as any misstep could cost them their victory, or even their lives.

Eventually, the champion managed to land a pommel strike, and while the helmet spared Duran a headache, it didn't stop him from falling on his back. He only barely brought his blade to block the vertical chop, and a shrill filled the arena as the war axe slid across the edge of that longsword, almost carving through it like a chisel through wood and sinking into the granite just inches away from the Warden's head.

Duran kicked him in the chest with all his might and the massive warrior faltered backwards, long enough for the former to push himself up and lunge straight for him. Piotin did guard with the handle of his weapon, leading the strike away from his head, but again the helmed face was inches away from his own. "Not good enough. Show me your master technique," he whispered again. "Your final blow, I want to see it."

"Got a death wish, do you?" Piotin sneered, just before another metal-clad punch to the face send him backpedaling once again.

He spat out blood, realizing his lower lip was busted now, not just his nose. "Fine!" His grip on the double axe was reversed, and he lunged forward, letting out a new war cry. Air burst away from him like a shockwave a second time, but Duran somehow managed to lean forward and only slid back a meter instead of falling off his feet.

He ducked as the battle axe came in a horizontal arch, but he had no time to jump away before the weapon stopped moving and came at him from the other direction. He managed to take back a step and bring his blade up to guard, but even with all that his defense was broken like butter and his weapon thrown far away. Even his arm was struck hard, elbow possibly dislocated if not cut through. Piotin seized the chance and made a large step forward, bringing the axe in an ascending diagonal.

The noise of crushed and cut metal was loud and clear as the axe caught Duran in the left side and, massive armor and all, sent him flying. The armor proved useful in absorbing much of the force, as a large part of the impact was spread across the whole cuirass. Still, he only reached the ground three meters away from where he once stood, smashing hard against the stone and rolling over twice before going still. Blood was clearly dripping from the crack in his full plate mail.

The entire arena had gone strangely silent, save for a few murmurs. Piotin wasn't really listening, as something very aggravating had just happened. That guy had managed to evade half of the technique, a technique he had used to kill ogres single-handedly.

Duran twitched.

And the crowd begun to cheer and shout again. Piotin wasn't listening. He was too stupefied at seeing that guy still conscious. He was exhausted after that attack and could only stare at how the Warden slowly pushed himself up with one arm while the other one he used to hold onto his side. He also failed to notice how oddly convenient it was that Duran had landed close to where one of Piotin's unconscious henchmen was, a sword and shield within reach.

Thus, Piotin Aeducan didn't even consider the possibility that Duran had set himself in that particular spot before he used the final blow on him, just so he would land close enough to a weapon, suspecting his own would be made... unavailable.

The armored Warden took the red steel dwarven sword from the ground and slowly climbed to his feet. Then, he used his free hand to take off his full, massive helmet and let if fall next to him with a clang.

The excited crowd seemed to go into shock, so utterly silent it became all of a sudden.

And then, Duran of the Grey Wardens turned to face him. He had a fairly long, brown beard, arranged in one long braid, while his long moustache hung in two strands on both sides of it. But what really gave everyone pause was the white headband that covered not just his hair, but his eyes as well.

Piotin gaped and felt outrage, and only then did his ears start to understand what some of the more responsive spectators were shouting.

"What in stone's name! He's blind?"

"The Warden's blindfolded!"

"He fought Piotin Aeducan to a standstill while blind!"

"Awesome!"

_No, that couldn't be right. _Piotin thought. _Blind men don't fight like that._ "Deception, is it?" These halls won't accept lies!" He challenged him as loudly as he could, making himself heard over the noise. "Say it! You're not really blind! You're bluffing!" if he really was blind, it was outrageous that he'd lasted so long. He was just too good at fighting to be blind. No doubt that cloth was transparent.

No answer was given. Instead, Duran's expression was totally blank. He straightened up and held his sword outstretched to the side, and then the blade became slowly enveloped in white light, little by little growing brighter, until none of the metal's red sheen was left. Piotin could only widen his eyes at the sight and suddenly felt he was in serious danger, something in his mind shouting '_Threat level increased! Threat level increased!'_. He could hear the audience warning him to watch out, so he kept his eyes on that man whose slow breathing he could somehow hear. He could hear his admirers telling him to look behind him.

Wait, what?

Then, everything went dark all of a sudden and he knew no more.

"-. .-"

The hundreds or thousands of spectators shut up all at once when they saw what happened. They would have expected the silverite-clad warrior to do something amazing with whatever magic he was using. The idea of a dwarf using magic was seen as impossible, but he'd made a regular sword, which belonged to Piotin's man, shine white and bright.

Piotin no doubt expected something of the sort too, which was likely why he gave the guy his undivided attention. And that was the reason he failed to notice the Black Warden sneaking up from behind.

The Warden champion struck Piotin hard at the back of the head with the pommel of one of his daggers. The warrior hit the ground hard and went still.

The Dark Wolf had a few scrapes and his cloak was torn in a few places, but he looked mostly fine. And then, the odd, shocked silence was broken by the presumably blind one.

"Now **that** is just unfair!" He complained, loud enough for everyone to hear. His voice was just a bit raspy, no doubt because of the wound in his side, but it still caused everyone to just listen. "You took out all **four** of them! You greedy bastard!"

The other one pulled his scarf down, exposing the lower half of his face and his own red stubble, quite similar to Piotin's. "Right, it's not my fault you were taking too long," he said with a shrug. "And no way am I going to let you go loose with **that**," he pointed at his still glowing weapon. "You know what happened last time."

The white warrior grumbled something, threw the sword aside lazily and sat down in a cross-legged position with a grunt. "Whatever!"

The main competitor looked up at the Proving Master's platform. "Hey! Is this Proving over or what? I want to get a drink!"

The amazed man finally snapped out of his revelry and, after exchanging a grin with Gwen, he finally announced the finish. "Spoken like a true warrior! Congratulations! You defeated the man Prince Trian himself once called "the horns of my army." Well done!" He then looked upon the many onlookers. "Do any deny this Grey Warden has earned the championship? Do you deny that the Ancestors favor him now that he and his second have defeated an entire squad of seasoned veterans?"

Much acclaim erupted, most of it basically being a variation of "Good job!"

"Then, I am pleased to announce the Grey Warden as the winner of this memorial Proving, the favorite of the ancestors!" he declared, not hiding his admiration. "It was a gift just to watch you fight, Warden."

"Then I would like to say a few words of my own, to make it clear just why the Ancestors favored my companion and I enough that we defeated all of your best, including your greatest champion's entire squad," he said from the middle of the arena.

"By all means! Through this day, we affirm the friendship between our city and your order and would be honored to hear you speak."

Everyone in the arena thought they wouldn't see anything as surprising as what they'd witnessed over the course of that proving. They'd watched peerless acrobatics, ferocious duels and stone-splitting exchanges of blows. Verily, they were certain it would be many years before anything as exciting happened.

And then, the Black Warden casually untied the knot on his headband and removed his mask, after which he shook his head, allowing his braided red hair to hang free. It was only when he looked up that almost everyone in attendance gasped in shock. "Hello again my ladies and gentlemen!" He said, defiant and certain of his position. That his foot was on the unconscious Piotin Aeducan's back probably helped his confidence.

The shock that went through the audience was loud.

And the silence that followed was deafening.

"You!" the Proving Master bellowed in outrage. "How did you... How dare you-"

"Is there a problem?" Gwenith Cousland's somewhat sharp voice resonated over his. "Is there any particular reason why he would be met with such hostility?"

The mediator caught himself before he could glare at her, but he still couldn't suppress a frown. "Warden, that th-... That man is-"

"A Grey Warden," she cut him off with a frown of her own. "Deserving of all your respect, as demanded by your ancient laws and traditions. He was elevated upon his formal invitation last year, ever since he has been protecting the world against the Darkspawn and working towards the stopping of the Blight amassing on the surface. He even gained the Ancestors' favor today, you said it yourself. Or do you presume to disagree with the Ancestors themselves?"

The dwarf winced. "I apologize for my outburst, though it would have been... generous if you'd given us prior warning," he grudgingly said. "Speak then."

Faren Brosca grinned triumphantly and slowly turned around until he was sure he'd given a good look at all the crowds. "Then you'd better listen. Last time I was here, I won your proving, and you went and sentenced me to death because I was a castless. Well the Ancestors obviously didn't approve, so they guided my arm to total victory today. I suppose I could use this chance to call you out on the many injustices you committed against me and my kin, who are just as much your kin as they are mine."

"I **could** waste my breath on you, but I won't bother. What I want to say is this! The only reason I am even alive now, the only reason I was uplifted by the Grey Wardens, was because a certain person descended into that hell you've shoved us brands into and rescued me from the Carta, the Carta that some of the **scum** among you call upon to handle your dirty work!"

By now, part of the crowd, especially the higher-born, were getting outraged for real and were shouting at 'the audacity.' So of course Shale would slam her stony palms together and bring the situation under control with a very loud bang. "You all are too loud," the golem said in slight annoyance.

Things quieted.

So the new champion continued. "Yes, I entered and won this proving not for King Endrin or Prince Bhelen, but to honor that person. That person that saw past all of your stupid and unjust traditions, who knew injustice when he saw it. The person that spent his life working for the betterment of Orzamar and who you repaid by spitting upon and sending to his death!" He seemed to revel in their looks of stupefaction. "Yes my ladies and gentlemen, the Ancestors are speaking through me, and I tell you this! The glory and honor that I gained today, I dedicate it all to the memory of Raonar Aeducan, Prince of Orzammar and second son of the late King Endrin!"

One couldn't hear birds fly, because they were underground. Pins dropping may have been loud enough to pierce that shocked silence, but that wasn't heard either. All that **was** heard were several women fainting in the stands.

"This is outrageous!" the Proving Master snapped at Gwen, only to see that she was not sitting there anymore. With all the astonishment, he'd failed to register her getting up and walking to the door. She'd already walked back into the entrance hall and Shale shrugged her stony shoulders awkwardly before stomping out as well.

Everyone else just stared at the ring or at each other, unsure of how to react.

Only the silverite-clad warrior actually spoke after that. "Hey man, if you're through... I could really use some help here..."

"Oh, right," Faren walked over and picked up the damaged longsword, after which he went to his partner, pulled his left arm over his shoulders and helped him walk out of the battle ring, leaving their four unconscious opponents to be attended by whoever got over their shock first.

"-. .-"

Faren glanced discretely in the direction of the participants' booth, meeting Baizyl's eye for just an instant before the latter turned around and strode off. The rest of his attention was focused on using all his might to haul Duran out of there and to the room they had been given. That guy sure was heavy with all that metal on.

"There, insane plan started," Faren uttered low enough for only his burden to hear. "Is that going to shake things up enough for you?"

"You really put feeling into that speech," the seriously injured one said back, though he immediately winced at the pain in his side. "Ugh, Piotin could have killed me back there."

"Did you at least get a good look at it? That attack of his I mean."

"Yes. I'd seen his Final Blow before but I needed to witness it close or experience it. So, secondary mission accomplished."

"Good, because I'm not letting you do this kind of shit again," the redhead said. "For a moment I actually thought you'd... you know..."

"I know. Don't worry, I don't plan on repeating **this** particular performance. It'll be hell to heal this."

"We really need to find a way to fix this healing magic problem you have."

"I've been... guh... trying to use templar discipline to try and bring the Veil under more control, but I haven't... urgh... got the gist of it... yet..."

"Don't talk. We're almost there."

"Good. Tell the others that they'll... probably have to set up a defense perimeter before everyone we've just insulted comes to try and lynch us... It'll take... about an hour to heal enough of this for my life to no longer be in immediate danger."

Faren suddenly felt himself no longer being weighed down, and he spun around, only to find that Sten had hoisted Duran over his shoulders in the standard way of carrying an injured companion. "This will be faster," the Qunari said flatly.

The dwarf commoner waited for Sten to take the lead, so that he could actually keep an eye on the not-really-blindfolded one.

The prince-in-hiding lifted his face enough to throw him an embarrassed look. "Ugh... the indecency..."

_The review space is waiting right there!_


	42. Orzammar Arc 3: Lies Upon Lies

Author's note: Those that didn't read 'Premeditated' (my one-shot) may wish to do so now since this and the next chapter will have quite a bit to do with it. It's not required, of course, but it IS part of the same continuity. You'll find it in my profile.

* * *

**Chapter 41: Lies Upon Lies**

"-. If you are successful, you will win false friends and true enemies .-"  
"-. Succeed anyway .-"

Meditation is, primarily, an act of breathing. Depending on how one orders one's lungs to behave, one can induce various states to one's self, like relaxation, accelerated heartbeats, etc. Breathing, in turn, depends primarily not on the lungs, but on the rib cage and the diaphragm. The latter ensures that the internal organs in the torso are always isolated from the ones in the abdomen, while the ribs (well, the rib muscles really) are the ones that actually draw air in or shove it out.

Contrary to what the bulk of all commoners believe, the lungs cannot really be controlled. Their primary purpose is the absorption of oxygen, and the process is a mostly passive one really, based on the friction between the air and the lung tissue as the air is drawn inside upon the expansion of the thoracic volume. When it comes to actually accomplishing that expansion, the ribs do all the work. It is when the rib cage is expanded that the lungs are pulled outward in all directions (the phenomenon is quite similar to a suction cup, only it happens all around) and forced to fill up like a sponge would grow when absorbing water, the only difference being that the lungs draw air **because** of the rib cage's expansion instead of causing it.

Yes, the ribs were key... which is why the Grey Warden currently known, for all intents and purposes, as Duran was so very aggravated. He was trying to do that healing meditation of his and he couldn't breathe properly, what with the broken and cut ribs on his left side. He'd been using periods of still breath in order to focus and had found himself in the need to learn how to summon/allow Honor's healing magic to pour through even under less than stellar conditions (read: when he couldn't meditate).

At least it was mostly working. He'd been at this for the past hour, sitting in the middle of that chamber. He no longer registered the other people in those preparatory quarters that Faren and him had been given as Proving participants. Faren himself, of course, was there, behind one of those privacy fence things. He'd blushed when Kallian offered to help him out of his armor and clothes, but he only accepted being helped out of his armor. He was still lounging in that large, square bathtub, thankfully (or at least he thought so) out of sight.

Shale and Sten had taken up guard duty outside the doors, while Alim, Zevran, Morrigan and Alistair had gone with Gwen in a sort of stroll throughout the Proving Grounds, to see just what sort of impression that outrageous last speech on Faren's part had left. Theron and Kallian were sitting on a bench near the door. They had applied some healing balm to Duran's wounds and had bandaged him before letting him get on with his healing technique. Wynne was next to them, apparently quite upset at being useless, even with all her healing magic. At least the Spirit Healer could be glad that she had managed to get to that poor Harrowmont fighter in time to save his life (the one that had fought against Myaja and Lucjan).

In other words, everyone was talking with some of the others or just sitting or standing about.

Oddly enough, Duran found that he didn't need to concentrate all of his attention on healing. While his templar training hadn't given him the ability to bring the Veil under control and allow healing magic to work on him, he **had** managed to get to a point where he could stabilize it enough for Honor to do his thing. Honor also seemed to be getting better and better at the whole regeneration thing.

Things **would** have been easier if they would have just fused together, like Wynne and her own Spirit of Faith had it on (especially since the existence of the tear in the Veil would mean Honor could easily just return to the Fade whenever he wanted), but neither wanted to risk having some unpleasant concentration of the exile's feelings (he wasn't vain enough to think he didn't have issues) somehow warping the Spirit of Honor into something... unfortunate.

The only reason they'd afforded to do it once (in the Fade, when dealing with Sloth) was because it had happened with just a short fragment (Honor had said he couldn't use words to explain just how he could divide like that), meaning a very small portion that wouldn't have had any bearing on the identity of the whole, though it ultimately didn't matter, seeing as how it was consumed by the effort of that whole teleporting-Sloth-across-half-the-Fade-all-the-way-to-his-fate thing.

Yes, Duran didn't need all of his attention for healing right now, so he could look back at how the proving had gone. And he had to admit, he'd found Piotin impressive. His ferocity was admirable and the way he seemed to cause his underlings to fight to the fullest, just by his presence, was noteworthy. Granted, the prince-in-hiding didn't really agree with the means his cousin had used to secure that sort of drive (intimidation was distasteful), but the results had been real.

There was also that whole exploding thing. Very few dwarves actually ever live long enough, or go through enough shit, to actually learn to 'reject' the magic surrounding them. The prince was no stranger to the tales and reports about Legionnaires capable of shrugging off any spell or actually drawing upon the might of the stone and keep fighting based on willpower alone. It really was a thing to behold, though he also knew that few of those people actually ever understood how they did it. Since experience mostly seals the deal, they just go with what feeling works.

Piotin was no doubt the same. He was strong, sure, and his insight into what a fight is like was unquestionable, but he wasn't the brightest of the Aeducans, not by a long shot. That he couldn't see Bhelen for who he was, Duran supposed, wasn't all his fault, since the whole house seemed to be just as oblivious, even despite whatever means Endrin had used to disown his discarded third son (which was obviously not done in public or in a believable enough way that wouldn't make everyone question his mental state). What **was** a failing on Piotin's part was that he didn't know much about anything besides fighting and commanding a squad of warriors.

Granted, this much was usually enough for any male dwarf, especially noblemen that didn't dabble in politics (at least those lucky enough for 'The Game' to not be forced upon them). On the other hand, this meant that Piotin didn't really know just **how** his blowing-people-away-by-shouting-and-stomping skill worked. The exile, of course, was different. He had grown up a bookworm after all, and the only reason he hadn't been reading all that much lately (besides the whole having to lead the world against the Blight thing) was because he'd already read the most relevant books and the rest wouldn't be much use to him.

Among the few exceptions were Zevran's poison codex (both the... creative... and the revised version) as well as that black Grimoire adorned with the symbol of a leafless tree on the cover, the one Alim had found in the Circle Tower (when failing to find any mind wipe spell info). It belonged to Flemeth at some point, apparently (Morrigan had not yet been told of it being found). Neither the dwarf nor the elf mage had understood the language, but Duran **had** had Honor 'record' his visual memory as he turned all pages, one after the other.

Several times.

Not that that had actually helped any, what with Honor not knowing the language either and how he wasn't going to leave that realm of his or invite any ancient spirit friends there any time soon. Both the prince and the Fade dweller were reasonably sure some Spirit, maybe a Spirit of Knowledge, would be able to decipher that tome or at least have some inkling of the language itself, perhaps picked up from some dreamer or another, centuries ago.

Yes, Duran's mind was speaking in really long shots again. Moving back to Piotin's blowing-people-away-by-shouting-and-stomping skill.

Essentially, it's a sort of 'upgrade' to the magical resistance all dwarves have (except Duran and some surface dwarves apparently). Magic is everywhere, including in the air. It's that magic, after all, that Templars draw upon when using their talents, like Holy Smite (a very presumptuous name that) and Cleanse Area (which Duran just loved because it looked, to quote Zevran Arainai, ridiculously awesome). Piotin's skill was a bit more... primitive, as it violently pushed all magic away. Basically, the magic charge was blown away without it actually 'separating' from the air itself, hence the air bursts (the air was pushed along with the magical supply itself).

Really, the stomping and screaming wasn't required. The whole display was awesome and practical though. In a way more practical that Duran's own magical shockwaves, apparently, as those could be resisted by (Faren was even outright immune), though they were more damaging. You can't really resist a wall of highly compressed air though. Hmm, now there's an idea.

"_Note to self"_ he thought._ "Learn how to cause spherical shockwaves thick enough to blow air away in a similar fashion. And it can't be on the same principle as Piotin since I have no magical resistance to speak of that I could actually turn into overdrive."_

Okay, the injury was healing well. Now the exile had enough peace of mind to review how that whole Proving had gone. There had actually been two main reasons for actually joining the fights, one of them being so that Faren could give that so-called eulogy (which he ended up putting a lot more feeling into than Duran had expected, and it was really... heartwarming).

The speech wasn't actually meant to make the crowd second guess the Assembly's decision to convict Endrin's second child, not primarily anyway (or to cast justified suspicions upon Bhelen's ever so immediate accusations). Its purpose was much deeper and quite multi-pronged actually. Not that he minded the whole "Raonar Aeducan was an awesome, honorable nice guy" implication.

The first thing was that all that was said was true. Though it was formulated in such a way as to make it sound like the second son had died, it was never specifically stated that it had happened. Faren had said that the prince had been sent to his death, which was true. He'd also said that the prince had gone into Dust Town to rescue him from the Carta, also true. This will be interpreted in both good and bad ways, of course, which was really the point. Confusing the sod out of people was a primary goal, as confused people are very easy to persuade to believe whatever you wanted them to. The easiest way to have a third option picked was to make sure neither of the first two options was possibly going to be chosen.

The second reason was to 'prove' that the Wardens upheld honor while still remaining politically impartial. Faren had eulogized the one that Bhelen had openly accused and moved to be convicted of fratricide, but he'd made it sound like a personal opinion (and that he is the younger brother of his concubine would no doubt make Bhelen think he could manipulate him, something that would not have been considered if 'Duran" had exposed himself for who he really was).

On the other hand, he'd also called all of Orzammar's population on their mistreatment of the castless, meaning that he was against Harrowmont's policies at the same time. Basically, a lot of questions had been raised, but Faren, and the Grey Wardens, could still be said to not have taken any of the two apparent sides in this political 'game'.

But the biggest outrage of all will most likely stem from the fact that a brand praised one that had been cast out as a kinslayer. In Dwarven terms, this could very well be seen as the biggest type of treason and insult to all that represents the Dwarven people. Unfortunately, he'd done that while being backed by all the favor of the Ancestors, as shown by the fact he'd won the Grand Glory Proving (again). So two things would happen after all this.

People would either take the Ancestors 'at their word' and start to raise questions as to what really happened with that whole Aeducan debacle...

...or they'd start to think that maybe the Provings aren't really the means used by the Ancestors to communicate their will. After all, if it was, they wouldn't allow something so outrageous to happen...

... right?

Duran really hoped Orzammar's population would lean more towards the latter. Since he could pretty much prove the former true whenever he wanted (provided Trian was still alive, which all clues pointed towards), it would really help if people started to contest the validity of the Provings, and that really was all he wanted. Too long have nobles gotten away with treachery by 'proving' their house was right by having their champions duel. All it would take was to remove the credibility of that method, and the game of dwarven politics would crack a little more.

Yes, Faren's speech was the piece that sent the domino moving. Now all the prince had to do was make sure all the pieces up in line were properly arranged (and not influenced by outside stimuli, not overmuch at least), so that the chain reaction would not stop until complete.

As soon as he finished healing of course.

"-. .-"

Ah yes, Tapsters Tavern. The perfect place to go and relax after beating the crap out of Orzammar's fines warriors. Coincidentally, it was also the perfect place where rumors get fastest. Apparently, the two hours it took for the Grey Wardens to finally leave the Proving Grounds had been enough to let the entire city know about all that had happened. Mostly, the populace seemed confused, but also excited about all they'd seen and heard that day, but hey, if the Ancestors decided to favor a brand turned Grey Warden, he probably had a point about all that, right?

Like all other buildings in Orzammar, Tapsters was directly carved into the mountain, so the walls and ceiling understandably looked like they were made of mostly the same piece of rock. This gave the establishment an air of strength. The tavern was also fairly large, with several side-chambers for those more... financially-gifted and highborn (though the latter didn't often venture there). The main hall was still pretty large though, and there were a few tables that were a bit larger than the others, one of which was further to the back.

It was there that all of the Grey Wardens and their allies had settled themselves, save for Shale, Sten, Wynne, Morrigan and Theron, who had gone back to the temporary lodgings, to check on the hounds and wolf, as well as to prepare some semblance of dinner (they'd also said they would prefer to not be in such a loud/annoying/pointless/decadent/whatever place). The tournament had taken up most of the day so everyone was, understandably, eager to relax a bit. That Tapsters would be a perfect public spot where envoys from Harrowmont and Bhelen could approach them without making trouble was not a coincidence, of course.

Corra, the hostess, had seemed a bit apprehensive at their coming, having heard about how Faren had spoken in favor of the kinslayer, but not as angry as Duran had expected her to end up. If he had to guess, he'd say that she was having doubts about what she believed now. Either way, she didn't refuse to serve them and even freed up the aforementioned large enough table.

Said table was fairly long and the large chairs around it were made of the same stone as everything else. It helped that nothing of the ones sitting in them could be seen from behind. Duran, Leliana, Zevran and Alim were sitting on the far side, with their backs against the rear wall of the lounge, meaning that they had a clear view of the whole tavern (aided by how the floor in the back was about 20 inches higher than the rest). Across from them (and thus, hidden from most everyone's view) were Faren, Kallian, Gwen and Alistair.

The seats at both heads of the table had conveniently been left vacant.

Needless to say, the rest of the tavern was packed full and everyone was talking about how incredible the Proving had been and how that 'brand' had won the fights again and even beaten Piotin Aeducan. Faren was now way past the point where he cared about how freely the word 'brand' was thrown around. He was still wearing his Dark Wolf attire but no longer had anything covering his face/head. Duran had switched into a chainmail-patched shirt and some leather pants of his own and his face was now in plain sight, though his hair and eyes were still concealed under that headband of his (he had a grey cloak on the arm of his chair and wore a Grey Warden tabard too). He seemed quite pensive as he set his mug aside and looked through a parchment.

Just as they'd neared that spot, Duran had somehow ended up talking to a really freaked out dwarf, a young one. _"What! Get away! You'll change, like the rest. Monsters hidden in all my friends!"_ he'd cried out before lapsing into some babbles and running off, though not before shoving three weathered pieces of parchment in his hands that held some sort of story, the same one, only incomplete.

"Is something wrong?" Gwen asked all of a sudden. "You have that really steely frown on. I can see it, even through that cloth."

Leliana, who had been 'discreetly' peeking into the parchment raised her eyebrows. "Hmm, story scrolls. All three very old too..." She narrowed her eyes and read an excerpt from the one Duran was holding as the dwarf leaned back and moved it at an angle, to make it easy for her. "And when his kingdom fell, so disappeared the stolen riches of an age. The beast, the Unbound, dormant until one of true spirit claims his throne. So must hunt the hero of his people, the principled who would search for ancient evil. This is how they can make a real difference." She stopped for a moment. "I'm getting a strange feeling as I read this."

"Strange feelings can be good or bad," Zevran said from next to her. "But this Unbound creature, I don't think I've heard of stories speaking of it before."

"How can you even read through that thing anyway?" Faren asked as he pointed at the white cloth.

"I did say was it was really transparent, didn't I?" The way the cloth moved signaled that he'd moved his own eyebrow higher than usual. "Unbound eh... that kid was really scared back there. 'Monsters hidden in all my friends' he'd said, and he didn't seem insane either."

"Demonic possession is really the only thing that can fit that wording," Alim said from the side, spinning his wand between his left hand's fingers. "I never heard anything about this Unbound either, however, meaning that there was probably nothing in the Circle Library. Odd..."

"See, I found copies. All from the same pen and older than the ones in song! Dormant, my arse," the exile-in-hiding quoted. "There's things older than darkspawn, and once you're in the story, they **find** you... That's another thing he said."

"Sound pretty ominous," Alistair expressed from the side, resting his elbows on the table (which was apparently lower than he was used to). "But it may just be nothing." Several people nodded at that.

The conversation eventually drifted to casual topics, like everyone's hair. Leliana even 'fixed up' Duran's long, brown beard at one point something that drew odd looks from the others, though they didn't say anything (the prince himself seemed totally nonplussed by it). Eventually, a few unknown dwarves, male and female both, sheepishly approached their table and asked for autographs, of all things. The two Wardens regarded each other for a moment before getting over their surprise and obliging. Oddly, though, the 'guests' didn't immediately leave and looked like they wanted to ask something.

All they managed to do was shift their gazes from each other and fidget, though they always returned to staring at the bearded one.

"Is there something else we may help you with?" Gwen asked politely.

"We were just wonderin'..." says one.

"No." All attention suddenly focused on the one whose eyes and hair were covered, as it was he that had interrupted them. "I am not blind, if that is your dilemma," he added, tilting his head. He'd also said it loudly enough that the people at the nearest tables overheard.

"Oh," one said as they all seemed a bit taken off guard, some even slipping some disappointment into their facial expressions. "Then why do you wear that thing?"

"It doesn't really obstruct my vision too much, seeing as how it's not opaque, and I prefer it that way," he shrugged. "Besides, my eyes aren't exactly... something you see everyday..." That last bit was given in a clear enough voice that murmurs gradually spread what the adjacent table overheard all throughout that main hall.

"You could just show them, my friend," Zevran suggested.

_Especially since it'll get them off our backs faster_ Faren thought, but knew people would get suspicious from seeing a dwarf with silver eyes, considering who it was that had them not long ago.

"Oh no, we wouldn't dream of invading a Grey Warden's private matters," said one of them, a woman (girl?), though obviously half-heartedly.

"Meh, nothing will explode if I just show you for a few seconds," the dwarf consented, much to their obvious excitement. Next moment, he pulled down the blindfold, or at least the part folded over his eyes, revealing that there actually were a couple of eye holes cut into the fabric. He now looked like someone wearing a ninja mask, only it was white (much to the annoyance of those that would have wanted to see his whole face).

By now, many other people in the tavern were looking his way, more or less discreetly, and quite a few of them flinched when he snapped his eyes open. They were only visible for a few seconds, but al anyone could see was a sort of white light just shining out of them both. No irises were visible.

Duran closed his eyes and returned his cloth to how it was before just after a nasty sound was heard from the tankard in front of him, leaving the ceramic mug with a very interesting-looking crack.

"Magic? But... dwarves can't do magic," one of them said in disbelief. "How can a dwarf... ?"

"A lot of things happen in Rivain," he simply put it. "That's a country on the surface, in case you were wondering. Still, my eyes looking weird aside," he said afterwards, "**this**" he felt over the crack on his (fortunately) empty mug "doesn't usually happen..."

"I **suppose** it doesn't count as an explosion..." Faren off-handedly commented.

After the shock and predictable gushing, the weird fans filed out and it took some time for everyone else in the establishment to divert their attention from the Wardens' table. Only then did the not-blind one turn to the elf mage's direction. "So, causing ale mugs to crack just for dramatic effect now, Alim?"

"It's not like you can't cause that sort of thing yourself," he said with a shrug. "Besides, I happen to think people are hilarious when they get all impressed by glowing eyes of doom."

"Well, I'm taking the payment for this cup out of your wage," the dwarf shot back.

Alim actually snorted. "Right, as if we get any. But anyway, Rivain?"

His voice was low enough to not be overheard. "Hey, what I said was true. A lot of things happen there, it's a sodding country after all. If people immediately suppose I'm from there just because I happened to mentioned that obvious fact, it's their own fault."

"Your honesty is positively admirable," Zevran said dryly.

"-. .-"

Third day in the dwarven underground city and things were finally starting to get interesting (well, more interesting than they already were anyway). The prior evening, some time after the whole gushing fans thing, young lord Denek Helmi ended up sharing the table with them and they all spoke of Orzammar at large and how the caste system is idiotic. Gwen took the chance to show him the promissory notes from Rolik and, after he briefly almost started cursing at how he couldn't believe even lord Harrowmont was a liar, he finally understood that they were forgeries and promised he'd be wary of house Gavorn and Bhelen in the future (and that he wouldn't jump to conclusions so easily next time).

After Denek left, Dulin Forender came up at the table and congratulated the Wardens on their ability to shake things up (he made it sound like he didn't approve of how the meager stability left in Orzammar had been even further cracked). He also didn't sound overly happy about the message he'd been asked to send, but he'd realized that Baizyl and Gwiddon had been returned to the fight thanks to them. That and he was, in the end, lord Pyral Harrowmont's faithful second so he did as he was directed.

Granted, there was a brief exchange between him and Zevran, who questioned Harrowmont's leadership for not being able to keep his men from copping out. A harsh glare on Gwen's part quieted him eventually. Of course, the only reason the Antivan even said that while Duran was **right** **there** was because the latter had actually allowed it. Making all the gossip-happy dwarves witness a Warden (or in this case an aide) saying such things was further fuel for misdirection (and the points were sort of valid too...).

As Duran had predicted, it didn't take long for Harrowmont to send an envoy to invite the honorable Grey Wardens to visit his estate. Bhelen didn't send anyone to do the same, but that didn't come as an overly big surprise, knowing the fallout with Rolik and how Bhelen would have to be an idiot to have him approach the Grey after that. Most likely he would try to have Rica speak to Faren, now that he no longer bothered staying covert. Of course, being a prince's concubine, she was no longer allowed to leave the Diamond Quarter.

Duran and Faren had given everyone else a debriefing of sorts on what Noble Hunters do. Well, Kallian already knew, but it was useful to get that out of the way since they'd be all moving to the Diamond Quarter next.

Yes, in fact, that was exactly what they were doing. Having spent their second night in those merchant temporary quarters, they were now ready to go and claim their own palace in the higher level of the city. Most of their luggage had already been moved there by Sten and Alim, the latter having made extensive use of his telekinesis while he was at it. Needless to say, quite a few of the 'highborn' were reduced to gaping gawkers by the sight of floating trunks. At some point, Morrigan decided not to bother anymore, so she morphed into a raven and took her place on Alim's shoulder (who shot her a betrayed look, since he still had to levitate half the luggage up).

Pretty much everyone had gone ahead to check out the Grey Wardens' very own enclave, which left Gwen, Alistair and the two dwarves as the last ones to finally climb the long stairway to the Diamond Quarter. Oddly enough, there were two sets of barrier doors, one on either end of said stairway. Of course, they had to pass by the entrances to the artisan/smiths quarter, as well as the one that led to the warrior caste's level.

The district looked much different from the Commons. It went up in the same spiral around the inside of that giant, hollow mountain, and had palace after palace competing in terms of architectural complexity and size. Fortunately, Duran knew where the enclave was, so he'd explained the location to everyone before coming here.

And then, a fairly young dwarven lady was spotted, with red hair gathered in double buns at the back and dressed in silks. She was sitting on a bench and fidgeting, looking after the group of wardens that had passed her by, probably wanting to speak with them and obviously not working her courage to do so. And of course, right on cue, she jumped to her feet when she spotted her younger brother walking in tow with two humans, another dwarf and two large dogs.

"I can't believe it! I heard a dwarven Grey Warden or two came to Orzammar and I couldn't help but hope... And then you go ahead and win another proving!"

Faren didn't even bother thinking and ran straight for her while the others followed slowly behind. He promptly gave her a big hug as soon as he was close enough. "Oh sis, you're okay!" Needless to say, he held her there for quite a while. He knew it wouldn't be enough to catch up with all that had happened but damn, it felt good to see and hold his sister again, especially since she looked happy, owed to a lie though it was.

"Look at you! My little brother, the returning hero!" she gushed and clapped her hands together after he (finally) let go of her. "And you have quite the unusual entourage too," she noted, casting a glance at the two heavily armored humans and the apparently blindfolded, brown-bearded dwarf. She couldn't tell if he had a brand or not because that headband/mask thing of his covered that part of his face. Ah well, at least they were far enough and letting them have some privacy.

"I can barely believe that's you under all those jewels..." Faren found himself saying.

"Can you imagine? As of last month, I'm a royal concubine to House Aeducan. They've moved Mother and me into the palace," she said happily, only that just sounded an alarm in Faren's head.

"Wait, just last month?" he could tell his own tone sounded panicky. "You mean you've had to get by in Dust Town all this time?"

"No silly!" she assured him, patting his arm. "Bhelen got us a decent place in the commons just after you left with the Wardens. Still, the palace is amazing! You could fit our whole neighborhood just in the bathing room!"

"Yeah, I gather last month is when you had your baby?" he ventured. He wasn't really looking forward to this conversation. Not one bit.

"Little Endrin was born right before his grandfather died. His grandfather, the **king.** Can you believe it? Now you see why I didn't tell you. It just seems so amazing. My son is an Aeducan. The future king of Orzammar spends his nights in my bed."

The younger Brosca just looked at her and felt really glad she was happy, but he was starting to get concerned too. She really did seem totally entranced with her new life.

"Beraht was a toad, but I have to thank him for teaching me to read, dance, massage, and whatever else Bhelen sees in me."

Okay, that got to him. "Okay, hold on there," he waved his hands in front of him, finally getting her attention. "In my head, when someone starts saying all the horrible things in their life were worth it because this or that happened, a big alarm starts ringing."

"Oh, you're overthinking things," she tried to assure him.

"Oh I really doubt it," he said bluntly, frowning. "I doubt I'm overthinking things when the one spending nights in your bed is someone who hired killers to go after his brothers and may have poisoned his father too."

"That's a horrible, vicious lie! In fact, after King Endrin died, Bhelen cried for weeks. And he told me all about the kinslaying too. Lord Harrowmont always favored Bhelen's older brother, the one who..." her voice seems to falter at this (_Thank the stone!_) "... the one who the Assembly said murdered Trian..." She paused and looks aside.

"Rica, you can't possibly think that guy killed his brother!" he said back, with a certain edge. "Not when the so-called kinslayer is the one that rescued me from the carta's dungeons! Seriously, who** does **something like that for a worthless brand?"

"I don't know," she admitted, slumping somewhat. "He really did come through for us back then, even though he made a pass at me to do it-"

"Wait, WHAT?" he almost broke the shout barrier. "He did WHAT?" A distant part of his brain was wondering if he'd have to break his jaw again after this.

"I actually was thinking of asking Bhelen for help, when you went missing, but I bumped into him instead and he followed me back to Bhelen's room where he... started acting like he was going to kiss me... and probably more..."

_Okay... keep calm, there is definitely an explanation for this... right?_

"I was actually about to break his head with a vase," she said with a certain amount of humor. "But I managed to control myself and then he backed off and... bowed and apologized... and said he was just testing me to see just what kind of person I was... Then he starts asking me all these questions and he somehow makes me answer everything about... everything..."

_Well... this does sound like the kind of shit he'd pull actually..._ "Wait, so it **was** you that told him about me! You did refuse to say so last year..."

"Yes, sorry about that," she said honestly. "Anyway, next thing I know I'm crying in his arms and he's all gentle and telling me I can trust him..."

"Uuh... what?" _Wait, what?_

"Silly isn't it? I still don't know for sure how it happened. And then he has his second get me a bowl of water and a towel to clean up. And then he tells me to be careful and goes to your rescue..." she trailed off and her eyes look like she finally realized something. "He actually treated as well as Bhelen does, come to think of it, and he didn't even know me..."

"Does Bhelen know about this?" _Shit, does he...?_

"Yes, I told him. He said he probably saved you so he could use you somehow. He said his brother always could pass off as whatever kind of person he wanted."

"Right, let's set aside the fact that the guy blatantly refused to even tell me who he was... you think he'd actually kill his own brother?" Faren asked again, crossing his arms.

"Look, forget about all that. Fact is, Bhelen thinks Harrowmont set the whole thing up to frame him. Then he had the gall to whisper these things to the dying king," Rica said with some venom.

"Riiight... Don't you think he's giving Harrowmont a bit too much credit?"

"You don't understand what nobles are like. They fight for power like rats over bread," Rica explained.

"Oh, you have no idea how much I understand," he replied bitterly. "And just for the record, Harrowmont's actually known for being a fair and honest man..."

"A front which he hides behind to spread his lies!" she cut him off, a bit more angrily than he was prepared to be, but her mouth suddenly snapped shut.

Good, the glare of death ripoff worked.

The fact that he'd exhaled fast enough to make it sound like a sneer definitely helped stop her tirade before it even started. Faren loved his sister dearly, no question, but he wasn't about to let her naivety doom her to live a lie until Bhelen got tired of her and cast her aside like he did everything else. And man, was he getting sick of all these lies. "Do you at least know that **Bhelen** was the one who got that guy sent to the Deep Roads? It **is **a public Shaperate record..."

"Of course I do!" she said weakly. "Bhelen wouldn't keep that sort of secret from me even if it wasn't pubic knowledge."

Ah yes, rolling one's eyes definitely took on a new meaning. "And you're still convinced he's such a saint, even knowing what kind of guy his brother was. I don't know about this Trian, but I **do** know there's no sodding way Bhelen's other brother would be that kind of bastard. And still you act all enamored with Bhelen, when **he **practically killed him!"

Rica sighed. "You don't understand. Even the King refused to do anything about that mess, so he was forced to act in the best interests of his entire family. He knows the most important thing to the ancestors is family loyalty. I hope you know that, too."

"Oh, this is rich!" he snorted.

"Why is this all so personal to you?" Her own voice sounded a bit upset now.

"Of course it's personal. You're my sister." Faren was feeling a bit guilty for keeping things from Rica's, but it really was getting easier and easier. At least he hadn;t actually said any lies, though one may just call this whole thing a lie of omission.

"And yet you won't even let me tell you just why I came out looking for you..."

_Okay, that hurt._ "And here I thought you just missed me..."

"Of course I miss you! I missed you every day!" She sounded hurt actually. "But I also have to tell you something. Bhelen heard about what you said after you won the Proving and told me it opened his eyes to a possibility he hadn't considered. He actually looked horrified about something and said he may have made a terrible mistake. He wants to meet with you."

There was a pause.

_Oh shit! That guy was right, it's happening! Oh please, this shit is just too much!_ "Riight... I'm not exactly at liberty to see the so-called political candidates. We Grey Wardens are supposed to be neutral and I'm not actually the one calling the shots here." _And thank all the Stone for __**that**__!_

"Oh, Bhelen knew that was the case. He said he was willing to meet with your commander too. But you're giving me that look, like this all feels like a really sour mug of spoiled liken ale... Won't you at least give Bhelen a chance? And don't you want to meet your nephew? I can't believe you didn't even ask me about little Endrin!"

The dwarf sighed and took a few deep breaths and forced himself to smile. "Okay, tell me about him."

Her mood instantly brightened. "He's beautiful, with the biggest brown eyes, and so smart! He already knows who his father is. I'm sure his first word will be "prince."

"Oh, for the love of..." he was shaking his head. "Having a kid really changed you, big sister," _and not all of it in a good way. _"But go on. Let's just... forget about everything else and tell me about him... slowly."

"Only if you'll go straight to Bhelen afterwards! Otherwise, I'll keep you here all day!"

The others waved at him as they left him to his devices before he sat down on the same bench as his overly naive but still dearly beloved sister.

"-. .-"

Well, the Royal Palace didn't look like it had changed overmuch, Alim thought. Faren had finally joined up with the rest of them at their official quarters about an hour after he'd stayed behind with his sister. That was still before noon, so they decided to have lunch early, after which everyone went on their way. Faren had been really nervous (and pissed) at how complicated things were getting.

Alim still couldn't believe what the prince had told the poor kid. He actually told Faren to go ahead and enjoy his time with his sister and nephew as best he could, and that he would leave it up to him to decide whether to reveal who Duran really was. He said that, since it's not his right to use people like this, he wasn't going to dictate his actions. Of course, he apologized for getting him involved in all this, but Faren, of course, knew that he would have been involved anyway, seeing as how Rica had become involved with Bhelen before 'Duran' even spoke to her for the first time.

The Dark Wolf was also a bit put out about Rica's mild (arguable) sexual harassment, but it was also partly because he was a bit pissed at how he owed his life to it. Irony of the ages would be an understatement at this point.

And now, he and Gwen (both in their best equipment) were being guided by two of the royal guards through the doors leading to Bhelen's so-called estate. It was basically an entrance into the left half of the Palace. That left Alim and the other dwarf to stroll through the entrance hall and the throne room, as well as the servants' side.

At some point, Duran became alert (he said he'd heard something) and dashed towards the servant's quarters. He reached the hallway just when the bloody ceiling collapsed all over the place, sending stone and rubble everywhere (they managed to avoid the collapse). Some castless thieves jumped in and, after muttering something about that not being the treasury, panicked and attacked the two of them. Two minutes later, they were all dead and an actual guard was finally running to see what the hell had just happened.

"Bhelen calls this **his** palace," Duran muttered as they walked off. "Pah. Obviously a lot of people aren't taking him seriously if bandits actually try to tunnel into the treasury. From above."

The next half hour had the elf mage keep an eye on the dwarf as he hid his nostalgia and entered the pretty much unpopulated throne room. There, he went over and studied the throne from several angles, after which he went to a far off wall and studied that as well. After a few moments, he moved closer and pressed on one of the carvings.

Alim could swear he'd heard something go 'click' somewhere.

"-. .-"

Faren had been dragged off by his sister while Gwen was going to meet with Bhelen in official capacity. Good thing too, because he really dreaded meeting the guy face to face. Worst case scenario would be to flip out and try to break his neck, but then that would be bad. He'd at least gotten a passing glance of him. At least he wasn't painful to look at, though he could see that dark spark in his eyes. He couldn't really explain it, and he wasn't sure he'd spot it if he didn't know everything he knew.

Anyway, those were thoughts for later. Right now, he was in the royal nursery where Rica was doting over her kid. He'd checked on his mother, Kalah on the way there. She was asleep, dead drunk even now. Apparently, the new life had left her just as bitter as before. Faren understood why, of course, but that didn't mean he had to like it. At least little Endrin was cute, though he'd unfortunately not escaped the dreaded Aeducan family nose. Sodding stone, little Endrin will need to grow a beard fast. Granted, Trian didn't really look horrible with that gigantic nose of his, but that was a rare feat even among dwarves.

At least the kid wasn't to blame for anything his father did. Knowing that, he had no problem with feeling happy for his sister, and himself actually. Come to think of it, this was that guy's nephew too, wasn't he? Faren wondered what he thought about this, but it was just a thought at the far back of his mind, nothing that was taking up his attention at the moment. Rica looked so happy just then, cradling the small nugget in her arms.

_And... oh hell, oh sod she's not... she is, she's going to start breastfeeding him!"_ The young dwarf instantly did a 180 when that started and heard his sister teasing him from behind.

"You get embarrassed so easily," she said.

"Right well... just... let me know next time!" he stuttered.

The next 10 minutes went by in general good mood, until a servant finally came to tell them Bhelen was ready for them. That said, Rica gently deposited the baby back in his crib and took the lead. They ended up walking down some corridors and passing by several double-doors that, according to her, were living and sleeping quarters. Oddly enough, they didn't go to Bhelen's so-called office. Instead, Faren was led to his quarters, at the far end of that hallway.

They were huge, no doubt about that. Bhelen was leaning against a desk on the right and waiting when they were shown in. He had short hair and that large beard of his (two large braids on the sides, his chin hair trimmed and set in two smaller ones). He was blond and his blue eyes seemed to be wandering, but settled on the two of them soon enough. "Ah hello!" he said. _Alright, let the sweet voice speak. _"Welcome to your new house, little brother. And look at you, in such a fine garb! Excellent taste, and practical too! My Rica tells me you worked yourself all the way up from Dust Town to the Grey Wardens."

_My getup is like this because your brother designed it. _"Did she now?" Faren said dryly, crossing his arms in front of him and leaning on one foot.

"Oh yes," the prince continued brightly, standing straight and walking over to a sort of beverage cabinet on the left. "And now you return and win the proving! Again! You even beat Piotin who is out greatest fighter." He poured himself something in a glass. "I'm actually really interested in talking to you about it. I hear you actually took him and all three of his men out by yourself, with just a little distraction from that surfacer friend of yours," he glanced at him. "So, what do you want to drink?"

"Cut the crap."

Rica almost jumped back.

Bhelen stopped pouring whatever he was pouring in that glass and put it and the bottle down. Then, he turned to face the newcomer directly. They were standing about four meters away and staring into each other's eyes. "Yes," said Endrin's youngest with a shrewd look on his face. "I also heard about your speech. Quite full of feeling they say, and just as damning towards me as it was towards Harrowmont. And before you ask, yes, I already know Harrowmont invited the Wardens to his estate."

"Oh, why did I not see that coming?" the brand deadpanned in perfect monotone.

"That **was** your goal, wasn't it?" the other one said, pacing around. "If you weren't going to side with either of us, you would just show that you resented us both equally. Not something I would immediately think up, but I admit, it worked. " He stopped and turned on his heels. "Also shows you know more about politics than some may give you credit for."

"Did you kill your brothers?"

Let it never be said that Faren Brosca didn't know how to get to the point.

There was a pause. Rica felt like a weight was pressing on her from above and she dared not speak up.

Bhelen sighed and looked to the side, and Faren widened his eyes at what a perfect impression of a troubled man he just put on. "Trian... no," he said, before slowly turning his eyes upon him again. _Oh shit, his impression is better than I thought. "_As for my other brother... I'm actually hoping you could tell **me**."

There was silence.

"I'm... not following..." _Holy crap, this... this is... this is the same kind of thing that guy does... _

"I moved to have my brother Raonar convicted to walk the deep roads," the prince said bluntly. "I did it because father wasn't doing anything so someone else had to pick up the task. I will not lie, I disliked Trian. Raonar, however, I respected dearly. I used to admire him and felt like he could do anything. I even thought he'd make a great king and would have favored him instead of Trian."

_Man... his act is... scarily good..._"Go on..."

"The reason I respected him was because I was sure he was one of the few people whose sense of honor was genuine. You've already seen how nobles act, all of them with lies..."

"Yes, I'm sure you're better, what with your second trying to get us to use forgeries to buy you votes," the castless one deadpanned again.

"That was a test," he claimed with a shrug. "I wanted to see if you Wardens really had honorable intentions, so I deliberately instructed Rolik to try and deceive you. In that, I got my answer that you mean no ill will, hence why I was comfortable allowing you and your superior in with all your weapons today. I trust you."

_Alistair would say this is creepy... if I didn't know what I know, I might even buy this. _"Riiight... well, you'll pardon me if I don't take your word for it yet."

"I was speaking of my brothers," he resumed. "As I said, I had the greatest respect for my elders. Raonar however... he was really amazing..." he stared at the way the lava coursed down, beyond the window-like things on the walls. "He had this... this aura... so commanding... and His charisma was beyond anything anyone had ever seen. I even looked up to him, especially after he came back a hero from that rash escapade of his," he closed his eyes, as if reliving a memory. "No wonder Father favored him. I know people say I envied him and plotted against him, because I was considered inferior. But you know, even though Trian, and even father, saw things that way, **he** never did. He always was there for me."

_Fuck... his acting is... wow... _Faren's mouth had gone slightly agape.

And then Bhelen whirled around to face him, his voice gaining a sharp edge. "And then he went and killed Trian!" he almost yelled. "All that self-proclaimed honor, all that talk of family loyalty, of love, all of it thrown in my and everyone else's faces! Do you know what it's like? To live our life in the complete certainty of something, something great, and then to have it thrown in your face that it was all a lie? Do you have any idea what kind of betrayal that is? That he became a kinslayer in the process was just the icing on the cake!"

The red-haired man was really staring in shock right now.

"He was considered a sodding hero," he started pacing again. "Even as I led the proceedings against him I kept hoping that he really had been genuinely honorable at one point. I'd really like to think he wasn't always the lying cheat he proved to be. I know for sure Trian wasn't plotting against him. He was so self-assured that the idea anyone could be after him never even crossed his mind. But then the day of Raonar's command came, and it all seemed... so sodding obvious. Everything pointed to him being the killer. All the corpses had even been burned but he was uninjured. And then... then he started accusing **me."**

_Okay... this is confusing... and I'm pretty sure that's the point... and my mouth is hanging open... and I can't seem to shut it._

"And it was **then** that I really couldn't take it," Bhelen continued, sounding tired. "Those accusations came out of the blue and... It was shocking. Casting blame on others is what criminals do first, but seeing one of my brothers blaming me for having killed the other brother that he'd killed... it was a lot to take. Looking back, I'm not sure I handled it as well as I could have but... Then, next thing I know I'm forced to be the one that has to avenge Trian's death and restore our entire family's Honor. Sure, his attempt to pin the blame on me failed, but a lot of people still ended up suspecting me anyway."

Rica was still standing to the side, looking down.

_Okay... wow... I was not expecting this... _"Why are you telling me all this?"

"Because some new information has come up," Bhelen said. "I didn't really have reason to question the Assembly's ruling but... what you said in the proving got me thinking. You said he went to Dust Town to rescue you from the carta, right?" _Nod._ "Well... I somehow assumed he'd gone there to hire killers, after the whole thing happened. I did think it was pretty stupid of him to go himself, especially on that day of all days, but then, a lot of things about that mess were stupid, like how he actually waited to be found there. And now you come out and say why he really went to Dust Town... Rica did tell me before but I didn't really understand it until now..."

He paced over to the other side of the room. "Can you swear that what you said there was true? That my brother really did go there only to rescue you?"

_Okay... I have the distinct feeling something weird is about to happen. _"... yeah."

The so-called prince was silent for a moment, then he slowly turned around, facing away from them, and stepped towards his desk. Then, just as he was getting close, his knees buckled under him and he almost fell. He just barely managed to keep standing by leaning against said desk with both hands, until he was hunched over it. Rica rushed to him, unsurprisingly. "Bhelen, are you alright?"

He brought one hand up to cover his face, and then he started laughing. It was a bitter laughter, the kind that some give when facing death. "I am such an idiot... All of us are... Trian, Raonar, me, even father..., we were made into fools."

"..." _Okay... this is getting scary all of a sudden..._

"I never would have thought... everyone thinks he's harmless, but to pull off something like this... "

"Who are you talking about?"

His head turned slowly. "Who do you think? That goody two shoes Harrowmont, that's who."

"Uuh..."

"Why didn't I see it?" he began walking about almost frantically, even biting on his index finger. "Stone, I am **such** an idiot. The rumors of foul play, Trian thinking he was being set up and fighting Gorim. Raonar thinking it was me... Unbelievable... Harrowmont planned the whole thing, then made it look like it was my doing..."

_Whoa... just... whoa! _"Uuuh... isn't that a bit farfetched?"

"You think so?"

_Man are you a good actor..._

"I finally see it... Gorim was Harrowmont's pawn and was in league with the killers. I should have realized it sooner, seeing as how he kept saying "Harrowmont said this, he said that" all the bloody time. And then he made sure things would get violent. I guess he didn't expect to die along with everyone else, but now I understand why Raonar was behaving like that... and why he thought it was me. And since it all happened in our house, Harrowmont **knew** father or me would have to lead the proceedings against my brother, in order to minimize the scandal. Trian probably had the least Idea of what was going on. Stone, and then Harrowmont was the one to seal Raonar in the deep roads, no doubt apologizing to him for not having enough power to stop the sentence. Ancestors..."

_Okay... the really creepy thing about this is that... even though I know it's a blatant lie... it actually makes sense... I fear for my sanity._

Bhelen was clutching at his head and looked pale. He could actually look pale whenever he wanted.

"Maybe you're overthinking this," Faren uttered slowly.

And then Bhelen practically jumped around. "You don't sodding understand!" he **screamed **before staggering back and sinking in his chair. "I... I killed my brother..." He stared ahead in what looked like pure shock before cradling his face in both hands. "My brother was innocent... and I... I sent him to die..."

Faren's mouth really was hanging open now and he just stared at Rica as she stared back at him. Neither really knew what to say. He wasn't even acting. He really was shocked at what he'd just heard, even though it really was just because of the monumentality of that lie.

"Oh my dear, dear brothers... I am **such** an idiot..." His voice actually sounded shaky, and remorseful.

After a while, he looked like he was ready to speak again. "I'm sorry," the prince finally managed to say, after a shaky, deep breath. _Wait, is that a tear going down his face? _He was still cradling his face in his hands too. "The palace is always open to you. Come and go as you please but... now, I need some time alone."

"Bhelen?" Rica uttered, subdued.

He took her hand and smiled sadly. "It's alright, my dear. Go with our little brother. Don't let me spoil your reunion."

Neither Brosca sibling said anything as they left the chamber. Faren did make a point of walking away quickly however. Right then, he really just wanted to get as far away from that place as possible.

Bhelen was scary. The only comfort the brand now had was that he was sure Raonar was better (and, thus, potentially more frightening). After all, he never really said a lie, and still got people to think whatever he wanted them to. That web of misleading truths that he weaved, it was annoying, sure, but you could trust it to be truth nonetheless.

Much to Rica's dismay, the rogue apologized and just left. He didn't want to be there, and there was only one thought screaming in his mind like a rabid animal that hadn't eaten in days.

_HOLY SHIT! If I didn't know what I know, I would have totally bought it..._

"-. .-"

_Excerpt from journal of Senior Enchanter Wynne_

_07 Pluitanis, 9:31, Dragon__: Well, the past two days have definitely been packed full of events that have sent my poor old brain reeling in all directions. I am having trouble keeping track of all the threads here, which is very disconcerting, considering that out leader-in-hiding barely acts like he is warming up. Oddly enough, besides Gwen, Alim, Leliana and Zevran, Alistair has been showing quite the ability to keep track of convoluted politics. Nice to see all that tutoring has been paying off, even though it's been put on hold for the time being._

_ Alim and Duran came back from the palace quickly enough. Gwen came in about an hour later and briefly recounted how Bhelen acted all polite. His speech basically could be summarized as "We must show absolute unity if we are to drive back the fulcrum of __true evil." Predictably, Bhelen did attempt to convince Gwen to support him as king, saying it really was just a matter of time before he secured the throne anyway and she would really just speed things along. He emphasized things by promising he'd definitely get her the troops needed and saying that Harrowmont was a weak man that would not be able to help her. Bhelen asked her to take care of Jarvia's carta in his name, but she only said she'd think about it before leaving._

_ Not that Duran didn't already expect such a request on his part._

_ Some time after that, Faren, the poor lad, came back and seemed completely stupefied. The first think he did was go straight for Duran and ask "Holy ****, man! There are two of you?" After he told us of Bhelen's... 'realization'... we understood why he was... like that. Duran only showed a pair of raised eyebrows at the story before thanking Faren for choosing to keep the secret for now. He also apologized for how he'd undoubtedly had to lie to his sister, but the lad just shrugged it off, saying that he didn't __**really**__ lie, only omitted certain things, something he'd learned from the prince himself._

_ Everyone was no doubt expecting our not-currently-leader to go straight to see Harrowmont and finally learn of his other brother's fate. Apparently, that was not the case. He decided to wait until the next morning before making good on Dulin's invitation. Among other reasons, he had to go and restore his hair and beard to their usual, pristine state. He, Leliana and Alim are actually in the bathing room right this moment, with all the bleach they bought back in Denerim (the same time they got the dyes)._

_ Now a__ll that remains is to wait for tomorrow. I wonder if our dear dwarven prince will get any sleep tonight._

"-. .-"

Over the past several months, Harrowmont had moved the sleeping quarters he shared with his wife, Tercy, deeper into the estate, for security reasons, and made some changes around his home. One of them involved moving his study over were his old bedroom was. It was a fairly big room, shaped like a very long, irregular octogon/oval. The half immediately upon entering through the double door (which were the only way to access the chamber) was about half a meter lower than the other half, which one had to climb some stairs to reach.

A faux wall, more like a stone-carved privacy fence that reached as high as the roof, separated the two halves of that office, except for where the several steps allowed access. There, a long, stone desk sat, along with the obligatory armchair, which Harrowmont currently sat in, and two other seats across from it, one of which was taken by Baizyl. The only other person in that room was a guard, fully armored in a massive dwarven coat of plates, complete with massive helmet. He was standing next to the far wall, the one without lava flowing outside of.

Pyral Harrowmont really was having a hard time. He'd been unable to sleep very well over the past month, but the past three nights had really been the hardest, especially after he saw the arrival of the Grey Wardens. He'd been hoping that one of those two dwarves would prove to be Endrin's second son and he'd kept hoping as he got news of how someone had managed to solve whatever problems had befallen his representatives at the Proving. But then, his hopes were almost dashed when news came of the brand that won the proving and dedicated it to the memory of Raonar Aeducan.

The good part about all that was that Faren Brosca was the same man that had assisted the prince in his daring scheme last year. The bad part was that he'd spoken as though Raonar was dead and gone. Gorim, of course, kept hoping this was all part of some plan, but Harrowmont was too weary to be as optimistic. He'd spent all of his strength watching Endrin wither in front of him and continuously keeping that terrible secret from him and his own wife. Thankfully, Tercy was a kind soul and didn't press him, trusting him even as he kept her in the dark of just what he had been privy to.

And now, all signs pointed towards the idea that the prince hadn't survived, and that was a harsh blow against the lord's remaining resolve. It just wasn't fair for that child to sacrifice so much and just end up losing everything else anyway. All Pyral could do now was wait for the Grey Wardens to come and maybe learn just what misfortune had befallen that young man. Either way, he was determined to make sure it had not all been in vain, no matter the cost.

Finally, the doors were opened, and Dulin allowed four people to enter. Two of them he had already met. One was the human lady, again wearing her Warden Commander armor and red velvet cape, while the other one was the elven mage, clad in that griffon-crested, black leather jacket of his, similar leather trousers and that fine, dark suede longcoat, not done up. Then, there were the dwarves. One of them was no doubt the new proving champion, as hinted by the brand over his right eye. He had a black cloak over his own set of leather armor, slightly sturdier that the mage's getup. Like the human and elf, he had several weapons visible, and probably some that were hidden somewhere or other.

The last one to enter was the other dwarf, the one reported to have fought Piotin to a standstill while blindfolded, or so they said. Later reports had revealed that he was not blind but that he just preferred to keep his eyes covered. Regrettably, the rest of his description, especially the brown beard, didn't bring any peace to Pyral's mind. Either way, he couldn't tell what the dwarf looked like right now, since he wore that silverite massive coat of plates and a full helmet covering his face. He had a grey cloak on too.

Pyral stood up when the guests arrived, as did Baizyl for that matter. "I appreciate you taking the time to meet me, Wardens. I had some questions weighing heavily on my mind that only one of your order can answer," his eyes rested on Faren as he spoke that last part.

"We appreciate the invitation, lord Harrowmont," Gwen said curtly, bowing slightly after climbing the steps to that higher side of the room. "And the trust you chose to grant us. We are aware of the... difficulties that have led to your need to see to your own safety above all else."

"Although," Alim broke in, slipping that silver wand of his into his hand (it came out of his sleeve somehow, maybe from a holster?). "I am guessing it's our Proving-winning friend that you really wanted to address."

Harrowmont's eyes turned to the armored dwarf for a moment and betrayed some anxiety before turning to meet Faren's gaze. "You speak truly. I fear only he now has the sort of information I am in dire need of."

"Very well then," the elf again said, turning towards the door and brandishing that wand of his. "If that is the case, please wait a moment." The emerald tip of his wand began to glow blue for some reason and he made as if to draw a rune in the air, after which he made a flourishing motion and sent a spell at the door. The flash of light struck the metal and spread like a shimmering field across the entrance and then made its way outward, until it passed across all the walls and faded to nothing. After that, he sent another spell that became a glyph of some sort on the doorknob.

The mage turned back to face the lord. "It was likely unnecessary, but still convenient. Now we may speak without anyone outside this room hearing, and the glyph on the door will instantly force slumber upon anyone opening it from the outside."

"Those are some odd precautions," Baizyl noted with some amusement, though he kept his eyes on the all too familiar castless man the entire time.

Then, without further notice, the massively armored dwarf just walked over to the far side of the room where the guard was standing (the guard was, apparently, balancing as much weight as he could on his left foot.) He flinched a bit when the Warden stopped in front of him and leaned in close, as if staring straight into his eyes, or whatever could be seen in the darkness behind that full helmet.

The dwarf warden unclasped his cloak and let it fall to the ground, and Harrowmont's eyes widened slightly. Then, the newcomer slyly brought his left hand over his forearm and took off his gauntlet, letting it fall to the floor with a clang. He proceeded to do the same to his other glove, and then his bracers, then his pauldrons, and Harrowmont could feel his heartbeat rise as his own guard began to mirror the other one's maneuvers.

Eventually, the warden only had his cuirass and helmet on, and he undid the fastening on the former, allowing it to fall in a heap right in front of him. He was revealed to have a regular shirt on. Then, he waited for the guard to do the same. There was some silence as both men regarded each other for a time, while everyone just stared with different emotions building up inside. Harrowmont could practically feel his heart pounding now, some hope at last.

And then, the warden grabbed the guard's helmet with his right hand, while the other one did the same to his, and they slowly pulled each other's headgear off and let them fall to the ground.

The white hair, the eyes, the immaculate beard instantly set Gorim off. "My lord Aeducan! I knew it! I knew you'd survived-"

"Is Trian alright?" He instantly asked, though it was Harrowmont that he looked at. The dwarven lord was surprised by how much worry seeped into his expression.

"Yes, he's fine, all things considered," Pyral answered, thanking the Stone and the Ancestors for having brought the young man back alive.

The prince sighed in relief like he'd never done before, and his shoulders slumped very low. He recovered quickly, however, and he looked at Gorim again. "Oh, get over here you!" and Gorim was suddenly wrapped in a bone-crushing hug. "Man, am I glad to finally see you!"

Gorim grunted and winced quite a bit when he was let go of, as his weight suddenly pressed on his right leg, something that was apparently painful. "Ugh..."

There was a pause, and Raonar's eyes narrowed instantly. "You just cringed in pain..."

Gorim looked sheepish, and Harrowmont regretted the fact that this was coming out so early. "It's nothing," the warrior tried to assure him, failing miserably of course.

"Gorim, you know I-"

"-can tell when people are lying, right," the loyal second finished for him, with a long sigh. "I never thought I'd come to dislike your observational skills but here I am doing it."

"What's wrong, are you hurt?" His eyes were hard and sharp, and Pyral knew Gorim wouldn't be able to get him to drop the subject.

"Well... not exactly... not anymore at least..." the warrior answered reluctantly, looking aside.

"Gorim had a bit of bad luck," Baixyl decided to answer. "He intercepted an assassin sent after cousin here, just after... your father's death... But his leg was injured badly..."

"And you couldn't get a healer to look at him because no one is supposed to know he's alive," the white-haired one guessed, rubbing his forehead. The way he looked at Gorim afterwards was really hard to watch. "It didn't... heal properly did it?"

"Bah, it's not important," Gorim snapped. "I'll get used to it. It's just one leg. Besides, you **know** there are other things to worry about right now."

"Che... Things always keep getting worse..." he complained.

By now, everyone had sat down wherever they felt like it, namely on a bench beside the faux wall. This left one of the chairs across from Harrowmont's desk vacant, chair that the Prince walked towards and sat in. Baizyl had retaken his own seat and Harrowmont himself had sunk in his armchair (he didn't remember when that had happened exactly, but he was sure he hadn't experienced this sort of relief and happiness in months).

The silence was heavy until the exile asked what was inevitable. "How did my father die?"

Harrowmont glanced at the others and saw that they were all resigned to just listening.

"It's alright, they can listen," Raonar assured him.

"Very well. He died in this estate actually," Pyral answered, noticing his guest twitch his fingers. "He came here, after he would no longer have anything to do with Bhelen. I understand they had a very... vocal... falling out. Endrin was weary and tired of life, and ashamed of himself. He fell ill even worse than he already was and he spent his last weeks in bed, wasting away little by little. Some people think Bhelen poisoned him, but I don't think it's true. He only killed him through what he did to you and your older brother."

"I see... Did he at least get to see Trian? I know I asked you to never reveal that to him, but then again, I didn't think he'd actually go ahead and die, especially not so soon..."

"Yes, Trian was with him during the last nights of his life."

He sighed again. "Good... that's something I suppose." He waited before asking the next question. "How is Trian anyway?"

Gorim walked up to the table, doing his best not to limp too obviously. "He's... not doing so well... The king's death... he was really broken up over it. And he hasn't slept in days. When we couldn't be sure you were among the Wardens he took it really hard, and worst of all he didn't even get angry like I would have expected him to. I tried to convince him you might still be alive or just in disguise but..."

"Wait," the prince intervened. "Are you saying he's **worried**?"

Gorim took some time to arrange his words. "Let's just say that... if you were to ask me now the question you asked me last year, I wouldn't be so quick to advise you of how it would do your house good to just kill him off."

Gwen visibly straightened up in surprise at that but said nothing.

"I can see you don't resent him as much as you did..." the former Aeducan observed with a shade of a smile.

"Well, my lord, after being forced to practically share the same living quarters for months, it was either growing to understand each other or kill each other," Gorim said idly. "And man, does that guy need someone to look after him. I can see why you felt like you had to watch his back all those years."

"I'm not sure I follow..."

"My lord, your brother... he's impossible! He was so uppity and pompous at first. We even fought a few times, black eyes and all, but when he finally couldn't run away from the truth that no one except you gave a bronto's ass about him, he... Bah, it's a long story. And then after the king died... he couldn't sleep and he completely obliterated that training room... again... meaning that he could no longer collapse unconscious from exhaustion, so his insomnia gave him a really hard time. And then I had to get him drunk before he actually managed to sleep..."

"Whoa whoa!" a pair of hands had been thrown in the air. "Did you just say you got him drunk? You mean you two actually drank together?"

"It was a last resort," the fighter brushed it off with a shrug. Then, he seemed to remember something and looked at his master sharply. "Did you **really** cover a nug in jam and set it loose upon all the nobles on Trian's tenth birthday?"

There was a pause.

"I can answer that,' Harrowmont spoke, clasping his hands together and actually smiling for the first time in weeks. "I was there after all. And yes, he did. Gave King Maric of Ferelden and the rest of us a real laugh."

"To be fair, I actually did it because I wanted to prove Trian was fit to rule by showing how he could handle even hellions like me," said the exile without even skipping a beat. Then, noticing the dead silence he saw fit to add. "What? It's true!"

"Umm..." Gwen spoke from aside, "Weren't you seven at the time?"

"Your point?" Raonar asked innocently.

"Nevermind."

"-. .-"

Harrowmont had forgotten how long it had been since he'd actually felt so alive. The months after the prince got exiled had been the hardest of his life, but he kept going in what he'd agreed to do, always using as motivation the fact that the prince had made it so that he himself suffered the worst of it. And even though he didn't like to admit it, Harrowmont had been disappointed and even upset with Endrin as well, for having known what was happening and not doing anything except make things more complicated.

At least he could finally look to the future. Endrin's truly honorable second child had returned and the lord couldn't help but feel things were finally going to get better. The only thing that put him off was the fact that Raonar's face had a bit too many lines, many more than the ones it sported when he was cast into the Deep Roads.

They'd left the others up in his office with Baizyl, to talk about various things, while he, the prince and Gorim took the secret passage to the hidden section of his family's ancestral estate. Harrowmont could see the anticipation on the child's face but he also thought he could sense some sort of dread. He said nothing, however. He decided to just acknowledge the fact that the only reason he could even read any feeling on that young man was because he was being allowed to. Gorim had once said that his lord only ever allowed himself freedom of expression in the presence of those he trusts (well, those he trusts and Trian, for some reason).

Finally, they reached the end of the staircase and entered a hallway that looked pretty much like any other dwarven hallway. The lava flowing beyond the walls illuminated the area quite well.

"Gorim, you go on ahead and check on Trian," the prince decided to say. "But don't tell him I'm here. If he asks anything, dodge the question." He seemed to think a bit longer. "Also, tell him he should be careful not to skip sleep much more because he'll start having hallucinations of me surrounded by a big, white, glowing nimbus."

Gorim paused, but then smiled wickedly and went on ahead, still doing his best to conceal the limp. Harrowmont still noticed the frown Raonar put on as he looked at his second until he was out of sight. No doubt he was blaming himself for Gorim becoming a cripple.

And then, much to the noble's shock, the exile turned towards him and, after a brief pause, fell to his knees and bowed deep, until his forehead touched the ground. And then he just stood there like that, bowed before him, and Pyral could only stare in stupefaction.

A minute passed

And then another.

And only after that did Harrowmont finally get over the feeling and took a step back. "Child what... what are you doing?"

"What does it look like, Harrowmont? I'm bowing before you..." His voice sounded apologetic, of all things.

"Why? **Why **are you..." He shook his head and crouched, trying to reach out and place a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't."

His hand stopped.

And, while still bowed, the other dwarf began to speak again, slowly. "I've thought for so long about how I could possibly apologize to you properly but... all I managed to do was realize I'll never be able to make it up to you, not after putting you through all this..."

Pyral decided to just sit down. "What are you** talking** about?"

"Bah... How many times did you have to look my father, you life-long friend, in the eye and pretend like you knew nothing of what was going on? How many times did you have to lie to your wife because of what I forced upon you? How many assassins were sent after you? How many brutes did you have to defend your wife from? How many nights did you spend awake because of worry for her and for how my father was wasting under your roof, wanting to just tell him the truth but not doing it just because I asked you to, even though I had no right to ruin your life like this?

"Now it's you who should stop. If you really don't want to upset me, then please, stop bowing to me."

It took some time, but the young prince eventually gathered his feet beneath him and sat, cross-legged, in front of the old man. "Look at what I did, Harrowmont. All of this, father's death, the city in shambles, Gorim..." he swallowed. "...and you look like you aged ten years in just eight months. All of this can rightly be called my fault."

Pyral really had been taken off guard by this. Of all the things he'd expected, this was not one of them. To think he'd be thinking such things even though he was the one that had it worst. "You shouldn't be blaming yourself for any of this."

And he shook his head. "But that's just the thing. I **don't** blame myself, and that's the problem. I **should** feel guilty about this, but I don't. There's... there's something wrong here. Why can't I feel guilt, Harrowmont? Why is it that every time I think of this and what other choices there were... why is it that I only see how things could have gotten worse? Every time I think about it, I only see how more people would have died or how others would have become monsters, or both. Is this... Is this really the best I can do? Or is it that this world is just not going to allow things to get any better? I honestly don't know which is worse..."

The deshyr couldn't help but feel some of his pain. "I'm afraid I don't have any answers for this, but at least believe me when I say I only feel proud of you." There was no noticeable reaction, except for him looking straight into his eyes. "I admit, it was very hard to do as you asked, but in the end, I realized that you did all you could to save your family, even as Endrin actually made it hard for you and your brothers. And while I did keep him in the dark about Trian's real fate, the fact remains that your father never believed in your guilt but still let all of that happen to you, even after everything, and that is something I found very hard to forgive, especially after seeing him doting on you as he had throughout your life. Either way, even though it was really sad to see, I am honored that you felt you could trust me more than your own father."

"He asked you to forgive him on his deathbed, didn't he? The same way he asked you to keep Bhelen away from the throne."

"Yes."

The younger one scowled. "Pah! Even at the end..."

"You are still angry, but you should know that his final thoughts were of you..."

"Right," he became even more upset. "Trian was right there, alive and all, and his last thoughts were **still** of me? Dammit, did he die without learning anything? That stupid old man..."

"I... did not expect you to react this way..." Pyral admitted, puzzled.

"I get that a lot," Raonar said darkly. "Idiot. What good does it do me to know he thought of me in his last moments? Couldn't he just live and tell me himself? He wasn't even in his sixties. Hell, you're almost in your seventies and you look 10 years younger than he did when I left, and I already said you look ten years older than you did at that time."

Silence fell again, as there really was nothing any of them could say to that. So they just sat there, until Gorim's steps were heard coming from the direction where Trian's quarters were known to be located. Only then did they both climb to their feet.

"How is he?" Endrin's son asked his second.

"Just as before," Gorim answered, shaking his head. "He's a poor sight. A tired, emotionally wrecked insomniac."

"I see..." he glanced aside and seemed deep in thought. "Well, I suppose I should go see him then. But first," He turned to Harrowmont. "I want a cup of hot tea. I imagine he'll want a drink after I'm done. And I'll also want a set of clothes, the whitest one you have."

"Certainly," the old man agreed with a smile. "I'll go upstairs and have them prepared. I imagine you and Gorim will want to catch up in the meantime."

And with that, the head of House Harrowmont left those two alone and left the same way hed come down. Now all that was left was to see what that young man's incredible mind would do next and if he and Trian were finally going to make peace with each other. No, what was left was to see **how** they would make up. There was no point in doubting. After all, Endrin's son had already done the impossible on at least one occasion.

_The review space is right there and waiting as always!_


	43. Orzammar Arc 4: Truth Beneath Truth

Author's note: If anyone thinks Trian is too OOC here, I'll have his personality shift explained in the next chapter. Until then, I hope this lands well with you all.

* * *

**Chapter 42: Truth Beneath Truth**

"-. Honesty and frankness make you vulnerable .-"

"-. Be honest and frank anyway .-"

The bed Endrin was lying in was the sort that had a high cover and curtains, and it didn't exactly face the entrance to that bedroom. It was a darker room that usual, as only the far wall, opposite from the entrance, was of the sort that boasted hollowed out sections beyond which magma flowed ever so slowly and warming, bathing the inside of the chamber in that orange glow, albeit weak enough for it to look like what a room of any house on the surface would look like during late twilight.

Trian had almost gagged when he entered, so heavy was that chamber loaded with the stench of death and decay (to a prince's sensible sense of smell at least), even though he knew the king was being tended to as well as dwarvenly possible. He had been told things were bad but he hadn't exactly understood why Gorim and Baizyl had those grim expressions on their faces as they led him to that chamber until he actually entered. He had allowed a part of his brain to wonder if those two still thought he'd try and do something, like try to 'escape', as they escorted him there, but all such thoughts were shattered when the deathly atmosphere smashed into him upon walking into that bedroom.

The curtains to Endrin's bed were not drawn over it, so there wasn't much to obstruct view, but the part of the room between the entrance and said bed was actually shrouded in semi-thick darkness, so Trian wasn't immediately noticed, not by Endrin at least, or so he thought. Harrowmont was there, sitting on the side of the bed and holding the dying king's hand as the latter seemed to be whispering something, like it took all he had to utter even the smallest sound.

Coincidentally, Pyral was sitting on the edge of the bed across from where Trian was watching, so the king's first child got a clear view of his face, and he was unprepared for just how torn he was. He used to think little of the elder leader of that noble house, but then again, he used to think a lot of things that ultimately proved false. Either way, he found himself unable to move. he just stood there, clenching his fists, tight, when he saw the man sitting there, being there for his father.

The Trian of several months before would probably see him as a weak fool, or a hypocrite for trying to act like he cared while concealing the truth of his survival. Of course, Gorim had long since... assisted in the... removal... of that severely flawed way of thinking.

Trian remembered that look that Harrowmont had on. It was the same look his brother had put on only two times in his life, as far as Trian himself remembered at least. The first time was when Trian himself had that... accident... when he was ten, and nearly ended up disabled for life, if not for Maric's sending of the best healers from the circle of magi. The not-currently-heir had a vivid memory of his younger brother crying on the side of his bed, looking at him exactly how Harrowmont was looking at his king-fath... his father right now.

The second time Trian remembered his younger brother use that look was when he was tending to their mother, after she was poisoned in... in his stead. Trian had been... far less agreeable towards him then than he had been so much longer ago.

At some point, Harrowmont finally noticed him out of the corner of his eye, and he fell silent, giving Endrin's hand a final, friendly squeeze before tearing himself away and slowly, silently, leaving the room, almost imperceptibly giving Trian a nod as he passed him by. Not long after, the not-dead prince heard the door close behind him and he knew he was alone now, with his father, at long last.

It should have been easy. He'd been confined to that secret section of the estate for all those months and he'd wanted (even tried) to just break out on so many occasions, often just so he could finally get to face his father and get things straight for once. He'd missed that old man and It should have been easy to come forward and reveal himself, but he couldn't move from his spot. That shadow that shrouded half of that chamber, himself included (for the most part) gave him a rather good camouflage, concealment that he found he was unwilling to surrender. There was also how he had asked Harrowmont not to tell his father of him, to let him reveal the truth of things himself.

It would have been easy if he **only** missed his father, but it had become much more complicated than that. Gorim and Harrowmont had informed him of many things, a large part of which painted a none too favorable image of who his father really was. Trian would have preferred to see them as lies, or altered by the fighter's own bias, but Gorim had been so blunt and upfront with him, even then at the start, when he told him he didn't think he was worth his brother's sacrifice, that he knew he didn't really lie to him. And while it was hard to accept that honesty, being so roughly relayed, the fact was that, in the end, it **was** still honesty.

If anything, Trian could respect honesty... real honor.

Especially now that he knew no one, not even his father (and he wasn't sure about Raonar either), had ever really been honest with him. Come to think of it, Gorim was the only one that didn't spare him any truth, regardless of how painful it was, and that made him wonder if the lying and cheating, backstabbing noble caste really had more worth than the lower ones just by virtue of their birth.

And now was finally the time when he could learn or confirm the truth about that, and his father, and he didn't dare break the silence. He just looked at that old man diminished frame, lying on that king-sized bed, eyes closed, sheets covering him up to his chest and with both arms lingering on it, along his sides. He looked 20 years older than Trian remembered, which was saying a lot, considering the fact that he had white hair/beard and a full set of creases even back then. He also looked much thinner.

Endrin eventually opened his eyes, the blue a bit duller than usual, and he blinked slowly, looking blankly upward, or so Trian thought, since he failed to notice the momentary alertness of one used to studying everything in sight, even what lied at the edge of his vision. His eye settled in a half-open state, his expression somber.

"Betrayal..." Train almost flinched. The only reason he didn't was because that word had been spoken in little more than a whisper. "Even now, all I accomplish is more betrayal," he weakly spoke again. "Here I am... ailing, being treated like the victim when... truth is so far from this. Always I end up the hypocrite, it seems... always the betrayer..."

_What in the deeps... Ancestors' mercy, he's so far gone that he's talking to himself?_

"Good king Endrin they called me... pah..." he gave out with a sigh, still looking blankly up. "Just appearances, lies I made others believe... even myself, for a time... appearances I once thought were worth preserving at any cost... Always the same mistake, no, not mistake... crime... yes, crime... such a terrible crime, murdering my own flesh and blood through my inaction or misguided intervention... and then discarding him... thinking it an acceptable sacrifice, just so the crown would remain with House Aeducan... Even though my remaining so-called son is nothing more than a monster..."

"..." _Monologuing... things are already so bad? He's really dying? And all this... is this true? _Trian felt a bit torn at his father's obvious regret but he couldn't really renounce his misgivings.

"Sacrifice..." he almost mumbled. "Such arrogance... to think I had the right... " he cut off, and suddenly he gave out a weak chuckle, like he was laughing at his own expense. "Ah, but it makes no difference now... Always it is the same... me wallowing in self-pity, another betrayal to add on top of everything else I did to my child..."

"..."

"Even now it is the same as all other times... cowardly moaning like this... betrayal, yes... even at the end, after everything, even though... his letter demanded that I not... use this as an excuse to lay down and die... here I am..." he chuckled again, closing his eyes as his face contorted in a grimace before opening them half-way again. "And like all other times... here I am, laying here, staring into nothing... failures coming back to haunt me..."

_Wait, what did he just say?_

_ "_Shapes hovering at the edge of my vision..."

_"Good Stone! He... he can see me... he knows I'm here but he thinks I'm a hallucination? Oh father, what has happened to you?"_

Endrin chuckled again, still not turning his gaze towards any specific point. "I suppose this is the least I deserve... My son did say, some years ago... he said that he so dearly wished we dwarves could dream... because then, at least, our guilt would come back... to haunt us in our dreams... our guilt would maybe cause at least some of us to... give up on all the backstabbing... the bloody game of politics... the death... the murder..."

Trian shut his eyes and faced aside. Yet another thing confirmed. Back when Bhelen had told him that his other brother would kill him, just because of politics, he instantly thought how stupid and unworthy of the Aeducan name Raonar was for seeing everything, even peoples' lives, like some kind of game. And yet, apparently, to everyone, this all really was just a game. Even father saw it like that. In the end, Bhelen was the unworthy one, and he himself, for so easily believing him.

Suddenly, the so-called prince began to hope that Gorim saying Raonar **didn't** see it as a game was true. There had to be something true. Something** had ** to be true, it couldn't all be lies.

It couldn't all be just lies.

Endrin smiled wryly, still speaking to the silence. "Even my hallucinations show just how much of a hypocrite I am... how much of a coward... so unable... unwilling to face my true crimes... enough that the one image I conjure up isn't even that of my greatest failure..."

_Failure...?_

"I killed my child... and I don't even have the stomach to conjure up an image of him... even though what I did do him was my biggest failure... as a father... as a king... as a member of this house..."

Trian bit his lower lip and forced himself to stay silent. He still harbored some hope that his brother was still alive somewhere, but it was slipping by the day, even despite how Harrowmont's teams of scouts had failed to find anything of him, suggesting he may have survived somehow. It really was all ironic really, this worry, considering he'd actually wished for his death, thinking him a traitor.

"And Bhelen... my second greatest failure... whom I allowed to do as he pleased... and whom I acknowledged for what he was far too late... and didn't even have enough courage to publicly disown him... again making things worse by leaving house Aeducan in his hands... not that it matters... Aeducan is already lost... it was lost when I chose to let him go on with his murderous plans, even though I knew what he was up to well before my son's first commission even came..."

"So you **did** know," Trian blurted before he could stop himself, shock finally sinking in. Gorim really hadn't lied to him about that.

"Yes," Endrin replied simply, then he chuckled again, closing his eyes. "I realize now that my son knew even before I did... since about two years ago, when he told me to pay more attention to Bhelen... I thought he was telling me to acknowledge him more... but it seems it wasn't all he was trying to relay... Either way, I knew, yes... of course I did..."

"_He admits so easily..." _Then Trian realized Endrin hadn't gasped in surprise at his voice. "_Sodding ancestors, and he still thinks I'm an apparition... He's actually talking to what he sees as a hallucination..."_

"I knew... well before my son even came to tell me... us... in the throne room that night... I convinced myself I didn't want to act against any of my children... used that lie as an excuse... and then everything happened... and I knew he was innocent, but I allowed him to be sent to die... just because of the crown..."

"You cared more about your image than you did about your children," Trian again spoke from the shadows, a bit more clearly than before. "Even though you doted on him all that time, you discarded him just like that... and me as well." Trian cursed his voice for sounding so bitter, but he really couldn't help it. Being shown that the person you wanted dead at one point was the only one who honestly cared about you was a really hard blow. Revelatory, yes, but still painful.

Endrin opened his eyes again, though he still didn't look in Trian's direction. "Ah, but this discussion is an old one that I have had in my head many times... Yes, I even made it harder for him, practically dooming him with my meddling, sneaking my royal guard into his troops, 'just in case' he was trying something foul... and sending him off in a different direction... even as he pleaded with me to let him go to your rescue... of course, he did it anyway... but even he failed to win against those odds... so stacked against him... Bhelen's scheme... and my making it worse..."

_Sodding stone... no wonder... oh my brother, so __**this**__ is why you didn't trust him with the secret of my survival..._

"But you still died and he was fed to the deeps... and I let it happen... I sacrificed what was most precious... sent my child to such an end..."

"_So Gorim was being honest on that as well... Father really only cares about him now. Was it... was it always like this?" _The prince heir swallowed silently. Getting his worst fears confirmed was... hard to deal with. "Always you speak like he's your only offspring," Trian said even more bitterly.

Endrin shrugged. "Even he called me out on this... told me this was my big mistake... seeing him as my favorite over the two of you..." He smiled then, before his eyebrows came close in a frown full of grief. "Even as I told him to his face that I no longer saw you or Bhelen as my children... because of the kinslaying you were each planning... that day of the mission... even then, he said he wasn't going to give up on either of you..."

Trian had to use all his willpower to cringe only slightly, but it hurt. Oh, how it hurt to hear that. Granted, the thought of killing his brother for what he saw as betrayal **had** crossed his mind, so he probably deserved some of this, but it still hurt to hear all this. "And in the end you still swept us both under the rug," some shred of anger seeped into his tone. _Dammit! Dammit! Sod it all! You may as well have killed us both yourself! And now, brother is..._ "You were the king," _Dammit! Ancestors damn it all! _"A word from you and everything would have been different."_ This almost feels worse than Bhelen's own betrayal..._

The ailing dwarf sighed. "There's nothing, vision, that you can say to shame me that I haven't already told myself..."

The eldest prince had to take a deep breath to calm down and he clenched his fists tight, several times, in order to relieve the pressure. "I suppose it was unrealistic to think this would be a happy reunion," he finally uttered with a sigh.

Only then did the other man finally turned his head to face him, and his eyes finally showed a glimmer of confusion.

Trian took a step forward, the light cast by the far wall painting his lower body in more color than the rest of him. Only his second step finally had him completely visible, conflicted face and all. "You see... there is something you are unaware of... my **king**." Having been discarded as a son, he didn't really have the right to call him father anymore, did he?

Not that he could help it.

Endrin's eyes widened as Trian slowly walked towards the bed, then around it, headed for the other side of it.

"You said he failed to win against the odds... and that is where you are wrong." He walked along the bed, brushing his fingertips against the fine sheets, causing the king to gasp at the sight. "Your **only child** made himself a pariah in order to fake my death, against my will I might add, though I suppose I gave him no choice, and I never understood exactly why he did things that way." He stopped just next to where his father was and looked down at him and his shocked expression, his disbelieving eyes.

"Wha... what...?"

Trian sat on the side of the bed, looking at the king as the amazement sent his breathing rate higher. At how his eyes widened even further when he shifted because of the weight next to him. "I still don't understand, except for maybe one thing. I was so angry at him, not just for going over my head, though that was just my pointless pride at work, but for how he did it all and left you out of it, doomed you to a life of grief."

"Trian..." The king gasped and made as if to reach out, but withdrew his hand as soon as he did so, as though he was afraid he'd dispel this illusion.

"_This shouldn't happen... This all should not be happening." _The king's eldest son couldn't really stand to see that expression on his parent's face, so twisted in equal parts hope and pain. So intense, that he let his own face soften slightly as he reached out and gently set his palm on the Endrin's right cheek. "Father... what has happened to you? How did you get like this?"

"Trian... you... you're..." Endrin's eyes filled up almost instantly and he finally gave in to the need for confirmation, reaching out and touching his face.

"Alive... unharmed... yes..."

It came without warning. Where once was a dying, almost motionless man, there was suddenly a spark of vitality, and his father sat up, bringing his arms around him and across his back as the side of his face pressed against his chest. "You're alive," he realized in a hoarse voice, sobs giving way as his tears spilled out. "You're really alive... How? How...?" He was already crying, almost like an infant child, sobbing and moaning, holding onto him as tight as his weakened limbs let him. "You're really alive... this isn't an illusion..."

And just like that, Trian had wrapped him in his own hug, one arm across his back while the other one held his head close to his heart, trying to sooth him at least a little. Even though he had been discarded, he'd still missed his father, and regardless of all the betrayal, it still ached to see him like this.

And now the king was weeping in his arms, crying like he'd only ever broken down when the queen died- no, worse. Pain and sorrow, shame and regret, all of it was coming out, like a flood that seemed to fill him too, or so Trian felt. It all was so unfair, both of them being in some way damaged by the world they lived in, so they held onto each other, father and son each giving the other support now, upon seeing the consequences of their mistakes.

"I'm sorry..." his father gave out in a shaky voice. "I'm so sorry... I know I don't have the right to ask for forgiveness but I... I just want you to know that I'm sorry... I'm so very sorry..."

_Are you apologizing for what you let happen to me? Or for what you let happen to him? Is it at least a bit of both? Can I at least hope for that much? _

In the end, Trian said nothing.

What could he?

He really didn't know.

"-. .-"

The chamber was a bit smaller than the quarters in the royal palace, but they were still more than decent. The room was rectangular, and the double metal door that allowed entry was built into one of the two, longer walls. The wall exactly across from it was mostly unobstructed by furniture, being actually a very large, thick glass pane, behind which there were many lyrium veins, sharp stalactites and stalagmites alike, casting their pale, teal light over the interior. Said pane didn't cover the wall completely, however, as there was enough room for a door that led to the bathing room, near the corner.

The bed was on the right as one entered, in between a counter and a chest of drawers. The upper half of the wall it was set against was adorned with carvings and completely sculpted through in stylized shapes, so as to leverage the natural heat of the lava flowing on the outside. The wall opposite from it, on one's left when coming through the door, was similarly built.

The room was quite spacious, its middle not having any furniture actually. There was, however, a nice rug on the floor, as well as several other pieces of furniture. like two benches on both sides of the door. All in all, the chamber was actually quite comfortable to live in.

On the opposite side of the bed, to the left as one entered, was a desk, flanked by two cabinets that held some books and several small stone carvings, lined up in no particular order behind the glass panels. A stone-sculpted bust of some unrecognizable dwarf was sitting atop one of them. Some of the books were on the desk itself, one of them opened around the middle, not that it was overly easy to make out what it was about from afar.

The only other piece of furniture there was a chair, a stone arm chair that Trian Aeducan, dressed in dark blue with gold trim shirt and pants, and wearing sandals, was sitting in. He was more or less leaning over the desk, left elbow on it as his hand supported his face, the latter slightly tilted to the side. Meanwhile, his right hand guided that pen, forming words he no longer had any hope to speak out loud, at least not to the one they were meant for.

That journal was really starting to fill. It was the same one he'd written in even before that whole mess happened. Harrowmont had... procured it from the royal palace at one point. Just a few dozen pages and he'd need another one.

Not that he expected to have anything to write in it. Not anymore.

Fourth day since the Grey Wardens had arrived in Orzammar. That made this the fifth day of no sleep. He ran the fingers of his left hand through his unkempt beard and then his hair. He had the impulse to rub his eyes, but he knew it wouldn't do any good. They were probably even more bloodshot than before, if it was even possible. Bah, some prince he was now, looking drab, not that he cared.

There had been a time when he thought he wouldn't mourn at his brother's passing, and now Trian really felt foolish. Such a bitter irony, to be feeling like this now, after days of Gorim constantly dodging the question of whether or not his brother was among the Wardens. At first he'd said that it was impossible to know who the two dwarves were, since no one had seen them without their helmets in the brief time they were in public. After two days of that faint hope, that maybe his brother **was** one of them and planning something new, Gorim grew even more evasive, until Train actually had to start shouting at him and pin him against the wall to get him to talk.

The fighter (completely unafraid even then) said that only one of them was someone he knew, and that it was the brand that had helped them back then. Trian didn't remember any occasion when his heart sank so deep as it had that moment, not even when his mother died. It really was strange. He'd been angry at his brother for doing all he'd done, for 'presuming' to control his actions, to keep him confined. He'd held onto that anger for as long as he could, just so he could tune out the shame at having been so easily fooled by Bhelen, and Raonar himself for that matter, two younger brothers that he used to see as inferior. Well, he used to think of everyone, except maybe the king, as inferior really.

Apparently, everyone else thought the same of him.

He'd gone through so many states of mind, but after the few nights he spent with his father, in those final hours, there were simply some things he could no longer deny, some shocking truths that were confirmed, that shattered every remaining illusion he was holding onto.

And now, he was tired. So very tired, and still unable to sleep, for two main reasons. One of them was that he couldn't any longer hold onto the hope that his brother may still be alive somewhere, especially not with what Gorim told him that brand said after winning the Proving. How he dedicated it all to the **memory** of his brother. And with how the Grey Wardens seemed to be taking their sweet time meeting with Harrowmont...

And the other reason was that Harrowont mostly shared his fears, despite Gorim's lingering hopes. And if the confirmation of his brother's passing came... then that meant Trian would have to reveal himself on his own, daggers and all. Somehow, he didn't think he'd have an easy time of going out and doing it, despite the many weeks of demanding to be allowed to do just that, to 'show Bhelen his place,' and 'reclaim his rights,' after he'd recovered from the stab wound.

He'd become far less certain of his ability to deal with things when Baizyl and Pyral carried Gorim down to that section of the estate, about three weeks prior, injured, just after the king's death. It was enough to shock him, really. Gorim had beaten him in sparring matches on more than one occasion, at least at the start of that whole ordeal, so if **he** was so seriously affected... left a cripple... Just what kinds of assassins were at work there if even Gorim was rendered like that? What dark things was Bhelen involved in? And was that evil always so thick in Orzammar?

He heard the door swing open slowly, but his position didn't give him any view of them. Not that he cared to look, or could be bothered to. Gorim had come by earlier, telling him he should rest, that he'd soon start having hallucinations of his brother, surrounded by a great, white, glowing nimbus if he skipped seep again. Somehow, the recent memory brought a small smile to his face. it sounded so much like something his brother would say. Then again, a lot of things Gorim said sounded like that.

The newcomer sounded like he stopped at the door, and Trian heard the distinct sound of a cup tapping against a tray. Ah, so Gorim had brought him something to drink, tea no doubt. Come to think of it, this **was** the usual time when that guy brought him something of the sort. "Put it on the counter, Gorim, I'll drink it later," he said, without turning around.

After a pause, the steps resumed, and Trian just looked over that journal entry, his hearing just barely registering the footsteps. They seemed... off somehow, but he couldn't really get why. He kept listening as the tray was placed next to the bed, and at those same footsteps returning to the doorway.

So, Gorim wasn't going to say anything? Maybe they finally got to speak with that brand and learned what had happened and Gorim didn't want to talk about it. Truth was, Trian didn't really feel like talking to him if that was the case. He had enough on his mind already. His brother was dead, he couldn't dare hope for more, and it was at least partially his fault.

He pressed both palms against his face and rubbed his forehead a few times. Being depressed was... unpleasant. He felt like he wanted to scream, go destroy something, but he'd already thrashed every dummy in the training hall. He felt so many things, betrayal, sadness, pain, anger, much anger, shame, regret, all of them mixed up. He would have snapped, but he was just too tired. So tired. His eyes stung and he knew his appearance left much to be desired, having left his hair and beard untended for so many days.

It would have helped if Gorim had scolded him again for not taking better care of himself and just sulking. But he hadn't, and that could only mean he'd finally accepted the truth.

Eventually remembering that just rubbing his eyes wasn't going to chase his weariness away, he let his forearms rest heavily on the surface of that desk, giving out a deep breath. Then, when he slowly opened his eyes, he was a bit confused at seeing the room being lit a bit more brightly than usual. It was an odd light, clear and white, giving more substance to all the colors around him, unlike what the magma delivered, and the source seemed to be behind him somewhere.

Taken by surprise, he slowly pushed his chair back and got to his feet, warily turning in the direction, which seemed to be the room's entrance. His eyes widened instantly and he froze where he stood.

The doors were still open, and there was someone there, a sight he'd never considered. It looked like a specter, white, brilliant really, a dwarf with his arms crossed and leaning with his left shoulder against the side of the door. Bright, while light seemed to be coming out of him, as though it poured from another world, in rays, filling that whole room. He looked like he wore a shirt and trousers, and was facing aside, eyes apparently closed.

That appearance. Trian could barely make anything out precisely, as no shadow fell on that ghost, but the hair and beard, and that face...

And then, slowly, the eyes opened, brighter than the rest of him, and he vision turned until he was looking straight at him, iris-less eyes meeting his own, and a grin so reminiscent of a less troubled past. "Atrast vala, big brother! How surprising to see you with your nose buried in books!"

There was a pause.

_"Unbelievable... Gorim was being serious! So this is what a hallucination is like? So vivid... No wonder father mistook me for one... And that voice... is it actually reverberating?" _Before he could realize it, the so-called heir to the throne was slowly walking towards the center of the room, staring awestruck at that apparition as it pried loose of the doorway and slowly began to walk towards him.

Trian clenched his fists. _Dammit! You're really dead aren't you?_ The apparition came closer, brilliance cascading outward, and he could just look at it, and feel his heartbeat escalate, his lungs becoming agitated as all his emotions came gushing in, unlocked by the sight of that illusion, that otherworldly image. He'd long been past the point where he felt insulted, when he found all that had happened demeaning. it was his own fault for being so easily manipulated. Right now, he only felt grief, sorrow, pain, and anger. Anger, so much of it. Anger at the world, anger at the lies, anger at everything.

But most of all he was angry at himself.

And at his brother. He was angry at his brother for doing all of that and then just going ahead and dying.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" that voice, like many echoes at once, asked again as the vision looked expectant.

Trian wasn't quite certain how it happened.

He was, for some reason, absolutely sure that punching the space occupied by a hallucination was a reasonable way to get rid of it. As such, he did not hold back in the slightest, and let all of his anger and frustration, and grief, everything, pour into his right arm as he shut his eyes, gnashed his teeth together and launched his fist forward, straight at that illusion's jaw.

And then, he felt his knuckles strike something solid, and his eyes, snapping open in shock a full second later, met the sight of someone still airborne, having been sent flying backwards across the room, face forward, straight **through** the doorway and well into the other chamber, until it hit the ground, hard, on its side, and slid across the floor one full meter before coming to a stop in a heap, prone and unmoving.

Endrin's eldest son found himself gaping and staring at what had just happened in bewilderment. _"Wait... what?"_ He stared at the person. Yes, a dwarf indeed, no longer shining. He was wearing white clothes and... and... _"Hold on... it was __**not**__ a hallucination?"_ He flinched like he'd just been slapped, and his heartbeat shot up again as he finally took a step, then another, but slowly, as though he wasn't sure what to expect.

And then, the prone figure groaned and gathered his arms beneath him, and at last pushed his face from the ground, back turned to Trian as he seemed to bring a hand to his jaw. "Ooowwww... My face..."

His legs finally moved faster, and he practically sprinted forward, running to him, taking him lightly by both shoulders as he came up behind him, aiding him to his feet. "_Sodding stone, you're really here?" _"Oh brother, I didn't meant to... I mean I..."

The new arrival grunted, legs still unsteady. "Why is it... that, whenever I prove to **not** be dead... People. ALWAYS. **PUNCH ME**? In the face! Same spot even!"

_"Huh?"_

Trian wasn't quite certain how it happened.

One moment he was still getting over his shock at how his brother actually **was** right there (and had been punched by him across a room and a half). Then, like a blur, his sibling had slipped behind him, twisted one of his arms and gripped him in a way he didn't have time to register before he found himself flying backwards, straight through that same doorway, sailing through the air, across the entire room, until his back slammed into the glass-covered wall on the far side of his quarters, his head following with a thwack.

The glass was unharmed, apparently.

His lungs let out a gasp of breath, so strong had been the impact, and he felt himself sliding down on that glass pane, until his head banged against the stone floor, hard, making him realize he had somehow come to be upside down. He was now blinking, stupefaction unsurpassed, as the back of his neck supported the entirety of his weight, his legs hanging above him as he cringed from the pain in his skull, arms spread across the floor on both sides of his head.

At some point, his vision finally cleared, and he could again take in the image of his brother approaching him, upside down though it was. He was casting that light again, though it was a bit less intense than before, and he was rubbing the left side of his mandible with his left palm. He looked a bit put off, at least that's what those glowing eyes relayed, mixed with a frown.

And he spoke, in his normal voice for once. "So how long **are** you going to lie there, with your ass aimed at the ceiling?"

Oh yes... it was **definitely** Raonar.

Trian couldn't suppress a grumble as he let his body slide sideways, until he was finally all on the ground. After that, he climbed to his feet as gracefully as he managed, which wasn't much really, nothing impressive anyhow. He and the other one were now just staring at each other, about four meters away from each other. And Trian was rubbing his head.

The elder one didn't really have any words. Of all the scenes he'd envisioned, this was definitely one scenario he had not imagined, not by a long shot. Beating on each other was hardly an appropriate reunion, and there was also the fact that Raonar was glowing like he'd swallowed a whole lyrium vein or something. Other than that, he wasn't overly phased. After seeing Piotin blow enemies away just by shouting and stomping, he wasn't so easily alarmed by what looked like magic.

And he was just too tired right now to bother feeling jealous or anything of the sort. Or even interested in whatever tricks he'd picked up.

"Why are you **looking** at me like that?" the younger one asked with some impatience, finally ceasing the act of massaging his face.

"You're glowing." Trian just blurted before he could think of a better line.

There was an awkward silence.

The white-haired one tilted his head slightly before he brought his palm in front of him and studied it. "Oh, right. That." And the light quickly dimmed and faded to nothing, before he looked back and smiled slyly, his irises finally showing. "Sorry. You know how I'm a sucker for dramatic effect."

"So I see," Trian agreed dryly.

"So you punched me," he noted. "Do you feel better now?"

It took him a full one instant for him to completely and utterly **fail** to think his answer through. "And **you** stabbed me... so yes, I do feel better actually..." Well, he **had** just suffered a rather unfortunate blow to the head, and five days of no sleep didn't really leave him with that much tact. He then realized what he'd just said. "Wait! No! I mean..." His mouth snapped shut. "What kind of question is **that** supposed to be?"

"You almost broke my jaw," was the flat answer. "You failed to do so only because I was expecting the punch. And I flew a distance of almost ten meters. I'd like to think this at least helped with **something**."

The eldest facepalmed. "Well, I can be sure from your behavior that it's really you at least..." He then seemed to realize something. "Wait, what do you mean you expected the punch?"

Raonar scoffed and smiled at him again. "Oh please, do you really think it was coincidence that I showed up, surrounded by a great, big, white glowing nimbus, just an hour after Gorim told you you'd have a hallucination of me surrounded by a great, big, white glowing nimbus?"

Trian did a double take. "Wait... WHAT?"

"Indeed."

"You **wanted** me to punch you?"

"Nope," he said simply. "I suspected you might, though."

Trian hadn't expected to feel exasperated so soon after finally being reunited with his remaining family, but there it was. "Do I even want to ask **why** you **let** me punch you?"

His brother regarded him with that calculating gaze of his before sending a lopsided grin his way. "Well, it obviously relieved you of a lot of emotional pressure." After saying that, he brought his palm to his jaw and closed his eyes, before opening them again and looking at random things, and beginning to speak like he was giving a lecture. "Frustration, disappointment with several things and people, yourself included, sadness, fatigue, feeling of betrayal, a lot of shame and regret and... a whole lot more anger." He met his eyes again. "All of those things were in that punch of yours, but no hatred. You really don't hate me anymore, do you..."

Trian would have wanted to say he never hated him, but he found he couldn't. If he were to be honest with himself, he wouldn't believe being told that either, considering that he'd wanted to see him dead at one point. "How can you tell form just one punch?"

"Not just the punch. I could see it on your face, and in those bloodshot eyes of yours."

"But you still expected me to hate you, didn't you?"

The younger one sighed. "It was a possibility I had prepared for, yes."

"I see..."

Silence fell again, and both brothers just looked at each other. Trian took the time to study his sibling's face and realized he looked a bit too old for his age now, not because of those eyes or hair, and that long beard, but because he had a bit too many lines on his forehead, and at the corners of his eyes, more than when he'd left anyway. And how in the deeps did he always keep that beard and moustache so perfectly arranged? Even Harrowmont, who had copied the style, couldn't make it perfect, and he had servants, and/or his wife, to help him.

"So, how do you feel now?"

"How do I feel?" the elder repeated, a bit sourly. "What could I possibly say after how perfectly you just summed up my state of mind? I suppose I should be congratulating you?" he added, with a distinct, sharp edge to his voice. "I suppose I shouldn't blame you if you'd expect me to. After all, you made fools of me and Bhelen both. Were I a spectator I would no doubt applaud you for your clever manipulations. As it is, however, I find it hard to remain... unbiased in this regard."

Trian felt a sort of unease when his younger brother momentarily glared at him. "So what? Are you saying I should feel sorry for you now? I **would** lament your fate, but why should I? You, after all, have been doomed to simply live here comfortably, safely, whereas I... hmph."

The older Aeducan bit back his retort that consisted of expressing his skepticism at whatever his brother's life was like since his exile. It would have probably not ended well for him if he actually challenged him on that point.

"So," the second eldest walked over to the wall with the desk and cabinets and propped his back against it, folding his arms in front of his chest. "I suppose you have questions."

"I do..." He paused, locking his eyes with his. "Will you be honest in your answers?"

"Yes."

"..."

"You're staring again..."

"I... did not expect you to answer so quickly..."

His brother shook his head. "And you're not sure you can trust me to be honest. I know. So stop beating around the bush, Trian. Ask your questions and judge my answers however you want."

"_Where to begin?" _Trian would, at some time in the past, have been angered by that 'disrespectful' tone and manner but he was really too sleep-deprived to heed the remaining shreds of his ego right now. And it's not like that behavior had turned out well for him last time around. So what to ask first? Father had said something about Raonar probably knowing of Bhelen's actions well before that dreadful day even came. Maybe he should start with that. "How did you know?"

"That Bhelen was finally going to make his move, so to speak?" He moved away from the wall and held his hands together behind him. "When he came to tell me you planned on killing me." _Well, Gorim did say as much._ "As for the fact that he was courting the Assembly... I actually knew long before then."

"So you did," Trian echoed, eyes wide. "Father said you might have but... How long? Since when have you known what he was doing?"

His brother chuckled darkly, and a bit bitterly. "Ever since he started."

_Wait... what?_ "What? What do you mean since he started?"

"I mean since he made his first deal... well, a few days later, but you get my drift," he said plainly. He didn't even show any sort of pride in that, more like sadness at how things were turning out. "It was actually really intriguing, how he kept everything hidden from you and father, and easy for him to accomplish really."

"What do you mean?"

"Heh, the way you had him at your beck and call, or so you thought. Since you used him as your second for so many years, and had him follow you everywhere, it wasn't that hard for him to just start plotting with every noble whose household you went to visit on behalf of Aeducan."

Well, there goes that question. "How long ago was it? How long has he been setting up his betrayal?"

"Hmm," Raonar looked thoughtful as he twirled his moustache around his index finger. "I think it was about one year and eight months ago."

_That far back... have I really been so blind? _"Are you serious? For so long... and he kept it all concealed..."

"Oh please, like it ever even occurred to you someone could possibly be after you, well, except me that is," the second son said with a slight scoff. "That was mainly why I never told you and father about it. Even if I had, by some miracle, gotten you to believe me, things would have gotten more complicated. Either way, I chose not to bother. You were so self-absorbed that you never even realized when Bhelen was ridiculing you, among other things."

_Ah, right... the whole thing about "That speech you gave to the legless boy about hard work and making something of himself was fantastic." _Gorim had... explained it to him, in none too friendly terms. Needless to say, Trian had felt really stupid right then. "You're saying you've known all this time... you've been actually keeping track of his movements without him knowing?"

"No."

"..." _What?_

"I knew when he started his bid for power, and I needed nothing more. I didn't spy on him, or had others do it. He'd have eventually picked up on it."

Trian rubbed at his forehead. This was a lot to take in. "**How** did you find out?" _How on Earth were we all so blind? Even father only learned much later. "_And how was it that Gorim didn't know of it either?"

His brother paced a bit before looking at him sideways. "I kept Gorim out of it on purpose. He... worries about me easily, comes with being my second I guess... I chose not to let him know about something so sinister. After all, he already knew about all the other assassination attempts that were happening." He turned to face him properly, smiling. "As for how I found out without his help, let me ask you a question of my own." He let his hand hang at his sides. "None of you, even Bhelen, ever really learned just why I did what I did after mother died, did you?"

Train flinched like he'd been smacked. "What are you talking about?"

His eyes narrowed as he got his confirmation. "You all think I ran off with that military expedition on a whim, don't you?"

The elder brother's heart skipped a beat. "You... What are you saying?"

"Come now, elder brother," he said, not mockingly, but smiling all the same. "Don't you think there were a bit too many coincidences back then? That, not long before that army left, I just "happened' to participate in a glory proving, which just 'happened' to have participants from those men and women set to leave with those troops, and won it? Don't you think it was odd that I suddenly went out and did that, even though I had practically confined myself to my quarters, barring my time spent in training?

"Don't you think it was odd that I kept my helmet on at all times, so as to ensure that people didn't really see what I looked like? My face wasn't often seen outside the palace and the diamond quarter's upper level, so it would have made sense for me to parade around. So wasn't it odd that I abused my princely status and had the rules bent for my benefit and concealed my appearance?"

"..."

"And another thing," he started pacing slowly. "Don't you think it was odd that I just 'happened' to get into an argument with you the very day before that expedition left? And, as my note said, that Gorim had sufficient foreknowledge of my plans to force my hand into taking him along by preparing the same disguise as me?"

"You're saying you... You had a reason besides just wanting to..."

"Run away from home?" he finished, amused. "Run away from my princely duties?"

"..."

"I entered the proving to make sure I had what it took to survive down there. And I got into that argument with you so you'd finally vent your frustration and anger before it consumed you," he explained seriously. "I admit, I also needed to vent my own anger, so I suppose we both got what we wanted. And then, I set about what I meant to do all along."

"You're saying... back then... you did the same as how you set things up so that I ended up punching you across two rooms just now?" Trian asked in bewilderment.

"Yup."

"This... this is unbelievable..." By now he was staring at the ground. "Why **did** you go with the troops then?"

"Because I wanted to make connections and gain favors with people, so of **course** I'd go in a big expedition that practically every noble house worth noting had a stake in. Bhelen uses threats and blackmail, but respect, trust and gratitude can be so much better, and more comfortable. There were a whole bunch of nobles' offspring on that trip too, even some deshyr heirs after all. Of course, I didn't expect to go through... the shit I went though..." He suddenly looked distant, but only for a moment. "But I didn't expect to end up a hero either. So, I guess I achieved my main objective."

Trian narrowed his eyes. "So you **were **gathering support."

Raonar rolled his eyes. "Yes, but not so I could 'steal' the throne form under your ass, not that you'd actually gotten it, or were going to for that matter. I have to say your sense of entitlement was really obnoxious..."

Had Trian been more rested, he would have probably had a part of his brain bewildered at how he hadn't yet snapped at his sibling for being so disrespectful to 'his prince and elder brother.' Of course, the fact that said attitude had already gotten him stabbed in the gut once may have played a part in all of it too. "That doesn't say just how you learned of Bhelen's scheme though..."

"Suffice to say, a lot of people owed me, and still do. As for exactly **how** I found out, I don't feel like telling you."

Hearing a pin drop would have come as a welcome change right about then.

"So much for being honest in your answers," Trian grumbled.

"Hey, being honest when answering would imply that I answer. And I won't answer that particular question, or any others that have to do directly with Bhelen. For now at least." Trian bent his head to the left and frowned. "Besides, I can tell that's not what you really want to know. This is all you avoiding the main issue here."

_Damn. I should have known he'd see through it._ Trian swallowed and looked aside, gathering his courage before facing him again. "You're saying... the past couple of years, you've been acting? All of your behavior, all of our... difficulties... were all an act? All a lie?" He couldn't decide whether he wanted it to have been a lie or not. "Did you deliberately act like that towards me so Bhelen would think he was being successful in poisoning us against each other?"

Raonar scowled. "Are you kidding? Of course not!"

Once again, there was silence.

"Actually, let me rephrase that answer," the younger one said after a deep breath. "**My** behavior towards **you**? Are you kidding?" he sounded a bit angry himself now. "Trian... you were a pompous ass."

Trian gasped in outrage and his mouth remained open.

"I **did **consider creating a jerkass facade, to make sure Bhelen would be fooled into thinking he could fool me into killing you. That **was **the point of not acting against him, so I could make sure it was **me** he tried to play against you," he admitted. "But there was no need for such falsehood. Each passing day you grew more presumptuous, more annoying, obnoxious and so sodding **condescending**. Always rambling on and on about how much better and above everyone you were, because you just **happened** to have been born first. Your behavior towards me wasn't all that hard to take, but really, everyone else too? You were practically asking for a beating every time you opened your mouth."

"..."

"Always you were acting like the center of the world, thinking everything belonged to you, the very same way Bhelen, that hypocrite, feels now. Good job, by the way, for setting such a stellar example. Always you kept snapping at Gorim, me, everyone you met. And Bhelen, oh don't even get me started. You treated him like he was nothing but a slave, barking orders at him like he was an animal. And man, did I want to beat the crap out of you on a regular basis."

"Now wait just a sodding minute!"

"Silence." It was a sort of sneered whisper, but it got his mouth snapping shut just the same. "You put me through so much shit, and it wasn't just because of how you treated me! Do you have any idea just how many people you pissed off? So many noble houses, even in their own households you either willingly or unwittingly insulted them, and they only just avoided calling you out on it because your last name just **happened **to be Aeducan! Pride is bad and stupid enough on its own, but you were worse, and the fact that you didn't mean it half the time just made you all the more insufferable! Do you have any idea how many nights I lost because of the many attempts against your life, in addition to mine, I had to stop?"

"Well if it was so hard, maybe you should have just let them happen!" Trian lashed out, and he only realized what he'd yelled just after those words left his mouth. "_Wait... no, no, no no, no, I can't have just said that! Dammit, stupid fool!"_ Trian was shocked at what he'd just said, and it was well visible on his face. He stood there, blinking, his mouth moving but no words coming out. _"I... I can't believe I just said that..."_ Dammit, now he'd botched it, losing his temper again. Gorim had warned him that was a problem of his.

_"Dammit!"_ Trian stared in denial at the ground, knowing he'd just given his brother more than enough cause to turn around and walk out. "I... That's not what I... Damn it!" he clenched his fists and gnashed his teeth, shutting his eyes and facing aside. He wished there was a surface near him that he could smash his fist into, but there wasn't.

And then, much to his further bewilderment, his younger brother released a very deep breath. "Trian..." and his voice sounded so tender and forgiving. "What's **really** bothering you?" And now he sounded sad and mournful, so Trian looked at him and knew that expression, a look that had equal parts encouragement and sympathy. "What is it that you really want to ask me?"

And most of his words stuck in his throat, until all he could utter was a single one. "Why?"

And it was thus that his younger brother's face softened even further. "Why did I keep saving you? Even as you grew more and more unfair and detestable? Are you saying you're willing to acknowledge the fact that you had become one of the more loathsome members of our species?"

_Ouch._ Trian winced_._ "... yes." _I suppose I deserved that._

His brother smiled and began pacing, holding his hands clasped behind his back. "The first time was simply because you were my brother," he stated, much to Trian's surprise. "The second time was because of much the same thing. The third time was because of the same reason, but also because of... another thing I won't go into, plus the fact that it had already started to turn into a habit of mine. So I kept at it, until the last time came, and it kept getting harder to find motivation, especially when it was my own brother that I had to thwart... So I had to do something drastic." He stopped pacing and turned to face him again. "This last time, last year, the reason I did all this... was because I owed you."

That left Trian gaping, and confused. "Wha... what? You **owed **me? What are you going on about?"

It was a very sad smile he wore then, and his gaze retreated into himself, recalling a distant memory. "You know, back then, so many years ago. After your tenth birthday, and that so-called 'accident.'"

The older Aeducan sibling was shocked almost to death. "You can't be serious!" _You __**can't**__ be serious. You're still feeling responsible for that?_

"Oh, but I am. I know you made me promise that I wouldn't feel guilty for it, but feeling responsible is a whole different matter. The fact was that I shouldn't have been there. I should have been confined to my quarters, after I unleashed that nug upon the nobles, on your special day, your tenth birthday. But when I heard our parents were going to give King Maric a tour of the Diamond Quarter, and that Cailan and you would be going along, I abused my charm and convinced mother to let me come."

"You know I asked her to let you come too..." _Because I knew you loved the Shaperate._

"Your own request wouldn't have been enough. It was still me that got her to lift my house arrest, and I was allowed to accompany you, and then we were in the Shaperate. And you and Cailan were playing whatever it was, and a bookcase was knocked over, whether by one of you or not, I'm not sure... and I was about to be crushed, so you jumped over me and took the worst of it."

Trian felt sick and unconsciously felt at the scar beneath his sternum. He wished his brother would have stabbed him again instead of telling him that. "You... even after all this time?"

"Trian, you almost ended up paralyzed for life! And regardless of what you say, it **was** my fault. I tried to escape the consequences of my actions, in that case being grounded, and look what happened. I should not have been there. If I'd just stayed in my quarters like I was supposed to, you wouldn't have ended up hurt. It was a miracle Wynne and her helpers were able to heal you fully."

"But wh-"

"I know what you would ask," he cut him off. "Why didn't I just call the favor paid when I stopped the first assassination. Truth be told, I did think about it... But then, I realized there may come a time when just my brotherly affection would no longer be enough of a motivation. So yes, all these years, I've been holding off on repaying that debt, just so I would have some sort of compulsion left to call upon when things really went to hell."

Trian felt like he wanted to sink into the ground. Anything, any answer would have been easier to take than that. "I... oh my brother, if you only knew..." He didn't know what expression he had put on, but he knew it must have looked absolutely pathetic. To think he owed his life to **that**, of all things, that event he used to see as the worst mistake of his life. "Oh dammit..." he mumbled in defeat.

"You seem so troubled," Raonar observed warmly.

"Sod it all," he bit his lower lip. "That night... when you came and... told us those things... After you left, I... I was going to say... If Gorim hadn't cut me off I would've..."The memory came to him, vivid. _Hmpf! _he'd sneered._ Look at how much better he thinks he is compared to the rest of us. He's a weak fool who couldn't cope with losing his mother and never got back in touch with reality after that. I should've just..._

And never before had his younger brother sounded so softhearted, nor his eyes appeared so accepting. "Just say it Trian. There's nothing wrong with acknowledging the mistakes of the past. We must face them before we move on."

It did give him strength to say it, but it hurt so badly. "If Gorim hadn't cut me off I... I would've said that I wished I had just let that thing crush you." _Dammit... DAMMIT!_ His arms were shaking and he'd shut his eyes.

"I know."

The calm tone instantly snapped Trian back into focus and he was gaping again. "You... you do?"

"I knew then too."

"... You did?"

Raonar actually looked a bit surprised at his being surprised. "Well it **does** make sense, doesn't it? That if you want me dead you'd immediately think back to some scene in the past where you could have just let me die and not gone through all this trouble, wouldn't it?"

"But... but then..."

He continued for him. "Why did I go ahead and speak to you and father, even though I knew Bhelen would listen in and would probably make things harder to deal with? Why did I risk spilling the pebbles, even knowing father would choose wrongly, even knowing you would lash out at me, even knowing there was nothing to gain and I would have an easier time moving about by playing along in a more covert way?" His eyes grew hard as steel "Why did I go and start that talk, knowing there was a high chance you'd lash out at me and tell me you wished I was dead?"

The silence was palpable, intense, pulsating, like a volcano waiting to erupt. "yes..." Trian said hoarsely, his eyes twisted in shame.

"I knew it was too late for Bhelen to change much to his scheme, or to cancel it, but I also knew coming out and saying those things would only make it more difficult. It had to be done, however, because the simple fact is... that I needed you to tell me those things to my face."

The eldest prince stepped back like he'd been punched. "You... you did? Why? Why in Stone's name would you want that?"

"I didn't **want **it," he clarified. "And I definitely didn't enjoy it..."

"Dammit, brother, I don't understand!"

The young one looked at him for a while, then glanced at his torso before meeting his eyes again. "Do you think it was easy for me to drive that knife through you?"

Trian looked down and placed his left hand over the spot where he knew he had the scar, but said nothing.

So his sibling sighed again. "I needed you to tell me those things, because I knew I wouldn't have the strength to bring myself to stab you otherwise."

Astonishment would have been a good word for what Trian was experiencing right now. "Wait so... you put yourself through that... because you predicted your own emotional state?"

"I know myself," was his answer.

Trian knew he should have probably figured it out by himself by now, but he was too tired to care. "Why **did** you stab me? You could have knocked me out in so many other ways."

"What, you mean besides the fact that you may have managed to overpower Gorim and ruin everything if you didn't have some injury to hold you back?" He paused, averting his gaze and looking at nothing before meeting his eyes once more "I had to show you just what you were really up against. I had to show you that a knife could sink into you at any time, and from where you least expect it."

"So you were just trying to teach me a lesson?" _And man, did that lesson sink in..._

"Not for the glorification of my own ego, mind you," he answered. "And in a way... it was my own punishment..."

"You lost me... **your** punishment?"

The second son smiled sadly then. "The fact is... that it was my own fault for letting you live in ignorance of the danger threatening you. I can't really know what would have happened if I just told you that people were after you. People may see my meddling, the way I kept saving your life from the shadows, without anyone being the wiser, as altruistic... but they'd be wrong. The truth is that, in the end, I was just being selfish."

"How in the deeps could it be selfish?" Trian almost yelled in frustration. This was getting really hard to follow.

"Saving you may have been selfless, but keeping you uninformed of it was not. In a place like Orzammar, that sort of cover up can lead to death, and I deliberately held back on you and everyone else."

"Well why did you then?"

The white-haired one stood silent, stroking his beard, before walking over to the desk and leaning with both hands against it, turning his back to his brother. "If I had told you, and you believed me... you would have lost your self confidence. And for some stupid reason, I didn't want that to happen." He looked at the lava flowing outside that wall. "It was the last thing that remained of who you were, so long ago. That self-assurance, that belief that you could accomplish anything. Even as you kept acting like an ass, it was still refreshing to see. That confidence... I selfishly wanted to go on existing, because it was the last thing left of my older brother," He slowly turned to face the eldest. "The brother I looked up to."

By the end of that confession, Trian's heart was pounding. "Are you... really telling the truth right now?"

And Ancestors, was his laughter clear and heartfelt. "Hahaha! What, is it really so shocking that I'd grow up looking up to my older brother?"

"..." _This can't be real. This hurts just as much as it feels gratifying!_

"Why do you look so shocked? It's not like you were always an obnoxious jerk. And even then, you were still you. So big, and strong, and so sure of yourself, not like me. Doubt and I have been best friends as far as I can remember. And, as a side note, even though your nose is enormous, you aren't painful to look at either."

"This... this all is so different from what I imagined..." _I knew you were like that when we were small children, but even now... _And he totally missed the part where he felt outraged at the nose comment.

"And there was also something else. Out of so many people, so many deceivers and cheats. you were one of the few I could trust not to stab me in the back."

And that really didn't make sense. "How can you possibly say that? Even after I... after I wanted to see you dead...?"

"Haha, but I didn't dispute that. I just said you wouldn't stab me in the back."

"Isn't that the same thing?"

"Nope," Raonar said simply, squinting his eyes as he grinned. "You only planned to 'deal' with me when Bhelen 'informed' you I intended to kill you, right? So it was basically self-defense, more or less."

"Are you seriously looking at things that way?" Trian was stumped beyond belief.

"And dealing with me would have involved trying to talk me down and getting me to 'confess to my crimes', right? I can even see you now, all high and mighty, demanding that I throw down my arms and be tried before the assembly. You would have started out by saying something like 'I wanted to see you first, to look into your treacherous eyes and tell you I know what you planned.' and then you'd boast something along the lines of 'I am the prince of Orzammar. I have eyes and ears everywhere!'"

"..." _Sod... that does sound like what I was planning to say._

"You would have brazenly 'revealed' my plan, saying "You have plotted to murder me, so you could take my place as heir' or something. And then you'd berate me, again reminding me with that famous line, 'I am your prince and your elder brother! Every tradition, everything that makes us who we are, demands your loyalty to me!' And then, when things were to get hot, you'd proudly boast about how you were going to make sure nothing, not even treacherous kin would stop you from 'claiming your right' to rule, and yada yada yada..."

"..." _Okay... this accuracy of speculation is actually is getting scary..._

"And then, you'd boast, saying 'I am a better warrior than you will ever be, boy!' and then you'd start to spout nonsense like 'That the nobles love you when you have accomplished nothing... this I have learned to forgive,' or some other speech of yours, just before one of the traitors in my or your troops started a violent encounter." He smiled sadly. "I can actually imagine you charging me with that big hammer of yours, yelling 'Orzammar will be miiine!' from the top of your lungs."

The first son of the king was glaring at the earth. "If... if it had come to that... what would you have done?"

There was a scoff. "Some question! I would have beaten the crap out of you of course!" and Trian's head jerked upwards in stupefaction. "I would have battered you thoroughly, all the while yelling 'I am not after your fucking throne, you stupid idiot! I'm the one that's been keeping you alive all these years!' from the top of **my** lungs, just to make sure whoever it was that was 'happening' to come upon us heard it loud and clear from far, far away. You'd be amazed how well sound carries in those tunnels."

"I see..." He fell silent once more. That brutal honesty was... disarming.

"So that's why I'm not afraid to turn my back to you," his brother finally finished. "Because even though you were manipulated, even though you were insufferable, the fact remains that, misguided though it may have been at one point, your sense of honor is real." Those words caused a strange feeling to appear inside Trian. "There are so few truly honorable people in Orzammar, and you're one of them. So how could I possibly want to destroy something like that? How could I just stand aside and let that be ruined?"

"You... you really are serious, aren't you? All of this... this is all true? You really believe this?"

"It's not a matter of what I believe," he replied, still smiling. "It's what I know."

It was then that a longer silence than ever before filled that chamber, and the two brothers just stood rooted to their spots. The older one, with his more massive frame, was staring straight down, while the younger one beheld him calmly. The elder brother astonished and regretful, and the second eldest accepting and forgiving.

"I... I don't have any more questions," Trian finally uttered, not lifting his eyes. He was so shocked at everything, and so very tired.

The quiet stretched on, and both of them seemed to be waiting for some sort of cue, until it was Trian, again, who spoke. "Actually... there is one." He looked up at last. "What happens now?"

There was a strange silence.

And it was really long, relatively speaking at least.

"You're asking **me?** You mean you're willing to just let me handle things, just like that?"

The other one shrugged. "It's not like I have any ideas."

"That sounded so defensive," Raonar retorted, eyes narrow in realization.

_Paragons, don't tell me he's suspicious just from that!_ "Stop looking at me that way," he demanded, uncomfortably.

"This is unlike you," he pressed. "Even though you do realize the mistakes you made, you still shouldn't be so willing to just defer to my judgment." His hand came up to stroke his beard again. "What is this **really** about."

"I suppose there's no way to keep it from you, is there?" the older brother said tiredly. "Father, he, uh... made me swear on his deathbed that I'd do as you said if y... **when** you came back."

You couldn't hear a fly, and it wasn't just because they didn't really live in Orzammar estates.

"I see..." the second prince acknowledged, his expression darkening. "And you're willing to follow my orders, just like that?"

"I gave him my word." _I don't really like it, but I don't have any ideas either._

"Very well." His voice had become clearer. "If that's the case, then I order you to do whatever you want."

The pause was odd.

_I should have known... wait, what?_ "What? What did you just say?" Trian couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Did you just...?"

"I'm not a control freak, Trian," was the annoyed explanation. "If I wanted control, I'd have just started to court the assembly on my own a long time ago. If I wanted control I would have done a lot of different things."

"You're actually serious?" Trian idly wondered if he'd have as much trouble believing all this if he hadn't been deprived of sleep for so many days. "I... I have no idea how to react to this..." Except blinking repeatedly, apparently.

"Then I'll help you out," said the dwarf with an exaggerated shrug of his own. "What do you want?"

The first son of King Endrin Aeducan of Orzammar would never have thought that question would ever catch him so unprepared. "That's a weird question to just ask me all of a sudden," he started fidgeting (!). "How am I supposed to..."_ I don't know._ "It's not something you just... blurt out..."

"What do you **want **Trian?"

The tone was commanding and he stood to attention despite himself. Then, his shoulders slumped and his vision fell downwards once again, shame overtaking him, even his voice. "I... I don't know..." The realization startled him to the core. He really didn't know what he wanted anymore. "There was a time when I didn't want anything but the throne, but... All this time, Orzammar just went on. I doubt anyone even cares about my passing up there," some part of his mind was amazed at how easily his feeling were gushing out, but he really was too exhausted to exercise restraint right now. "I used to think nothing could stop me, that even if I would never be loved in Orzammar, I would rule. I saw it all like some possession... but now, when I think about what it's all really like..."

"..."

Trian looked away. "I used to think nothing could stand in my way, but... when I think about just how bloody and dishonest it all is... And how deadly. Even Gorim ended up... like that, and I **know** he wasn't incompetent, not by a long shot."

"What are you saying?"

"At first, all I wanted was to just break out of here, stride out of this estate, thinking no one would dare move against me once I revealed myself, but now... When I think about having to go back out there I..." his words clogged in his throat and he swallowed a lump, again clenching his fists.

"I see." His younger brother's tone relayed only assurance. "I understand. But you should say it anyway. It will be better if you acknowledge your feeling now, before you have a chance to blind yourself to it. Trust yourself, and do not hesitate. No one else is here to hear."

The so-called heir stared at his hands for a time before his expression set into one of something akin to self-reproach. "I'm afraid." And instantly, he gnashed his teeth and faced away, shutting his eyes. He couldn't look at him anymore. Here he was, the mighty Prince of Orzammar, admitting to being afraid of leaving what could very well be considered a prison, and to his younger sibling no less. He was a disgrace, a shame upon their house. He had to be saved, time and again, and each time he only made things worse. And now, when he finally learned everything he should have been able to see on his own, he couldn't cope with it. He was weak... pathetic even...

But at some point, he felt a hand softly settling on the right side of his face, and another one on the left. And just like that, his mind instantly jumped back, many years back, to the moment immediately after he recovered from that accident. His mother was finally dressing him up, he having been cleared to return to his normal life once again. He remembered his mother's assuring smile, and how she took his face his both hands, telling him how proud she was of him. Telling him that brothers should always look after each other, like he had when he jumped between his sibling and the falling bookcase.

His memory went on with his mother leaning in close and softly kissing him on the forehead. And then his eyes opened, and he realized that that was exactly what his brother had done just now, causing him to just stare in wonder, his face still covered in that heavy distress, unlike the calm, warm gaze in his brother's eyes.

"If that's true," the returning exile began in a kind voice, his hands still on his face. "Then you already are more than you were when I left you."

_How can you possibly say that?_

Raonar's hands drew back and went down, taking him by his own. "You put your arm around me like this," he guided his arm around his middle, "and your other arm around me like this," he had it go around him, under the arm. "And then you let me do this," he drew close and wrapped his own arms around him, over both shoulders, in a tight embrace. Some might have recognized that as a nice, bear hug, but well, dwarves couldn't, since they had no idea what bears were. "That's good Trian," he said softly as his chin set itself on his right shoulder. "Fear is good. Fear is a good first step. because if you can finally feel it, then at least you know what you face."

The eldest would have been shocked, maybe outraged at his personal space being invaded that way, if he had the mentality of so long ago, but the Trian of now felt only surprise, and some measure of gratitude at that little bit of assurance. And he was just too tired to resist. So he hugged him back, as tight as he could, fingers curling around the his brother's shirt and fists clenching tight, burying themselves into his sibling's back. "You're here. You're really here aren't you?" His voice was pitiful, but he didn't care anymore.

"Yes, I'm here. You can stop worrying now." He spoke so soothingly, even as his right hand began to rub him on the back.

There were just so many things Trian would have said, so many. He had learned so many things, been shown the brutal truth of so many facts, and all the while everything just returned to what that meant for him and his family. And then his father died, and he had no one. He saw what it truly was to be alone. Even though Gorim tried to fill in the hole, at least somewhat, he could never really do it. So, right now, he wasn't clinging to his sibling just because of regret, or because of shame or fear, or sorrow, but because of the simple fact that he was everything he had left.

"Wow," Raonar eventually uttered, "To think you'd actually start crying."

Trian's eyes snapped open with a short gasp, and his hand came high enough for his fingers to touch beneath his eyes, finding thick rivers of tears there. "Stone's mercy... I really am crying, aren't I...?"

He was pulled closer somehow. "Yeah, your heart is pounding like it wants to come out of your chest. It's really cool though, how you're shedding these manly tears without making any sobs and moans."

It should have caused him to laugh, to lift his spirits, but he only felt his inner turmoil grow, until all he wanted was to speak those few words he so desperately wanted to say. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for... I'm so sorry..." He almost choked on them, but he wasn't going to let anything stop him from doing what he had to.

Never again.

"I know," ever that tone was comforting, as was the hand that came up and set itself on the back of his head. "Gorim told me. How increasingly affected you were as you learned the truth. How broken up you were after father died. How worried you were I may never come back. He told me how you took it out on the training area, and how you weren't able to sleep properly for weeks, and how you didn't close your eyes at night for the past five days."

"I'm so sorry," Trian let out again. "You used to apologize so often when we were children, and I found it so... so aggravating... but now, no matter how many times I say it... I don't think it will ever be enough..."

And the comfort came again, soothing him further. "My brother, I know you're haunted by shame and regret, but you don't have to apologize enough for me, as long as it's enough for yourself."

Enough for himself, what was that supposed to mean? Did it matter? It didn't. He just did what felt he needed to do for once. He had to apologize, not just for all he'd directly put his brother through, but for what he'd gone through in his exile as well. It wasn't right that he looked five years older than he did when he left. "I'm so sorry."

Only then did the second child shake his head slightly. "Poor big brother. You stepped on your pride and let everything go, just to try and make things right by facing your failures, but you're so ashamed with yourself that you don't think you have the right to say 'Please forgive me.' It's alright. You don't need to. I forgave you a long time ago."

"How?" Trian asked in his now raspy voice. "How can you say that so easily?"

"Why should the truth be hard to say? You did all that, it's true, but it's not like I don't have my own share of fault in all this. And either way, you are no longer that person you were back then. And this is more than enough for me."

"I'm so sorry..."

The next minutes passed slowly, one after the other, as neither brother felt compelled to do anything but hold the other. The silence was comfortable, broken only by the occasional deep breath and sniff on Train's part, now that his nose was running with his tears. He knew he probably looked like a poor sot, his moustache and beard soaked in his tears. Ridiculous, but he really didn't care. He just wanted some stability, some assurance, and he'd finally found it, some truth at last, some trust. Some respect, not that he thought he deserved any at this point.

"I love you, big brother," the declaration was sudden. "And I'm proud of you."

That declaration was nearly mindblowing. It was something he didn't feel he deserved anymore, and it only made him feel conflicted.

It only made him feel worse. "But I... I don't know what to do..."

But of course he'd have an answer to that as well. "You don't have to worry about everything at once. For now, just let me hold you like this until you settle down. After that, I want you to get to bed, alright?"

Had he been any less of a sorry sight, he would have probably been taken aback at being sent to sleep. Instead, he just breathed in and tightened his hold. "Alright," he really didn't have any better ideas. "Alright..."

He didn't care enough to try and measure just how long it took for that hug to finish. All he knew was that it felt soothing, and that he only drew back because his nose was getting a bit too full and unwilling to cooperate. He ended up sniffing awkwardly, wiping his tears off.

And then, his brother was handing him a napkin. A really large napkin that he looked at, dumbstruck, for a second, before accepting. His brother's smile was just capable of forcing someone into compliance like that. "Thanks." He turned away and blew a little on it. And then, his brother was turning him around and handing him another napkin.

And after that one was full as well, there was a third one. Trian was starting to get suspicious, especially after seeing Raonar crumple all the used ones and, one by one, deftly tossing them straight through the holes in the wall, into the lava. "How in Stone's name... you actually had four of these on you the whole time?"

"Eleven actually."

There was a strange cease in universal activity.

Trian was gaping, especially as his sibling took out a stack of those things out of his chest pocket. So of course Raonar had to be the one to speak again. "No offense Trian, but your nose is gigantic. So of **course** I came prepared." And he handed him the whole stack, smiling all the while.

The heir decided he wouldn't bother feeling amazed at how his breaking down and crying had been among the possible outcomes predicted by the other dwarf. He had enough of feeling utterly stupid for one day. "I... am not even going to comment on that..." he turned away and ended up filling up all but one of them. Then, of course, his younger sibling liberated him of them in much the same manner as the others before it, before throwing his arm over his shoulders and walking him to the bed.

And before he knew it, Trian was sitting on the side of that bed and his brother had gotten on one knee and was taking off his sandals. "So," he asked, just to make some casual conversation. "Gorim cut you off on my behalf, did he?"

Trian had to think back to figure out what he was referring to, but he eventually gave a short laugh. "Yes... He practically yelled at me, saying he wasn't going to just stand by and watch your honor be besmirched by simpletons, even if they were the heir to the throne." He breathed deep, smiling. "You should have seen him, stepping on his sword, shattering it. Renouncing his allegiance to our house and saying his arm was only yours from then on." He instantly saw Raonar flinching.

"He did what?" was the bemused question as he got back to a standing position.

Trian wasn't used to being looked down at, since he was sitting now and his brother's eye level was higher than his, but he found himself laughing softly anyway. It wasn't often that guy was surprised. "Haha, you just now find out? You really are something, inspiring this kind of loyalty."

His brother fell silent for a moment, before smiling and waving it off. He then turned over to the counter, where that cup of tea had been placed, before that whole talk had even started. The second son picked it up and handed it over, cooled off though it was. "Here. All that crying probably left you dehydrated, Drink this down."

The cup was accepted and drunk down quite quickly. In fact, Trian Aeducan hadn't realized just how thirsty he was until the sweet drought touched his lips. He ended up drinking it all in one sip, protocol be damned. Then, his sibling simply took it from his hands and pulled the sheets off the bed, allowing him to lie down. Of course, he failed to restrain himself form expressing his slight misgivings with that whole situation when Raonar started to make sure he was properly tucked in. "This is all so awkward. Being tucked in by my little brother. It's like our places have been reversed."

The pause of bodily motion on the latter's part was brief, and he reassumed his reassuring smile immediately, still looking down at him. "No... You never tucked me into bed Trian."

"... I never did, did I?" Realizing that was a bit... unpleasant. "Anyway, I don't think I'll be able to sleep now that you're here. I'm... too excited," their gazes locked one final time. "There are still so many things I want to talk to you about."

And it was then that that dreadful, frightening grin of insidiousness returned to that white-haired guy's face. "Oh, you'll sleep alright." He made the point by picking Train's arm up from the wrist and letting it fall flat on the sheets, notifying the one in the bed that he had already lost feeling in his limbs. "This tea you just drank? Yeah, it was drugged."

Someone, somewhere, imagined the sound of someone screaming his or her lungs out.

Trian tried to move his hand, but there was no feedback, and he looked up in sudden confoundment. "What the...?"

"You should be able to sleep soundly for about two days," he added brightly, like that was the best possible news anyone could hope for.

_Sodding ancestors! _"You... you're..." _You're doing it again! This is almost the same as last time! _Of course, the drug was already working so the best he could manage to blurt out was different from what he was thinking. "You're horrible!"

And that only made the one still standing smile warmly again, though his fingers did start to stroke that white beard, again that same gesture he used when plotting something. "That's me. I'm a horrible person."

Trian wanted to move, but his body wasn't listening, like it had already gone to sleep, so all he could do was helplessly watch as his vision failed him, bit by bit. But no, this wasn't like last time. It was different, because his brother didn't have that blank look on him. The feeling relayed, that he would be there for him, was real. He could at least take comfort in that much. And soon, all he could do was drift into unconsciousness. That overly long day, those days, for him at least, were now over. But he still had enough time to think one last thing.

_"Sod it... I've been totally had..."_

_"Again."_

_The review space is right there and waiting as always!_


	44. Orzammar Arc 5: Caged in Stone

Author's note: Would have posted this sooner, but the gods of the web decided to suddenly meet an untimely Ragnarok (read: internet inexplicably failed on me).

* * *

**Chapter 43: ****Caged in Stone**

"-. .-"

Raonar Aeducan had been away from Orzammar for quite a few months and had spent many nights just thinking, so he had a lot of time to envision how events in Orzammar would turn out. In fact, he had been able to plan for a myriad of different scenarios, from finding everyone dead and gone to even the utterly impossible one where the nobles had gotten over themselves and their pointless politics (well, a guy could dream right?). And with how the Grey Wardens had already spent several days in the city, and how he'd been staying behind at their quarters for most of the time, he'd been able to narrow down the list somewhat.

Basically, all the situations he'd prepared himself for included, more or less, the overall direction which that reunion with his older brother had taken. However, this didn't mean he wasn't taken by surprise. The fact was that, of all the outcomes he'd thought about, this was one of the very least likely ones and there was one thing that was nagging him.

Trian had acted way, **way** out of character.

Which was the reason for how the exile was now sitting on the side of the bed and holding his palm on his sleeping elder brother's forehead, to make sure he didn't have a fever or something. He knew there were very few illnesses involving fever that could actually affect someone's behavior to such an extent, but he wasn't willing to rule out the possibility either. This all was a bit much to take in all at once.

No to say he wasn't glad about Trian finally being a bit reasonable, but it had gone further than he'd anticipated. In fact, with their father dying (and the second eldest prince knew he was responsible for it, albeit not the only one) he wouldn't have held it against Trian if he'd come to hate him or at least feel some anger or resentment. But Trian had, instead, shown some, no, a **lot** of actual remorse.

Raonar had to admit that he suspected his continued delay in contacting Harrowmont would lead to this prolonged, constant uncertainty and would give Pyral and everyone else involved in that whole mess a major case of insomnia. He had considered the possibility of skipped sleep on their part. He didn't like that he'd had to do things this way, that he had to make everyone believe he really was dead.

As such, he was fully willing to withstand whatever anger those people, and especially Trian would have to throw at him. After all, insomniacs are, naturally, more prone to rage and all other detrimental emotions. Instead, he'd been welcomed better than he'd been in his own home and had found a brother that had barely anything left of the sneering, condescending, detestable arrogance of the previous year.

And he was afraid. That was the major shocker, Trian, of all people, was actually afraid, and he'd actually said it. Not of Bhelen, of course (Trian probably wanted to beat the crap out of him actually), but of the fact that all that backstabbing had been going on constantly and he'd been blind to it completely.

The prince decided to pause in his grim thoughts because, in the end, things were actually looking up and, truth be told, he was glad to finally see that big-nosed fool again. Yes, he at last had a reason to smile for real. Father may have died, but at least he had one family member left, and it looked like this one was becoming reliable. He even looked so peaceful, now that he was asleep, cute even. Nevertheless, while the exile found him to be an adorable sleeper, he was aware that, objectively, there was a lot of room for improvement.

Overall, Trian Aeducan was a mess, or close enough anyway. He looked like he hadn't maintained that beard and moustache of his in at least a week (or more), his shoulder-long hair was a bit messy and his face was lined because of how he hadn't rested in days. Gorim had said things were bad, but seeing it up close was something else. Trian even looked a bit more hollow-cheeked than the second son remembered, a fact confirmed when he'd taken his face in his hands earlier, just before Trian's relief spilled out in tears. Say whatever about him, but the firstborn had been relieved to see his brother back, and that made the latter feel really warm inside.

So the returning exile just sat there, for a while, with one hand on Trian's right cheek, smiling and more content than he'd been in a long time. If there was any word that described his current emotional state, 'grateful' came really, really close.

Grateful and marginally confused, that is.

The **other** reason why the dwarven noble wasn't that keen on doing much of anything at the moment was because his jaw still hurt. Man, Trian had nailed him one good, and the only reason the injury didn't interfere with that brotherly reunion was because the area was covered by his beard, mostly, so it wasn't visible. It was really starting to get blue and swollen though, so he began to use his magical regeneration on it.

And there was another thing.

The prince carefully got to his feet, so as to not disturb his brother overmuch (not that he was in any position to wake up any time soon) and walked over to stand in front of a tall mirror that covered a large part of the wall with the desk and cabinets. Then, he pulled his shirt off and twisted, to look at the reflection of his back. As he suspected, there were several spots where his skin had turned either red or a dark shade of blue.

It really was amazing that Trian had hugged him so hard, and clutched at the back of his shirt that his clenched fists actually left him bruised. His elder brother didn't know his own strength at all, apparently. Of course, there was the fact that Trian had always been a massive beast, with a frame visibly larger than his and which seemed to have only grown in the months after the whole kinslaying deal. And considering that Raonar himself was among the top most muscular of all dwarves in Orzammar, that was saying something.

It took about five minutes for him to heal everything, after which he walked over to the desk Trian has been sitting at when he walked in. He noticed a recent history tome there, as well as a nice stack of documents. He began to shuffle though them, finding some reports written by leading Commons or Diamond Quarter guards, as well as, surprise surprise, a copy of the Shaperate's tally of the votes from the conviction of the 'kinslayer'. The rest were writs and contracts, or copies of them. Apparently, Harrowmont had been keeping the Aeducan prince well informed of everything going on in the city, or had agreed to do so. In other words, Trian was up to date on all the deals Pyral had made to gather support in his feigned run for kingship.

It was amazing how orderly those papers were arranged, even though the so-called heir to the throne was so seriously sleep-deprived. Yes, if Trian had any sort of kingly quality, it was that he knew his paperwork. And then came the moment when the exile knew he was going to commit an action that couldn't exactly be classified as honorable, but he didn't really waste time dwelling on the morality of it all because he knew he'd decide to do it anyway.

Thus, he sat on the chair and, after a deep breath and a final glance in his sleeping elder brother's direction, began reading that fairly bulky tome that his sibling had been using to record his thoughts. It looked like the same journal he'd been using even before things went to hell, though it was now open at the final entry, the entry Trian was writing just about an hour earlier. No doubt Harrowmont had 'rescued' the journal from the Royal Palace somehow.

The second son spent just a brief moment silencing the conflicting feelings his father had stirred within him before turning back many, many pages, to the entries just before his first military commission.

"-. .-"

_5 Ferventis, 9:30 Dragon__: Noticed Gorim running around trying to get pieces of my brother's ceremonial armor ready for the feast. Stopped him and asked him how preparations were going. He mentioned that one of the bracers had a spot of tarnish on it. Was quite impressed at his dedication. He is most loyal to our family. _

_6 Ferventis, 9:30 Dragon__: Was on my way to discuss the treaty with Father when came across a messenger waiting in the hall. On being asked why he was loitering about the royal palace, he mumbled something about having a gift for the "new commander" and asked me (begged, almost) to pass along some object or other to my sibling. Me! The heir to the throne of Orzammar does not run errands for a messenger! Must have been new on the job. Had him thrown out; however, still reeling from the gall of it. _

_ Learned later that Bhelen had told messenger that the quickest way to get things to our sibling was through me and had made him wait until I came by. So unseemly for a prince of Orzammar to play such tricks. He needs to grow up and understand that, as royalty, he has responsibilities. _

_7 Ferventis, 9:30 Dragon__: Found Bhelen's little... playmate (again!) lurking about the corridors outside his bedroom this morning. Must have been trying to steal something, or already had. Bosom seemed fuller than most decent ladies. Some jewels hidden in the bodice? Anyway, pretended not to see her. Would have been awkward otherwise. Wish Bhelen would keep her confined to his room, if he must have her around. Little brother is too concerned with fun and pleasure and not serious enough about his duties as prince. Must talk to him about discipline when have time. Unfortunately, much too busy with the many tasks Father has laid upon my shoulders. _

_9 Ferventis 9:30 Dragon__: Remember to send small token of gratitude to Jaylia Helmi. Alliance between Helmi and Aeducan must be kept strong. Lady Jaylia will of course accept proposal of marriage since will be king sooner or later, but never hurts to be polite and keep the lady happy. Hear that there are some surfacers selling silks. Maybe will send second out for something nice. Jaylia's favorite color: Turquoise. _

_10 Ferventis 9:30 Dragon__: Heard about there being Provings held in our brother's honor. They did not have Provings for me at my first commission, and I am the heir! What is going on? Must go watch these Provings, make presence felt. Orzammar must not forget that I am to be her next king. _

_12 Ferventis 9:30 Dragon:__ Prisoner! I go through the most outrageous and confusing day of my entire life only to wake up and find myself a prisoner! And by order of my brother no less! The gall of it all! First find out Bhelen hired castless thugs to murder me, that little traitor! (He'll get what's coming to him when I get my hands on him, I swear it! At least now I know what those 'tricks' of his, like the one with the messenger and the dagger, really were!) and it all just went downhill from there. Feel like I want to smash something. Unfortunately, knife wound in chest not helping me vent my anger in the slightest._

_ Pain kind of distracting. Still, have to write it all down, to try and make some sense of things._

_ Day started as expected after the previous night's heated discussion, then mission proved more difficult that foreseen because of some poor army coordination that ended up injuring and killing some of my better warriors. After Grey Wardens went about their explorations, took Vartag Gavorn's men (that treacherous worm!) and went to confront my immediate younger brother. Brother showed up and, instead of trying to kill me, saved my life before Vartag could backstab me. Turned out Vartag's 'soldiers' were brand-less surfacers or hired castless thugs with tattoos covering their brands (no wonder the army coordinated poorly, how did I not see it? Why didn't anyone else for that matter? Or did they turn a blind eye? Just how many traitors were there in my contingent?)._

_ My sibling had somehow learned of it all and had come to my rescue, as shocking as it may sound. Makes me ask myself how I could have possibly been blind to the plot against my life._

_ Raonar's soldiers engaged the mercenaries after he stopped Vartag's backstab. Brother pleaded with me to leave, for my own good. Sounded sincere even. Maybe would have been good idea as this whole staged kinslaying may not have happened. However, refused to run like a coward. Got injured and lost consciousness. Brother, Baizyl, Frandlin and Gorim had to take me and retreat anyway. Raonar used some odd potion to perform a blood transfusion that saved my life. Then we were ambushed when __**he**__ lost consciousness because of fatigue and his own blood loss. We were saved by one of the thugs who, according to Gorim, was on brother's side all along._

_ Still have to ask just how that came to be the case. And how that brand could move so fast._

_ Brand fed Raonar a potion. Brother recovered. Apparently, his blood loss wasn't so serious and Gorim's fears that he may have been dying were unfounded. Still, I had been very worried, more than I expected. Apparently, more than he deserved too._

_ He stabbed me! Right up front, he drove a knife through me! And, many hours later, I wake up to find I am a prisoner in Harrowmont's estate, and that everyone, save a handful of people, thinks I am dead! Even father! And brother made it so he was convicted to walk the deeps! This is madness! Mind still reeling from all of it. Don't understand what just happened, or the reasoning behind it, even after reading brother's letter. Gorim is even bossing me around! The insolence! The heir to the throne will not be ordered about and held against his will! Have to apply the necessary corrective actions. Unfortunately, wound needs to heal first, and the healing I got is only what Gorim saw fit to provide._

_ Something tells me he won't try to help me heal too quickly._

_ Dammit. Dammit all! How in the deeps did this all happen! Someone will pay when I emerge from all this, and it will be soon._

_14 Ferventis 9:30 Dragon:__ Third day of captivity and I already can't stand it any longer! How dare Harrowmont hold me here against my will? He hasn't even come down here yet, not even once. Isn't he concerned of what I'd possibly do once I regain my freedom? Furthermore, what in the deeps is he thinking going along with my sibling's insane demands? This doesn't make any sense! And just why did that fool get himself convicted in the first place? And how could he do this to our king-father?_

_ Dammit, Raonar has gone too far this time! To think he'd dare dictated __**my**__ actions! He should have just told me everything and left me to deal with Bhelen myself if he doesn't have the stomach for it, instead of making father think he's lost two sons and leaving him with that insane third child. What if Bhelen moves against __**him**__ next?_

_ And what if he didn't find the Wardens? What if he dies down there? Each passing day reduces his chances of survival! Don't Gorim and Harrowmont realize that? Or is it that they don't care? This is all so senseless that it boggles my mind._

_ Demanded with Gorim (he's the only other person I've seen in days! Days!) to be released and speak to father. As expected, I was denied. Was also denied upon demanding to see Harrowmont. Gorim said he didn't trust me in the same room with him and that I'd have to prove I could be trusted not to 'flip out' first. The impudence! How dare a lower castman think he can boss around his future king? Doesn't he know the punishment that law and tradition dictate for this sort of impertinence? He's lucky I can't easily move about yet._

_ Told him he's a fool for not allowing me to come out and have Father send soldiers to retrieve brother from the deep roads. He glared at me and told me to stop acting like I cared before he turned his back on me (he turned his back on me!) and walked out! The nerve! I shoul-_''_-',-_- I should probably calm down. Stress is bad for my injury, apparently._

_ Wound in chest seemingly not so serious, but healing slower than I'd like. Breathing is still hard and painful. Rage at Gorim's glares and the way he looks down on me (the audacity!) not helping either. Fortunately, only see him when he brings me my meals. Strangely, he doesn't act smug. Wonder why._

_16 Ferventis 9:30 Dragon:__ Was feeling a bit better today so I thought to break out of this mess and fix everything before it was too late. Waited by the door and tried to jump Gorim when he entered. Succeeded in knocking the tray with the food out of his grasp. Unfortunately, the rest didn't go well._

_ Got my behind handed to me. Thoroughly. And in just a few seconds. I think I was more shocked at the fact that he dared to fight me back than anything else. Should have probably waited for wound to close properly before trying this. Ended up dragged back to the bed after receiving a kick to the gut and a punch to my face. My jaw still hurts. Didn't realize how weakened my injury had left me if I was so easily neutralized._

_ Sod it all, what is WITH Gorim anyway? It's like he's completely lost his sense of self-preservation. Mentioned that to him. He told me my threats were empty since he was already dead, just like me, and that dead men have nothing to fear. Told him that made no sense. He ignored me (!) and left._

_18 Ferventis, 9:30 Dragon:__ This is getting hard to cope with. Have no idea what is happening in the city or if father is well. Also want to just go up there and put Bhelen in his place but my captors won't let me. Suppose all I can do is wait until I am better. After that, no one will be able to stop me from taking matters into my own hands. And I need to take control of this. Obviously no one else has thought this through._

_ Don't know what became of brother either. Am unsure of what to think of him or why he did all this, regardless of what his letter said. Would like to think he's trying to help me, in his own way, but he clearly doesn't care about father if he would keep him in the dark like this. Suspect he's just trying to use me like some pawn in this... this game he's playing against Bhelen, (this is what this all is to them, some game?). No matter. I am not some tool to be used! The impudence, to think I was being looked down upon in such a manner! Once I get out of this mess, I will put everything in order, and all the traitors will get their due, as they deserve. _

_ Would really help if someone actually bothered to explain to me just why this all his happening though. Gorim doesn't seem eager to be in my presence, however, not that I want his company (or would actually bring myself to ask him about it if I had it). What's more, father __**was**__ told of all this and still let this all happen, including brother's sentence, though I have no idea of the details. Really hope he has a good explanation for it._

_22 Ferventis, 9:30 Dragon:__ Wound finally closed (will probably leave behind a scar though) and I tried to break out again. Of course, ended up fighting Gorim again (still can't get over being defied in such a manner! By a warrior castman even!). Managed to give him a black eye. Yes, I closed it up good. Unfortunately, even with me fully recovered, he still managed to knock me on my backside. He was much more 'generous' in administering kicks to my gut this time and he returned the favor I did to his eye in kind._

_ Think I lost the brawl more because of surprise. I didn't expect him to be so good at single combat. I know for certain he was schooled only in assist and protect, and shield tactics, and was unimpressive in the arts of dueling. What has my brother been teaching him? Granted, duel etiquette and whatever else doesn't matter all that much in the sort of brawl we two had, but still... _

_ Expressed my outrage at being confined to those quarters. Gorim blinked (he looked confused, oddly enough) before telling me I had, in fact, access to that whole secret section of the estate and that the door had been unlocked all along. Should have checked the door before. However, have only been able to walk around for a short time and had too much on my mind and just assumed the worst I suppose. No matter, a cage is still a cage, regardless of size. I will not be held long._

_25 Ferventis, 9:30 Dragon:__ Harrowmont still hasn't come down here to see me even once and it's grating that Gorim is my only company, fleeting though it is. I never thought he'd end up being my manservant. Don't like his attitude. He doesn't seem to be trying to antagonize me but doesn't put much effort into showing proper respect either. Still, I suppose this is troubling him too. I don't like to admit it but he's probably having it hard coping with the high probability of never again seeing his lord. And I suppose he really is just following his master's last wishes, like a proper second is supposed to._

_ By the Paragons, why does life have to be so complicated? Having equal parts resentment and respect for someone isn't easy on the nerves, especially when having to deal with betrayal from all sides!_

_28 Ferventis, 9:30 Dragon:__ Took a while to bring myself to start writing this. Think I've been sitting at this desk, shocked out of my mind for at least an hour. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever consider that I'd go through something like this._

_ Was getting too restless. Couldn't take this anymore, living in this captivity and being kept in the dark, worried about what may be happening to father because of Bhelen (that treacherous scum!). This solitude is getting really hard to handle too._

_ I got into another altercation with Gorim and finally managed to overcome him and pin him to the ground. I had him face-down, with an arm behind his back and my knee on him, holding him still. Ordered him to stand down and stop trying to stop me from leaving unless he wanted me to break his bones. Not sure of I was going to follow up on those threats but..._

_ He twisted his head until his right eye had me in its sight. The way he glared at me sent a chill down my spine. Never realized how piercing those green eyes of his were. He told me that my brother had ordered him to keep me alive and dead, and hidden, and that he would do it. He said that if I broke his legs, he'd claw at me and keep me here. He said that if I broke his arms he'd just grab onto me with his teeth. He said that his life and health was all he had left but that he'd gladly sacrifice them if it meant he could do as 'his lord' asked._

_ He said that his name had already been stripped out of his family records (brother got the same treatment) so he didn't have much to lose by 'screwing tradition and protocol.' He said that he'd already sacrificed his dignity by serving as my caretaker and that he didn't really care about the rest nearly as much. He told me that the only way out of here was over his dead body and refused to back down. _

_ Not sure how it happened, but I somehow ended up sitting on the bed, staring at him in stupefaction. Am still completely shocked at what I heard and felt. Never thought I'd feel that kind of fear. Never felt this way, even in Deep Roads skirmishes. I had, and still have, no doubt he was being absolutely serious._

_ How on earth did my brother come to command this kind of loyalty? What am I missing here?_

_ Think I'll stop writing now. Have absolutely no idea what to feel or think about this._

_29 Ferventis:__ Started the day sulking. Couldn't rest properly last night. Gorim's glare kept coming back to haunt me, preventing me from falling asleep for quite a while._

_ Asked him what was driving him when he came to bring me breakfast. Told me that I wouldn't understand. I probably should have felt insulted at his answer, but I think he didn't really know how to explain it either. Damn, now I wish brother was here just so I could ask him. He always knew how to explain things, ever since we were children. He actually explained things perfectly even in his letter, which is probably why I'm still having trouble believing it all. It just makes too much sense coming from someone who stabbed me and doomed father to this kind of grief._

_ Still don't know what's happening up there. Gorim's been silent in the brief time he actually showed up and Harrowmont still hasn't come to see me. I guess he's waiting for Gorim to give him the clear. Used to think little of Pyral for how he seemed to always treat even those of lesser station with more respect than is their due but now... I'm not sure what to think of it. If I were in his situation I suppose I'd also follow Gorim's judgment._

_ Also not sure what he's going through. He's been father's closest friend since long before I was even born and is known as an honest and honorable man. This is partly why I can't bring myself to understand how he could possibly turn into a hypocrite of this caliber. Actually, I can't really believe this is what actually happened. I feel like I'm missing something, something that Gorim probably knows. However, can't bring myself to ask him for some reason._

_ Actually, there was something Gorim said today. He apologized for not being completely clear yesterday when he said I'd be able to get out only over his dead body. Apparently, the secret passage linking the main estate and this one is currently set up that it can only be opened from outside and that Gorim has a special knock that notifies those on the other side to let him through. He also said there were specific times when he could go in and out. Basically, even if I did kill him, I'd be stuck here, probably worse off even. And he also said Baizyl was a better fighter than he was._

_ Gorim left after casually pointing out that it probably wouldn't sit well with my brother if I killed him. He told me I should be more grateful for my life. Was too upset to rightfully demand that he watch his words. Spent most of the day lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling, thoughts whirring through my head. Also seem to be writing a great deal more than I used to in this journal of mine. I suppose loneliness will do that to people._

_ How did it come to this? And why do I feel like it's at least partially my fault?_

_ Think I'll go around and finally explore this place in full. Probably won't be able to get to sleep any time soon anyway._

_01 Solis, 9:30 Dragon:__ Harrowmont finally came down to meet with me. Baizyl came along too, no doubt in case I 'tried' something. Felt a bit insulted. It's not like I'm some barbarian that just snaps and attacks people! I've only been demanding that I be treated with the deference an heir to the throne should get. The cold and warning looks on Gorim's part didn't really help with my anger either. Had to put a lot of effort into actually listening to what they had to say. Ironically, the fact that it took so long for Pyral to come down here had left me practically starved for an explanation that I probably managed to sit through that conversation better than I otherwise would have._

_ The look Harrowmont had on was hard to see. Never thought anyone could look so broken up. Even brother and father didn't have that look on when mother died. That said, refrained from calling him a hypocrite to his face. Decided to just listen to their explanation, grating though it was._

_ Have to admit, didn't expect what they told me. Brother's reasoning for all this left my mind whirling. Will have to sleep on it. Either way, his lecture to the Assembly is what's really bothering me. From what Pyral said, Raonar practically accused all the deshyrs of being lying cheats and backstabbers, and Harrowmont tells me he agrees with the assessment to a great extent. Am willing to agree now that I know Bhelen was playing the loyal brother just so he could go behind my back. Has it always been like this? So many lies. And I used to think all the honor provings held over petty grievances were needlessly complicated. Apparently, they're barely the tip of Orzammar's problem._

_ Told them this all would have been easier if we'd just brought Bhelen to justice. Gorim said we don't have any evidence and that that smug little bastard has half of the assembly in his pocket. Probably promised them riches when he takes the throne after father dies. Fools if they trust him. Still can't believe I could possibly not notice this._

_ Couldn't believe father was blind to it either. Told them that. With some reluctance, Harrowmont told me father knew all along. He knew all along! Even before Raonar came to talk to us the evening prior to that whole mess, he knew. Am still in denial about it. Having trouble coping with all this but. If this is true, then starting to understand a little better why brother had gotten so desperate. I suppose wanting him dead while he was secretly saving my life time and again didn't help matters._

_ Also learned that Father, even knowing everything, didn't even lift a finger to ensure justice was done. Bhelen took my place (!) in the assembly as Aeducan representative and actually had enough support to convict our brother without a trial. He did this and father did nothing. Don't understand. Turns out Raonar was only called in front of the Assembly because Melec Medra, a mere warrior, barged in an threatened to take his house and leave for the surface if they didn't abide by tradition and justice. _

_ Good on him for succeeding, even though this, as I understand, placed him in great jeopardy. Think It's amazing that, though one of father's most loyal guards, brother secured that man's loyalty in less than a day. I understand that he also turned Frandlin Ivo to his side, despite him initially being one of Bhelen's lackeys. How in Stone's name does he do it?_

_ Still can't get around the fact that my brother so boldly called those scum out on their treachery, even tired, hurt and about to be sent to his death. Surprised he didn't demand Valos Atredum though. An honor proving would have solved everything differently and, being a prince, he could have demanded to face Bhelen directly. No doubt this is why Bhelen was so adamant in getting rid of him without a trial. He knew Raonar could easily wipe the floor with him and that he had the right to demand to face his accuser directly instead of fighting House Aeducan's champion._

_ Then again, after what I've seen, I think he might have been able to take Piotin on and win as well. So why? Why did he choose exile? Everyone, even Bhelen, were clearly already fooled and believed I was dead._

_ Dammit, brother, I don't understand._

_ Asked them what my brother had planned. they said they didn't know and that they were to keep me concealed until he returned or Bhelen began to make serious mistakes. Was upset and told them this is madness and that father is in danger with that monster around. My protests fell on deaf ears._

_04 Solis, 9:30 Dragon:__ Been thinking about this entire mess. If anything, being confined in here at least gave me time to consider things. Also a bit less tiresome than all the things I used to have to do every day. Been going around this place. Is bigger than I expected. There are several bedrooms, a kitchen (unused as of yet), a fairly large training area, a small library, even a sauna and large bathing room. Solid construction too. And there's also a room that was supposed to be carved into the stone but the efforts were stopped at some point. As it is, it's just being used as a storeroom, full of all sorts of tools._

_ Stumbled upon Gorim when he was sweeping the training room. Asked him why he was performing a servant's task. It was far beneath him, after all. Gave me a strange look before telling me that I was supposed to be dead and, thus, servants couldn't really be sent down here and keep things in order since they had to be kept away from the truth. Strange to think he'd so easily demean himself for all this. Come to think of it, things seemed more or less tidy in all other chambers I've been through. Has he been cleaning the place up all this time?_

_ Decided to just ask him to explain why brother chose not to demand an honor proving. He told me that I am a fool for asking that question. He explained that brother had always been against the practice, as it made no sense, and that the seriousness of the accusations against him would have demanded that the proving be to the death. Told me that my sibling had done all this just to avoid kinslaying so a fight to the death would have defeated the whole purpose of it. He then asked me how I would have felt if I was confined here while he was free to live his life._

_ Also asked him what my brother was really after. He said he wasn't sure, but suspected that this all is part of some bigger plan meant to reveal not just Bhelen, but all of his conspirators for the traitors they are. Would have asked why Raoanr didn't just come to me and tell me everything sooner, but realized that question would not have been a good idea after how... bad... the discussion went, the night prior to that entire mess._

_ Still reeling from the gall of having my life taken away from me like this. I suppose it really is as Gorim said and I'd be hating Raonar right now if he hadn't made sure to go through something worse than what he's putting me through. After all, I really had wished he was dead. Dammit, how could I have been so blind? How did I fall for all of Bhelen's tricks that poisoned me against him? And how could father just sit by and watch? He may as well have been encouraging him! Stone dammit all!_

_ And why the sod was Raonar himself so disrespectful towards me these past years?_

_ Spent a lot of the day in that big bathing room (it is the sort meant for many people to share at once, and socialize apparently). The steam and hot water finally helped me relax a bit. Returned to my room to find Gorim changing the sheets. He'd apparently cleaned up the whole chamber in my absence. Felt a bit uncomfortable. Thankfully, he left without saying anything._

_ Have to remember to ask about the castless helper._

_07 Solis, 9:30 Dragon:__ Finally got around to asking Gorim who that brand that helped us was. Apparently, he's the brother of Bhelen's concubine. Think I may have been staring at Gorim with my mouth open for a bit too long before he had to point it out to me. Learned that the reason my brother disappeared on the day of the feast was so that he could go to dust town and break into the Carta's hideout and spring him out._

_ I questioned the logic behind it and, oddly enough, Gorim said he agreed with me. Still, had to admit it was surprising to hear that the brand was the same one that won the proving in the week prior to Raonar's commission. Used to think like everyone else that castless should have never been born. However, after seeing this one coming to my brother's aid by his own initiative (and I understand brother tried to conceal his identity and keep him out of this bloody politics) I'm starting to wonder if maybe brands have more loyalty and honor than all these traitors calling themselves nobles._

_ Never thought I'd question our traditions, but I suppose at least half the deshyrs are dishonest in their supposed support of them. Have to think on all this. There's a reason the Ancestors favored that man that he won that proving and even got my own brother, a prince of Orzammar, to personally go to his rescue._

_ Just how many things am I wrong about really?_

_15 Solis, 9:30 Dragon:__ Harrowmont came by again. Updated me on what was going on above. Father has supposedly taken ill. He's been ill all this time and they didn't tell me! _

_ I got mad and started yelling. Gorim eventually started shouting back and told me that father's only really suffering because of my brothers exile and that my own death was just something minor to him. Wanted to strike at him. Unfortunately, when asked if this was true, Harrowmont just looked stricken and stayed silent. I said that Bhelen may be poisoning him. Harrowmont doesn't think it's true since it doesn't seem to be that serious. He genuinely believes he's just suffering from heartbreak._

_ Can't believe it. Refuse to believe it! It doesn't make any sense! He practically doomed him to the deeps! That he'd be broken up over __**his**__ loss just doesn't make any sense! Dammit, I have no idea what to think anymore. I knew he favored him but this... this is just too much._

_ Have to get out of here somehow._

_20 Solis, 9:30 Dragon:__ Been making use of that training room. Thankfully, there are a lot of weapon racks there for me to practice with. Wonder why they just left all these arms lying around. I could just take one and try to fight my way out after all. Then again, I'd have to get through Gorim, and he already made it clear how that would go. And even if I did snap and killed him by accident, it's not like I can smash my way out of here with an axe or sword, or even a maul. _

_ Been getting angrier by the day. Wish I could get my hands on Bhelen and beat the living lights out of him. On the other hand, not sure how I'd handle meeting father or brother again. Still not over father's betrayal and the shock at what Raonar felt himself compelled to do._

_ Think I've only really been relieving my frustration on those defenseless dummies. Been avoiding any talks with Gorim too. Noticed him going about his self-imposed duty as my caretaker. He seems to be doing everything quite diligently for someone that obviously can't stand me._

_23 Solis, 9:30 Dragon:__ Found out that father isn't that bad as far as health goes and that he really doesn't look like he's going to do anything about Bhelen any time soon. Still can't believe this. He knows what that little bastard did and yet he's just going on with his life and rule, living in the same home with him as if nothing had happened. And all the while, the city goes on thinking he's the perfect picture of honor and fairness._

_ Never thought I'd come to be angry at him, especially like this. To think he'd turn out to be such a hypocrite. Been trying to deny it, to convince myself Gorim and Harrowmont are lying to me about this, but I find it hard to justify this denial. They have no reason to lie to me, and Gorim's been sparing me none of his thoughts whenever I pushed his buttons. Though I hate to admit it, his insolence is a clear indicator that he's been honest with me this whole time._

_ Dammit, father, how can you live with yourself?_

_26 Solis, 9:30 Dragon:__ Went and checked out that unfinished room for some reason. It's actually already as big as my quarters and was being carved out of the black granite._

_ Sod it all, this isolation is driving me mad. Even Gorim's been more silent than usual for some reason, like he has a reason of his own to sulk._

_28 Solis, 9:30 Dragon:__ Finally couldn't stand it and just came out and asked Gorim what the hell the problem was. He'd been quiet and angry at things for days and I knew there was something he wasn't telling me. He started by laughing bitterly and asking me since when did I care about his feelings. Told him I found his attitude aggravating. He didn't seem to care. Told me that my wish may have finally been fulfilled._

_ Upon being asked what in the deeps that meant, he gave me a dark look and told me of the most recent news from the surface. He said that a Blight had really started, that the human armies had clashed with the darkspawn horde at some place called Ostagar, that the fight had gone awry and that all the Grey Wardens were expected to be dead. And since my brother had (hopefully, or so we thought) been made a member of that order..._

_ Felt like a big glass bowl had been smashed against my head for some reason. Think I may have been trembling also. Demanded to know details and learned that, according to some whispers, the human king's (Cailan that is, that spirited kid) most trusted general had betrayed him and left him to be overwhelmed, along with the wardens themselves. This Teyrn Loghain then branded all Wardens outlaws, saying that they were Orlesian spies that had actually conspired with the darkspawn._

_ Betrayal, even there, even during a Blight! This is insanity! And worse, no one knew for real if any wardens had survived. Sod it all, now I don't know what to think. Used to feel like I wanted to just see him get back here so I could give him a piece of my mind for thinking he knew what was best and for screwing my life up like this but now I have no idea what I feel._

_ At least now I know why Gorim is so upset. Ancestors damn it all! This is all that little prick Bhelen's fault! I'll have him for this._

_02 Matrinalis, 9:30 Dragon:__ Still won't be allowed to leave this place. Still won't be allowed to go and save my house from that treacherous bastard. Learned that father has been drifting away more and more from his kingly activities and that he's been missing some assembly sessions. Harrowmont tells me that father came to him and pleaded that he send an expedition into the Deep Roads, to look for my brother, to try and find a trace that he may have survived._

_ Used to be that I felt jealous of how he always doted on him, and how he only suffered from his passing, but now I can't help but feel rage at how father is acting like this even though __**he**__ was the one that doomed him to this fate. He never even let an inquiry be made into my 'murder' because he just didn't want house Aeducan to lose the crown. Used to be obsessed with it myself, but honestly didn't think he'd do all this just to avid a scandal. It's not like he was going to lose kingship, only that another house might get it after his passing._

_ Having trouble coming to terms with this. If being the favored child of your king-father only ends up with him discarding you like some piece of trash, suddenly I'm not so jealous of him anymore._

_ Hypocrisy everywhere. I'm starting to think brother got himself exiled on purpose just to spare himself the pain of being screwed over by everyone who was supposed to stand up for him. I still feel like I want to beat some senses into him but now, knowing that he might actually be dead, I just find myself wishing he isn't. Sod, things are just getting more and more confusing._

_07 Matrinalis, 9:30 Dragon:__ Walked in on Gorim going through some sword motions in the training room today. Somehow ended up sparring with him (with blunted training weapons, fortunately). We both went all out. Think we had our own shares of frustration and rage that we wanted to vent. Am aching all over, and so is he (probably) but I feel a little better. Not as lonely as before anyway. It's strange that I can barely stand him but he's one of the few people that didn't actually betray me. I can respect that much._

_ Asked him how it was that he fought so well. Told me he'd been practicing with Baizyl ever since our 'death'. He also said that my eyes betrayed my every move. Only ever heard Piotin use that line before._

_ Mentioned to Gorim how I so strongly wish I could get my hands on Bhelen and pummel him. He told me that I deserved my own share of beatings too. Think I was staring at him in shock for quite a while before I sputtered my outrage. He said that, with how I'd been 'treating Bhelen like he was an animal or servant caste at most', he was surprised he hadn't tried to commit fratricide sooner. He also said he was surprised my other brother went so far for me even though my treatment of him was 'deplorable and unfair'._

_ Outrageous! All I ever did was try and get Bhelen to grow up and assume his responsibility as a prince of Orzammar! It's not like I was trying to put him down, or my other brother for that matter! Gorim laughed at me (!) and said I must be a real fool if I really didn't realize how much of a 'condescending brute' I was. Wanted to beat him up for such an insult. However, he used that glare on me and made it clear it would not accomplish anything but deprive me of the one responsible for my continued wellbeing._

_ Ended up completely pulverizing two of the training dummies instead._

_08 matrinalis, 9:30 Dragon:__ Couldn't easily go to sleep last night (again!). Kept remembering Gorim telling me I'd been mistreating my brothers. Ended up spending the day avoiding each other and exchanging glares in the brief times when we were in the same room. Oddly enough, Gorim didn't look at me with hate. He looked disappointed and sad, if anything. He probably still doesn't approve of how my brother 'sacrificed himself' for me._

_ Used to want him to actually disagree with my brother, as it would at least give me a measure of assurance (not that I needed any). In this case, however, I find myself oddly at odds with my own feelings, and the annoying part is that I have no idea what I am most angry about anymore. Gorim made it sound like he didn't approve of Raonar constantly watching my back. Then again, I only have his word that that's really been going on. Hmm, now this is an interesting thought._

_09 Matrinalis, 9:30 Dragon:__ Challenged Gorim today and implied that I didn't really believe Raonar had been foiling assassinations against me. In hindsight, it was probably a mistake to do it while I was standing within his reach and when he had his steel gauntlets on. Probably shouldn't have smirked at him triumphantly either._

_ Only realized I'd been punched in the face after I'd been flung over and had hit the floor with my face. How in the deeps did THAT happen? He's shorter and has less of a massive frame than me, so how did he nail me so soundly? Left eye is still rather blue right now. _

_ Sod it all to hell! To think I'd ever be manhandled in such a manner! And by a lower castman! I swear I'll... Bah!_

_ Would have charged and battered him. However, he'd already disappeared by the time I got back to my feet. As far as I can tell, he came back hours later and dumped a stack of written parchments on my desk when I was in the bathing room. Left a note saying he wasn't going to waste his breath on me so he'd taken the time to just put together some written reports. The impudence!_

_ Won't look over them right now. Throbbing pain in my head too distracting._

_13 Matrinalis, 9:30 Dragon:__ Read through those so-called reports (again). Learned that those times in the past when I decided to publicly berate Raonar for doing something irresponsible were the same as those when he went off or set things in motion in such a way as to stop an attempt on my life and prevent anyone from thinking he had anything to do with it. He'd been causing small 'accidents' that foiled all those plans. Hate to admit it, but a lot of things make better sense now. This plot brother hatched to hide me and totally fool Bhelen (that smug bastard, I'll see his face when he learns how completely he's been manipulated) makes it obvious he's the same, brilliant prankster he was as a child. That said, those times I berated him was because he'd acted in a manner I found foolish. And since foolishness is apparently out of character for him..._

_ Think I've been feeling a bit upset. One particularly grating realization is that, that one time when I lectured him in front of the army for 'running off and acted like a child' during one of my own military commissions was when he foiled a plot by house Gavorn. Damn it, he should have just come and told me! Why didn't he just let me know people were after me? Did he like the feeling of having the power to decide whether I lived or died? Or was it that he thought it would be useless to tell me if I wasn't observant enough to learn of it all on my own? Or was it something else?_

_ Sod it all into lava and back! I'll probably have another sleepless night at this rate!_

_15 Matrinalis, 9:30 Dragon:__ Been getting really depressed lately. Reached the conclusion that I can't trust my own judgment. After all, I'd judged Bhelen harmless and obedient, thought of father as the pinnacle of honor and saw Raonar as the bad vein of the family that cared for nothing but himself. And all the while, Bhelen was a venomous snake, father was a hypocrite (if what Harrowmont and Gorim tell me is true, and I doubt they really have a reason to lie to me) and brother has really only been looking after me all these years, even as I constantly condemned him._

_ Was out of ideas and ended up just asking Gorim if I've really been mistreating my brothers. Was surprised to see the flicker of sympathy in his eyes during that long period of silence when he was probably deciding on an answer. He said that I had been unfair but that that alone was not nearly enough to warrant kinslaying. He told me that he never approved of my conduct but that, if he were to choose who to favor between me or Bhelen, it would be me. Asked him if this was just because of what my brother thought. He replied by asking me if I suddenly cared about the opinion of 'my sibling's second' since I had asked for it._

_ Took me a moment to realize he'd been alluding to how I'd snapped at him on the day of my brother's feast, when I sneered those words at him. He said that yes, what he'd just said really was his own opinion. As he left me to think, he made an offhand mention of how I might, next time, consider not making a fool of myself by 'acting like an ass in public.' Should have probably been taken aback at his impudence. Unfortunately, was too busy feeling shocked at the realization that I'd come to value the opinion of a lower castman. Should probably avoid mentioning that around him too much, or he'll say something like I never really cared about anyone's opinion, except maybe father's..._

_ And that might even be true. Bloody nugs!_

_ Think my headache is coming back._

_ Only now realized that a lot of people were probably blatantly eavesdropping on that whole exchange. Gorim also explained the real, demeaning purpose of Bhelen's line about how my 'speech to that legless boy about hard work and making something of himself was fantastic' and how I totally missed the sarcasm._

_ I feel really stupid right now. Blast it all!_

_20 Matrinalis, 9:30 Dragon:__ I must have been sulking even worse than usual because Gorim actually asked me if I was feeling alright. Was surprised to hear the question. Dodged the answer and asked what was happening outside. Was told that Bhelen had 'assumed the same asinine attitude as the one I used to have' and that, according to Harrowmont, he's been getting a pretty big head. Of course, considering that father has been growing more and more distant from the matters of the court..._

_ This is getting troublesome. I can sense from Gorim's replies that father isn't doing well. Was told that brother had left him a letter that should have given him what he needed to push forward and stay strong, not lose his purpose. Harrowmont apparently fears it may not have worked. I fear that, as father grows more and more further apart from his kingly duties, people will turn to that sickeningly double dealing, smug snake more and more. Made worse by the fact that he's House Aeducan's deshyr now._

_ Oh, the irony! _

_ Brother had better get back here soon because I find it increasingly hard to wait for the moment when I'll give Bhelen what's coming to him. If Raonar is still alive. Gorim told me there are rumors of Grey Warden survivors on the surface. He said that, if anyone survived, it'll be him. I'm not so sure. I mean, this is the surface we're talking about._

_ No. I should probably banish such thoughts. He's survived the deep roads, he should handle anything. Come to think of it, I should probably ask Gorim just WHAT happened those years ago, when he came back changed. Not sure I'll bring myself to do it though... I feel like I won't like what I hear. I'll file it for later._

_26 Matrinalis, 9:30 Dragon:__ Gorim asked me if I was feeling alright again. Apparently, he realized my mind was roaming because we were sparring and I looked distracted. The amusing part was that this made it impossible for him to read my movements and I somehow ended up completely battering him without even trying. Of course, considering that I've been practically abusing all that workout equipment for the past three weeks, it was about sodding time!_

_ Felt a bit more self-assured after it all. Proposed to go again. However, was refused, as Gorim said he was feeling a bit lightheaded and needed a break. A really, really long break. He did say he'd ask Baizyl to come around more often, saying I'd grow in skill much faster if I trained with him. he mentioned he could probably use extra training too._

_ Either way, need to find something else to occupy my time. Working out and training, and reading, can only do so much, and I want to be able to stop thinking about... everything... at least for a short while. I need a break from all this, and I'm stuck here anyway._

_30 Matrinais, 9:30 Dragon:__ Finally found a creative outlet of sorts, but it's a bit silly so I should probably not write about it. Would be a bit awkward. Not at all something a noble castman should be doing. Also, will have to make sure I am discreet enough about it because Gorim will definitely not let me hear the end of it if he finds out. Also noticed he's been acting a bit more at ease lately. Would have expected him to be more stand offish after realizing I was now stronger than him (finally!). Granted, I was always stronger, I was just taken by surprise when we clashed previously._

_ Really need to stop being taken by surprise. Too many things have been happening that I've been blind to. And people, not just me, got hurt because of it, father and brother most of all. And I can only imagine what it's like for Gorim. I may be many things, but I'd like to think I'm not a hypocrite at least, so I have to admit that Gorim has it worse than me right now. He's forced to live 'dead' but he's also been struck from his family's records. He's not even a person, not even a memory in Orzammar._

_ Will have to remember to do something about this when this whole mess gets cleared up. Would not have expected to feel this way some weeks ago, but Gorim __**did**__ renounce his loyalty to our house and, right now, is acting on his loyalty to my brother. Have to remember to ask him just why he is so loyal to my sibling._

_ And he's been performing servant tasks on top of everything else. Wonder if this is what it feels to be a burden. If this is what Raonar felt when we were children and he asked me if there was something wrong with him that made people say he'd eventually either try to kill me and Behlen or push us both to want to kill him._

_ And here I went and allowed it all to happen, even though I promised him back then that I'd make sure nothing like that ever happens. Have I really been nothing but a blind fool all this time?_

_04 Parvulis, 9:30 Dragon:__ Should have known I wouldn't be able to hide it from him for long. Still, I suppose it was my own fault for losing track of time. Never thought this sort of activity could be so entrancing, and relaxing even while requiring so much sustained effort. I didn't even realize he was at the door, looking at me... work... until I glanced around, to look for something to wipe the dust off my sweat-covered forehead._

_ Think that was the first time I ever saw Gorim smiling in my presence. Actually, it was a wide grin. Blast it, I could tell he was reveling in my embarrassment! Was taken by surprise and lamely complained about how he hadn't knocked. Proved to be a bad Idea, as he revealed that he __**had**__ knocked, several times in fact. I guess it was my own fault for making so much noise with... that. Oddly enough, he seemed to approve._

_ Gorim spent the rest of the day helping me set that specific room in order and promised he'd persuade Harrowmont to provide me with some proper equipment. Told me my brother will finally have a reason to be jealous of me. He said Raonar had always wished to be able to do that sort of thing but that, when it came to it, he was more or less hopeless. Felt a pang of pride at those words._

_ Blast. So awkward. I felt like a child being praised for finally learning to tie his own shoes. I have fallen far. Have to make Gorim swear to never, ever speak of this to anyone. Wait... he already said he'd talk to Harrowmont so that he can get me proper utensils._

_ Sod it all! The nug is loose already! Dammit!_

_ This is all Raonar's fault! Somehow I just know it._

_13 Parvulis, 9:30 Dragon:__ Been getting regular reports of the various deals and decisions taken by the Assembly. All in all, Orzammar is moving on as though I and my brother never even existed. Hypocrites, all of them. No matter. I am past the point where I dwelt on it. Been training with Baizyl from time to time as well. He really is good, almost, if not just as good as Piotin._

_ Also found out Frandlin Ivo is, by all, accounts, Bhelen's so-called left hand. Considering that all signs indicate that he hasn't said anything about my survival, it would appear that we have a very high-grade mole within Bhelen's ranks. Brother really did secure the loyalty of extraordinary people. I wonder if it was all planned out this way of if people like these just naturally gravitate towards him. Gorim says it's probably both. Also heard that worm Vartag was discarded for a suspiciously similar worm called Rolik Gavorn. Bhelen really doens't have any taste when choosing a second. Tsk._

_ Gorim also agreed to help me set up that scaffolding I had in mind, since I decided to step my efforts up a notch. He was a bit wary though, or was that concern? Said that it was okay if I stuck to smaller things for now but didn't try to dissuade me either. Should probably feel surprised at how he and I are actually getting along now. Amusingly, Gorim made an off-hand mention of how, since this is basically a violation of natural order, brother is probably shuddering randomly because of it, wherever he is, and I find the image just too amusing to discard. _

_ Yes, think my sense of humor has been benefiting from it too. Brother had long ago told me my sense of humor had shortcomings. Can't wait to see the look on his face when he comes back. I bet it will be priceless._

_22 Parvulis, 9:30 Dragon:__ Learned that the team sent by Harrowmont to the deep roads to look for signs of my brother, under the pretense that they were really looking for signs of Paragon Branka, found nothing. Felt relieved at the news, but still anxious at how no rumors have been heard of the supposed Grey Warden survivors on the surface. The surface merchants coming and going don't have much information but, all in all, if there were survivors, nothing has been heard of them for over a month._

_ Anyway, as said before, decided to just take a break from all this. Need some time to put things in perspective, so I decided to submerge myself in... that... for the time being. Feels silly, but I can't bring myself to actually write down what it is for some reason. Anyway, Gorim's been increasingly mindful of things and has been doing his best not to bother me overmuch, especially when I'm 'working'. He did, however, show quite some interest in one of those smaller items and asked if he could have one._

_ Still not over the strange feeling of gratification that whole scene left me with. _

_ On the other hand, I think Gorim's been gaining a sort of, what was that weird metaphor brother had found in those damnable books of his? Mother hen complex? He's been complaining that I've been losing track of time too often lately and that I should stop forgetting to eat. He threatened to start dragging me out of there. Pointed out to him that he lacked the physical capacity to do so. In hindsight, it was probably a bad idea to look so smug while I said that, because he flatly mentioned that he could easily just get Baizyl to help him._

_ I stand by my conclusion that this is Raonar's fault somehow._

_ Blast. You'd better be alive little brother, or I'll never let you hear the end of it. You caused this mess so it's your responsibility to fix it. I'd be a poor older brother if I didn't drill your sense of responsibility into you, now would I?_

_29 Parvulis, 9:30 Dragon:__ Learned that father has been feeling worse than before, even though the news that no trace of brother was found was supposed to make him feel better (as it implies he survived). Harrowmont says father is starting to see for himself just what Bhelen is and is growing more and more horrified by the day. Honestly, I think it's about time, though I find it troubling that his actual health is being affected._

_ Seems he's been leaving the palace less and less lately, and that he's been neglecting his kingly duties more and more. Honestly don't know how to feel about this. What did he expect anyway? Did he think Bhelen would suddenly prove to be a paragon of virtue and he'd be at ease, even after throwing me and brother away like trash?_

_ Never thought I'd actually feel angry at him but there it is. I just hope I won't turn into a cynic after all this is over._

_ Bah. Suppose I'll just go and kill some more time. Have a feeling sleep won't come easily tonight either. Have been forced to actually wear myself out before I can get any sort of rest these days. Betrayal and lies on all sides._

_ To the deeps with it all. _

_08 Frumentum, 9:30 Dragon:__ Learned that Bhelen's concubine is expecting a child. Of all the bombs dropped on my head, this ranks among the top five. If she has a son, he'll already have an heir. Wonder if he planned for this in advance for whatever reason. Don't really know what to feel about this really. I'm not angry at least. I think I actually pity the poor kid, to have been fathered by such scum. I just hope he'll take after his mother more than he does after his father._

_ Gorim tells me the lass seemed of the good sort. Surprising, considering I thought her a thief when I saw her those few times. To think she was actually nervous and worried that her own brother had gone missing and just wanted to get some help with that. Sod it all, to think castless care about their family members while nobles commit fratricide just because that's what politics are like._

_ Should stop before I start imagining Bhelen's smug face. No doubt he feels all satisfied and would just love to rub it in my face that he's just so much better at 'the game.' No matter. it's not like I actually played the game in the first place, though I suppose if I did I would have spotted the signs and things wouldn't have happened this way. After all, Bhelen's so-called scheme only worked because brother chose to help it along. Even I can see it could have gone wrong in so many ways._

_ Seriously, killing me was one thing, but framing Raonar? There would have had to be some universal law that dictated he'd arrive and walk over to stand above my corpse at the precise moment when Bhelen just 'happened' to be leading father and the others there. And that's assuming my brother even fell for his 'Trian might try to kill you out of jealousy' tirade. I suppose I should hand it to him that he's a good actor. After all, I did fall for it, and so did Gorim (he admitted to it). But honestly, being good at lying isn't something I see as a quality._

_ No, Bhelen is nothing special, not really. The fact that Raonar had been saving my life time and again without him even suspecting it is proof of just how big his head was already getting. The real problem is the noble caste itself. They are all murderers and cheats. To think that one of the few truly honorable ones is the one holding me prisoner. Really is a bitter irony, all of this._

_ Starting to feel bad for what Pyral must be going through, having to keep father in the dark about me. Hope father will get better soon. He's still not past his fifties, so he should still have some strength left. He's the king, for Paragons' sake._

_19 Frumentum, 9:30 Dragon:__ Things above have been going on just as before. Nothing has changed, no one got a grip on life. Have just been working on that thing. The scaffolding is kind of high up now, compared to before. Gorim has been helping me with it but expressed his concerns as to the dangers of working at such heights._

_ Waved him off. Honestly, he worries too much. It boggles my mind how he lasted and kept his sanity while serving my brother, knowing now all the insane things he did._

_26 Frumentum, 9:30 Dragon:__ Finally gathered enough courage to ask Gorim about what it was like in that expedition that he and Raonar ran off with after mother's death. Didn't really expect a straight answer. As such, I was surprised when he agreed to tell me. Told me he didn't know just what it was that turned brother's hair white and his eyes almost silver (all I know is what he told everyone else, that it was an incident involving lyrium). What I did learn was just how he came to have that beard style of his that Harrowmont, the assembly steward, the proving master and so many other nobles ended up shamelessly copying._

_ The story was hard to listen through. Had a shred of impulse to comment on how inappropriate it was for him to have a relationship with a lower-born, but Gorim was faster and told me not to bother complaining about it. He said that it was really stupid to hold something like that against him when our society practically encourages getting castless concubines just for breeding purposes. Gorim said it was really stupid to deny someone the right to decide their own love life and prevent relationships with non-nobles._

_ Still, to learn brother experienced that sort of loss, and so soon after mother's death. And then there's what came afterwards. At least I got my answer to another question, that being just why Gorim is so loyal to my brother. Apparently, my sibling gave all he had to make sure they both got out of wherever they ended up alive. Them both, along with everyone else. And it even paid off in the end, as he got to the army, along with all the brontos and supplies, in the nick of time._

_ Dammit, things just don't fit. Was our falling out and our strained relationship really all my fault? What would brother say to this, I wonder? Hmm, something like "both people involved in an argument are to blame for their failure to get along with each other, as neither is willing to consider the other's point of view." He said this back then, the day before he actually ran off with that expedition._

_ Apparently, I still don't understand everything. This is all so frustrating._

_10 Umbralis, 9:30 Dragon:__ Found out that father's been getting worse and barely been leaving the palace anymore. Also learned that he spends most of his time in brother's old room. I understand he's been preserving it just as it was. Harrowmont says he often finds him in there, staring at that crystal-carved representation of Orzammar that mother carved for my sibling when he was younger. That, or looking at that hourglass wall, also designed by mother, and how the lyrium sand coursed through that imitation of many river beds. _

_ I understand Bhelen is getting angrier by the day (Harrowmont says Bhelen always looks at him with hate). He must find it grating. After all it was father's attention and approval that he craved and yet, even now, when he 'won', father still only thinks of our brother. Serves him right. I mean, just how much of an idiot is he? Did he really think father would praise him for so skillfully playing politics and murdering his children? And just how starved for attention does he have to be to become so obsessive?_

_ My feelings may have been hard to grasp, what with me apparently going about my role as elder brother all wrong, but even our other brother's love and recognition was not enough for him? That spoiled brat. I remember well just how mindful and affectionate Raonar always was towards him. He never missed anything, even the little things, like personally buying him birthday presents and giving them to him. I couldn't help but notice this, and I even felt jealous. No longer, though. It was my own fault for being so unfair and (though I hate to admit it) condescending towards them._

_ Seem to be brooding a lot lately. Wonder if I'll get any sleep tonight. Think I'll go back to working on that thing early tomorrow. Need to keep my mind occupied._

_25 Umbralis, 9:30 Dragon:__ Been a long while since I wrote in this journal of mine. Of course, considering I've been recovering in bed for the past two weeks, I suppose it's not surprising. Sod, broken bones are really annoying._

_ Two weeks ago I started the day early and went over to work on that thing again. The scaffolding was quite tall by then. Seems I was a bit too preoccupied with various thoughts that I ended up overloading the meager construction with too much rock. All I know is that the scaffolding collapsed from under me and I took a really bad fall. I vaguely remember Gorim hugging my head against his chest and/or (memory is a bit jumbled here) roughly popping my dislocated shoulder back into place before I really went unconscious from the shock. The pain was excruciating._

_ Ended up with a broken leg, a broken arm, a sprained wrist (on my other arm, blast it all!) and a nasty concussion, plus a broken rib. I understand I was unconscious for at least a day and that Gorim and Baizyl had done all they could to bandage me up and use the best healing balms available on me. When I finally woke up, Gorim was seated on a bench he'd pulled close to the bed. He was seated there, with his arms crossed in front of his chest. The odd part, however, was that he seemed to be asleep._

_ Of course, I groaned from the pain and his eyes snapped open. He immediately brought a glass of water to my lips, which I drank greedily, spilling a lot of it over my face (no princely grace at all. Dammit!). Guess I should be glad I didn't break my neck, although that wasn't the most surprising thing._

_ No, what really shocked me was how Gorim went into an unstoppable, righteous fury as soon as he saw I was no longer dying of thirst. I don't think I ever got a tongue-lashing of that caliber in my entire life. I forgot most of what he said, but it all basically revolved around me being a 'rash idiot' and doing something so dangerous on my own. Was mostly too stumped to actually take in what he was saying because he actually sounded like he'd been worried about me. Huh. I guess I must have been smiling (it's his own fault for rubbing off on me) because he told me to 'stop grinning like an idiot and pay attention' (really think I have enough cause to start ranting about the impudence of the lower castman right about now)._

_ Told me I should be more careful with my life. He also mentioned that I should have known better than to abuse that scaffolding, especially considering that neither I nor he was a craftsman, so 'of COURSE that thing was going to be weaker than it would otherwise be' as he put it._

_ Should probably not mention to Gorim that he gets just as adorable as brother does when he becomes exasperated. Have a feeling it would come out wrong and would be really awkward. Anyway, Gorim has been practically watching over me every night, except on every third or fourth one, when he really can't stand awake anymore and has Baizyl cover for him. Somehow managed to get Harrowmont's cousin to slip up and reveal his relationship with my distant cousin, Revelka, who is married to a Bemot._

_ First I learn brother got involved with a warrior caste woman, and now this. The woes of forbidden romance. Really, am I the only one with any sense of propriety around here?_

_ The really embarrassing part in all this is that being confined to this bed implies some difficulty in taking care of my biological needs. Actually had to get into an argument with Gorim before he agreed to help me in and out of the bed when it came to such things instead of using the bedpan solution. Never want to go through THAT again, especially knowing Gorim is the one who would have to... but I won't get into that. It was hard and embarrassing enough when I was ten. I suppose I should be grateful at least one of my legs is fine._

_ At least now I can eat on my own. Gorim had been baby-feeding me the past two weeks, and I swear I never want to go through such an embarrassing and awkward period again. _

_ Ever._

_29 Umbralis, 9:30 Dragon:__ Tried to persuade Gorim that he didn't need to lose sleep just to watch over me. Used to be a time when I would have expected no less devotion from a manservant, but such thoughts somehow seem really inappropriate now. It's just broken bones, after all, and they're healing quickly. And he's not __**my**__ manservant per se._

_ He refused. I think he sees this as his failure. My brother may very well be dead, so letting this happen to me probably feels like the worst sort of betrayal to him, since me dying under his care would be about the same thing as him failing the last request my brother set with him. And it really looks like he's been worrying about me as well._

_ This is almost the same as last time, after that whole accident in the shaperate happened and I couldn't be moved from the bed. Little brother kept coming, breaking down and crying on the side of my bed because he was too perceptive not to find out that I may never be able to walk again. And he kept thinking it was his fault. To think I almost said I wished I'd never jumped in for him, and in front of not just father and Harrowmont, but Gorim too. Gorim who's acting frighteningly similarly to how my sibling did back then, well, minus the crying._

_ They both even called me "idiot prince" and "stupid big brother," respectively. Blast it!_

_ Wish these fractures would heal faster. Shouldn't be long now._

_03 Cassus, 9:30 Dragon:__ Must have been sulking again, because Gorim entered his "my brother mode" as I've come to call it. Don't know how it happened, but I somehow ended up apologizing for being a burden. I think he stared at me like I'd just grown a second head._

_ For ten minutes._

_ Then again, I think I was staring in shock for just as long. Damn, that blow to the head must have been worse than I thought If something like THAT, of all things, happened. At least I can feel some amusement at the fact that, wherever he is, Raonar probably felt a shudder of dread at a law of the universe being violated again. Really wish I could see the look on his face. Haven't had a teasing match with him in years and he's got it coming, I swear._

_ Of course, need to get out of this casts first. Really hope I manage to get well before he comes back though. Don't want him to see me disabled like this. Seeing that look on his face when looking at me back then, after that accident, was enough._

_12 Cassus, 9:30 Dragon:__ Finally am back to my full strength again. Been beating Gorim almost every time during spars and I seem to be giving Baizyl problems now too. Anyway, decided to resume on __**that**__ but Gorim's been very hard to deal with lately. Won't let me out of his sight. Asked him what in the deeps his problem was. Told me that someone had to make sure I didn't get myself killed by accident again. He also said that I'm the first person he ever met that came closer to getting himself killed when I was safely hidden away than when I had half of Orzammar's cheating 'nobles' plotting my death._

_ Have to give him credit, he has a point. Told him he worries too much and that I'd be doing whatever I damn well please. He started rubbing his forehead and didn't stop until I agreed to let him 'prepare that room properly' whatever that meant._

_15 Cassus, 9:30 Dragon:__ I've been forbidden from entering __**that**__ room for the past three days. Gorim somehow persuaded Baizyl to help him with whatever he's doing in there. Loud noises keep coming out of there, like they're building something, maybe another scaffold?_

_16 Cassus, 9:30 Dragon:__ Turns out that building another scaffold is exactly what they were doing, only it seems to be a lot sturdier and has railings on every level, with very small gaps. Gorim said that since I 'get so easily embarrassed and can't work when he's watching me' he figured he may as well reduce the chances of me falling and braking my neck as well as he could. Spotted a book on physics and architecture lying around. Has he been studying it?_

_ Can't really get over how surreal my life is getting. Also, suppose I should be getting more annoyed at how casually he speaks to me but I find it more interesting to get amused at the look he puts on his face when I push his buttons._

_ Regardless, I decided to take advantage of this reprieve from all the murdering and backstabbing and just enjoy my no longer new pastime. To think I'd come to be at ease within these walls. This cage._

_25 Cassus, 9:30 Dragon:__ I suppose nothing good, or in my case marginally satisfying, really ever lasts does it? Learned today that Father really has been feeling worse lately and has all but shut himself off form anything outside his quarters and my brother's old room. Harrowmont says he spends an unhealthy amount of time in there. Told me also that he walked in on him when Bhelen was there and that the little bastard glared at him like he wanted him and all his family dead before leaving._

_ Pyral still doesn't think it's poison, but I'm not so sure. Asked him to at least advise father to start rotating tasters and to be especially careful of what he eats and drinks. Harrowmont and Gorim have been stretching their minds about how they might contact brother on the surface, if he's even alive (you'd better be alive or I'll follow you in the afterlife and punch you). We all came up empty. No one had any ideas, at least none that would be Bhelen-proof._

_ Still think people are giving him too much credit._

_01 Verimensis, 9:31 Dragon:__ New year started off in force it seems. I suppose it was unrealistic to think things would start looking up._

_ Found out that father refused to attend the new year festivities. Needless to say, the ever approval-seeking spoiled brat felt insulted and left out (go figure). I understand that father and Bhelen had a very serious argument. He must really be getting cocky if he actually has the gall to argue with our king-father. Even I knew better._

_ Father apparently walked out on him, the palace and everything else. He's upstairs right now, having come to seek refuge in this estate._

_ He's upstairs! He's so close and I haven't seen him in months. Surprisingly, am not as angry with Gorim and Pyral as I would have expected for not letting me see him even now. Honestly, don't know what I would say to him or if I'd be able to take it, seeing him... whatever he looks like now. I can tell from the look on Harrowmont's face that it's probably worse than I imagine. Then, of course, there's how Pyral fears the sight of me and realizing all he's done will just make him feel worse. Pyral asked me (begged, almost) to understand and wait until he gets better, strong enough to face the shock at realizing the magnitude of things._

_ Still can't believe he's actually become so ill. And I can't believe I'm actually hoping that poison really is behind this but, if it is, at least he'll be able to recover now that he'll be eating safe._

_ Poor Pyral too. He looks so old and tired, and stricken with grief himself. He's even had to lie to his wife about me being here, all this time. Can barely believe the burden he's carrying. He really is a strong man._

_ Blast it all, how did it all come to this? I doubt this year could have possibly started off any worse, unless I had another accident. Am actually glad I can stay down here and think things through. I find myself certain that any reunion I have with father, regardless of his health, will not go very well unless I appropriately prepare myself for it._

_ Have a feeling I won't be in the mood to work on that thing for a while._

_03 Verimensis, 9:31 Dragon:__ This is bad. Father is refusing to eat and he's supposedly wasting away little by little. Has he really lost all of his will to live? This can't be real._

_ Spoke with Harrowmont and we both agreed that I'd go and see him tomorrow. I've been waiting for this for so long but now... Ancestors give me strength and wisdom because I really have no idea what will happen, or what I will learn._

_ Harrowmont told me that father already made him swear on his deathbed he'd succeed him to the throne. Pyral said he answered with 'I'll do my best to keep Bhelen away from the throne.' This way he didn't have to lie and say he'll run for kingship._

_04 Verimensis, 9:31 Dragon:__ Used to think the day I found myself 'dead' in this place was the most shocking of my life but I do think today outclassed it by far. Father was a mess. The room he was in already stank of decay and he looked like he was half-dead already. He thought he was hallucinating when he noticed me standing there, in the shadows. Said so many things, such shocking things. Such terrible things that gave so much sense to this whole situation and made it all the more hard to bear at the same time._

_ Father had discarded me even before that whole mess had happened! He said it! He actually said it, and it didn't even seem to bother him so much. He was just broken up over having failed Raonar. It hurt to hear that, it really did. I suppose I should feel jealous of brother but I honestly haven't the strength for it right now. Everything else father said sapped all the strength I had left. _

_ Father knew about Bhelen's plot long before the day of brother's commission even came! He knew all along and he didn't do anything! No, he made it all worse! And even more, he didn't even bother telling me! Used to think him sweeping the mess regarding my 'death' under the rug was betrayal enough in itself but this... this... I have no words. How could he do this? And he said it all so easily, while he still thought I was a figment of his imagination. Kept going on and on about how he 'failed his child' like Raonar was his only offspring._

_ Turns out being treated like the favorite was something brother always resented and even called father out on. Found out that he even pleaded with father to let him come to my rescue. Father, apparently, only cared about keeping him away from this mess because he'd given up on me and Bhelen both. And at the same time, he still suspected he might be plotting against all of us (as I used to) and snuck Melek Medra in his troops to keep an eye on him._

_ Now I completely understand why brother didn't trust him with the secret of my survival. I also learned that Raonar probably knew about what Bhelen was doing well before even father did. But I thought about it, and it doesn't make sense. If he did, why then was he always so considerate towards Bhelen? Or was that love I saw just a lie on his part? Just which of those two is the better liar, really?_

_ At least father seemed to be broken up over it, but that really didn't do much to lift my spirits. I feel so betrayed. To think the person I wanted dead is really the only one who ever gave a damn about me. How could I have been so blind?_

_ I eventually managed to make father realize I wasn't a hallucination, and he started crying in my arms like an infant. All I felt was like I wanted to sink into the Stone and stay there. It was so painful to see him like that, to feel him so weak, so diminished. And even though he betrayed me like this, it was trying to hold him in my arms, trying to make sure I didn't crush him by accident. Dammit, he used to be so strong, someone I looked up to as an example, everything I wanted to be, only for him to turn out like this. _

_ I have no idea how long I held him. I just know it was long enough for him to cry himself to sleep, telling me he was sorry, over and over and over. I couldn't even bring myself to say anything. I didn't know what to say._

_ I still don't._

_ If we dwarves could dream and have nightmares, I have a feeling the experience wouldn't be as bad as this. And what's even more hard to take is that now I realize that brother probably felt worse since he realized early on just how many people, me included, had betrayed him. And then he went ahead and did all this, and was dragged through the whole city in chains and sneered and spat at._

_ Damn it all! How could father do this? How could he condone this? Never thought anyone would make me feel as angry as Bhelen did. And it all seems to be getting worse and worse._

_ Father is dying._

_ Dammit! Dammit all! _

_05 Verimensis, 9:31 Dragon:__ Bhelen's concubine finally gave birth, to a boy no less. Bhelen has an heir now. _

_ Let the world rejoice. _

_ The baby was brought before father. Coincidentally, I was in the room at the time, disguised as a guard. Must admit that having full massive armors with helmet covering the entire face as uniforms is really convenient, although really uncomfortable for me since I am larger than most. No matter._

_ The child seemed to take more after his mother than his father. Good for him, I say. I suppose after this is over and if Bhelen gets revealed for the scum he is, he'll be struck from the records before getting his overdue punishment. I suppose that means his son will be left castless? I suppose there was a time when I would have been all for this but not anymore. Why should children have to suffer for the sins of their fathers? I suppose having seen what it's like first-hand gave me perspective on things._

_ Father started weeping when the boy was presented to him, and he held him. I honestly don't know why he cried. Pity maybe? Because he lost the ability to react in any other way?_

_ Ironically, Bhelen plans to name the child Endrin, the same as father. I think it's all really sad. He doesn't see it that he'll never get father's approval and recognition. He's so obsessed with something he'll never have, and something that isn't all that relevant either._

_ Never thought I'd pity my foolish little brother, but here it is._

_06 Verimensis, 9:31 Dragon:__ Father's been getting worse. He still refuses to eat and I don't understand why. He should have regained his will to live after seeing me alive, dammit! Instead he says he just wants it all to end, that he knows he's being a coward but that he can't face me and especially brother. He actually wants to die!_

_ I feel so sodding helpless and useless. And it gets worse. Told him that I don't understand why brother was so nice to Bhelen all these months if he really knew what he was planning. Father thinks it was his last attempt at turning him away from that path. I had the impulse to see this as foolishness, naivety, but it didn't last long. I suppose it really was just one last ditch attempt at keeping this family together, a responsibility that father discarded._

_ Also learned about the letter brother sent him. He said he realized now that that letter had a hidden, deeper meaning that became clear now that all this was revealed. Meaning beneath meaning, just like so many things were hidden from my sight and everyone else's. Just what was brother thinking? This piece of paper father wrote now... it is so strange. I asked father if he could reproduce the original letter. Told me he could, but that he wouldn't because I wouldn't understand. I'm sick of being told I won't understand. I'm not a complete idiot, for Stone's sake!_

_ Decided to just abide by his wishes. Am still feeling really bad from seeing his life drift away in front of my eyes. I haven't been able to sleep properly for days. Gorim has been giving me space, realizing that I want to be alone with my thoughts._

_ Pah! Reading these last entries almost disgusts me. To think I've been reduced to such an emotional wreck._

_ Damn you, father, why won't you just get better? You stubborn fool! You never listen. Why don't you ever listen?_

_07 Verimensis, 9:31 Dragon:__ Father's been saying less and less. These days and nights I've just been sitting by his side and holding his hand, watching him. Wonder if this is what brother felt when he was watching over mother in her last moments._

_ Father made me swear I'd do as brother said when he came back. He still hopes he's alive, and I can't bring myself to shatter this final piece of hope. He said I shouldn't make the same mistake he did, that I should trust Raonar. That he'd surely have a plan that would fix things as well as possible. Other than that, he just kept saying he was sorry for everything, and for being too much of a coward to disown Bhelen publicly. He said he couldn't bring himself to do it because, after sweeping the two of us under the rug, it would have seemed too hypocritical on his part to do it, even if it was long overdue._

_ Fool. Leaving our house in the hands of such scum._

_ Dammit, brother, where the sod are you?_

_08 Verimensis, 9:31 Dragon:__ Father died today._

_09 Verimensis, 9:31 Dragon:__ Been staring at this page and reached the same conclusion as yesterday, that I really have no words to express what I feel, so I won't bother. The broken and shattered training dummies, dented weapons and chipped walls of the training room are conveying my feelings just fine._

_ Understand there's a wake being held. Bhelen and anyone from house Aeducan has been barred from attending. Harrowmont already spread the word that father chose him as his successor, which is, technically true. I suppose this is where the war of politics starts for real._

_ I won't be attending the funeral, even if Harrowmont does offer to let me go undercover as one of his guardsmen. I don't trust myself not to snap and break Bhelen's neck where he stands._

_10 Verimensis, 9:31 Dragon:__ My head hurts. Last night Gorim walked in on me sulking, sitting by the bed and staring blankly. He brought a huge keg of the strongest ale on hand and told me he'd pester me until I agreed to share a drink with him. Told me he didn't know how to deal with people the same way brother did but that he knew for sure ale was a good alternative. Was touched to see him care so strongly but really, he didn't really need to try all that hard._

_ Am now experiencing a bad hangover, hence my headache. Whoever first said that drowning your grief in alcohol was a good idea should be executed. Unfortunately, the person is no doubt long dead so my wish will go unfulfilled._

_ Don't really remember what happened last night. I think Gorim carried me over to the bed and tucked me in at some point. Glad I wasn't awake to feel weirded out by it. Really hope I didn't say too many embarrassing things either._

_ Dammit, father is dead. Brother probably is too. Do I really have nothing and no one left?_

_ I suppose it's like that old saying, that you don't know what you have until it's gone._

_ Is this how Gorim feels all the time?_

_11 Verimensis, 9:31 Dragon:__ I'll have his head! I'll be there to see it when everything he worked for falls to pieces, I swear it! That little bastard!_

_ Woke up and went to see what Gorim was up to, only to find him being tended to by Baizyl. Father's been dead for barely three days and already that little snake sent an assassin after Harrowmont! Pyral escaped unharmed just because Gorim was there, disguised like a guard. He manage to kill the assailant, but ended up with the tendons around his right knee severed. To hell with it all! Gorim will never fight again! His leg will never recover! Being a warrior was all Gorim had left and now he's been robbed of that as well!_

_ Bhelen has gone too far this time. His petty hatred is like a disease. I'll have him for this, I swear it. Feel like I want to just burst out of here right now, destroy everything in my way and crush Bhelen's skull. Unfortunately, I fear I may actually succeed if I do try this and that would just not do. _

_ He'll see what it's like to lose everything first. His grandstanding at my expense, I could overlook. That the nobles love him when he has accomplished nothing, this I have learned to forgive. That he spat on brother's affection is something between the two of them, regardless of how much I want to beat his senses out of him for it. And father's death really was more self-inflicted than anything else._

_ But I have reached my limit. Crippling Gorim for the rest of his days, this I will see him pay for._

_ Need to go get some books from the library. Have to learn to meditate in order to calm down. Last time I acted in anger I nearly doomed myself and my brother. _

_ Never again._

_17 Verimensis, 9:31 Dragon:__ Been getting back up to speed with things in Orzammar. With the succession crisis, trade with the surface has been suspended and the gates sealed. Apparently, house Aeducan threw their lot in with Bhelen and seem to have 'forgotten' about father disowning him. Granted, it wasn't in public, but still, are they all really such fools? Then again, Bhelen did have me fooled into thinking he was obsequious and loyal when in truth he was a rotten sot. What's really grating is that Piotin seems to be one of his most avid supporters._

_ Blast, this makes things complicated. Used to get along well with cousin and now he's so easily become Bhelen's lackey. I thought he had a bit more dignity than that. Then again, his family loyalty always was the thing his prided himself in most, immediately after his battle prowess. And since Bhelen is, technically, Aeducan House head now..._

_ Also learned that he has half the assembly on his side but that he lost the support of house Helmi. I must say that was a very weak move on his part as it seems several other houses followed suite and joined Harrowmont._

_ It must be eating at him a lot that he's being kept form the Throne. I agreed to keep waiting to see how things go between Harrowmont and Bhelen before I decide what to do and when to show myself._

_ Been thinking about Raonar a lot more lately too. However, with all the anger streaming out of me, have been having trouble deciding what I feel about him for now._

_22 Verimensis, 9:31 Dragon:__ Baizyl and Melec Medra ended up escorting Harrowmont to father's funeral. House Medra swore fealty to House Harrowmont yesterday too. House Saelac still serving Aeducan though. Think Gorim took it in stride, but I think it's bothering him. He's had to do to his father what I've been forced to do. _

_ Speaking of Gorim, he's out and about again, but I can see he's walking a little limp, even though he tries to hide it. He began cleaning the place up again, methodically and silently. He's been avoiding my gaze and saying little. Honestly have no idea what to say either._

_24 Verimensis, 9:31 Dragon:__ Couldn't take seeing Gorim push himself like this and just told him to stop. Even offered to start tending to things myself, since I needed something to occupy myself with, especially now that I don't do much to __**that**__ anymore. He shook his head at first. When I insisted he flatly said he wanted to keep things in order. When I insisted again, he snapped at me and told me to see to my own damn business and figure out to fix all this and just leave him be._

_ This is just wrong. Gorim's feeling useless and is doing his best not to become a burden. On top of it all, there is no news of brother in sight. Dammit all to the depths of the earth! To think even Gorim could end up broken._

_ Brother, if you ever come back, I'm not sure I'll be able to face you._

_02 Pluitanis, 9:31 Dragon:__ Some sodding good news at last, or so we'd like to think. A group of Grey Wardens came to Orzammar and were allowed entry because of some treaties they need us dwarves to honor. They basically came to request our aid against the Blight on the surface._

_ Honestly, don't care about that much. What I do care is that two of those wardens are dwarves. Unfortunately, they were fully armored and had their faces covered so it's impossible to guess their identities for sure. Really hope brother is one of them. And if that second one is the brand that left with him, then we can finally do something about all this. We're on the verge of civil war here._

_ Leader of wardens is a human woman apparently, of all things. Also, one of them seems to be the same mage that was with Duncan at my brother's feast last year. Wander what happened to that man. For a human, he was honorable and a great warrior. Knowing what happened at Ostagar, however, not feeling especially hopeful right now._

_ Harrowmont and Gorim both suggested we wait for now. If either of them is who we hope, they'll contact us soon. In the meantime, their business with the troops will no doubt lead them to Dulin Forender, Pyral's second, eventually._

_03 Pluitanis, 9:31 Dragon:__ No word still. All we got was the three humans and the elven mage speaking to Dulin Forender (who doesn't know about me being alive) about what would imply getting in to see Harrowmont. Am starting to get worried. Shouldn't Raonar, if he was among the wardens, have contacted us by now? Gorim thinks brother is deliberately going incognito and I agree it's something he would probably do, but this is taking too long._

_ And it also looks like the Grey Wardens aren't keen on getting involved in this whole political mess at all. Is he with the wardens at all? Or is this all just wishful thinking?_

_ I haven't been able to sleep in days. Blast it all._

_04 Pluitanis, 9:31 Dragon:__ Today was positively maddening. After another night of no sleep, I think I ended up pacing through this whole section of the estate. Gorim's been mostly absent, masquerading as the guard again. The Grand Proving is supposed to be today, the one that Bhelen, that hypocrite, sponsored to honor father's memory. Like people won't notice this whole thing for the political ploy that it is._

_ Still, am nervous because this is an opportunity to prove one has the favor of the Ancestors, but Bhelen somehow got Pyral's best two fighters to drop out, even Baizyl. What is going on?_

_ Gorim, oddly enough, didn't come back down here yet. Hope it's not because of some bad news he doesn't want to give me._

_05 Pluitanis, 9:31 Dragon:__ I think I spent at least a half an hour just gathering the courage to start this journal entry. Unfortunately, once again failed to find suitable words to describe what I feel, so I'll just say it._

_ My brother is dead._

_ There, I've said it._

_ I kept hoping, all these weeks that he'd just pop out of nowhere, and with each passing day those hopes grew dimmer. And then, the Wardens came, and I foolishly indulged in a new dose of it. I am a fool, as always, though I suppose no bigger than the others, since Gorim, Baizyl and Pyral all hoped he was one of the two 'surface dwarves' that arrived. _

_ Should have known something was wrong when Gorim didn't come down yesterday. Was initially worried that something may have happened to him again, but when he did finally show up with breakfast, he attempted to dodge my questions, saying that we can't know anything for sure yet. I had to pin him against the wall, bad leg and all, and demand that he just tell me everything. Learned that one of the dwarves was the brand that was on our side, but my heart didn't have time to lift before Gorim slammed me with the rest of it._

_ Brother wasn't the other dwarf. It was a brown-haired, apparently blind surfacer. Felt like I'd just been stabbed all over again. And then Gorim finished me off by informing me of how the brand had given an accusatory speech and had dedicated his win to my brother's memory._

_ My brother's __memory__. _

_ Dammit all! You're really dead aren't you?_

_ Gorim looked distant and said that Harrowmont has a plan. Said that we can be reasonably sure the Wardens will help us. Pyral wants to get them to eliminate Jarvia's carta and look for some damning evidence that would link Bhelen to the plot against my life. Said there should be some letters or something, enough to expose him. That, along with me revealing to not be dead would be more than enough to finish him once and for all._

_ Only absently listened to all that. Think he realized he was wasting his breath because he left._

_ This can't be real. Used to be I wanted him back just so I could knock some senses into him. Then it was so I could at least make sense of things. And then father told me those things and everything made such perfect, terrible sense. Dammit, how did this happen? How could I let this happen? How could I __cause__ this to happen? I can try and ignore my fault in all this but, in the end, I have to admit that I did cause all this. I'd want to curse and scream and smash things, but I'm just too tired. Haven't slept in five days, although I suppose it's the least I deserve._

_ All that time he'd been watching my back and all I did was belittle him. Always he'd been dealing with betrayal upon betrayal, always maintaining that carefree attitude while only he and Gorim, to some extent, knew what he was really going through. I shudder to imagine how hard it must have hit him when he learned Bhelen had started courting the assembly, whenever that was. And then I kept berating him, trying to publicly discredit him just out of jealousy, even as I let Bhelen play me like a fool. _

_ I pushed him to do this. Each time he saved me I made it harder for him, and each time the betrayals piled on top of each other. Orzammar's betrayal, Bhelen's, then father's betrayal, which probably hurt most of all. Each time he tried to fix things some new treachery pushed him to more desperate measures, and every time I should have supported him I tried to assert my superiority instead. _

_ He used to trust me with his every secret once, and yet, these past years, he didn't trust me even with my own survival. And now father is dead, Bhelen is a monster and Gorim is a cripple, and it's all my fault. If I didn't stay so blind to everything around me, things would have been different. If I hadn't made so many enemies that people wanted to poison me and ended up killing mother instead, none of this would have happened. None of it._

_ I see it well enough now that he didn't just set the stage for his later return and victory. He also made sure that things were in such a direction headed that we would be able to fix this whole mess even if he were to die._

_ I spent so many days thinking about what I would say to him when he finally came back. The words changed in my head from time to time, but the idea was mostly the same. I suppose it no longer makes any difference. I'll never get the chance to tell him. Suppose I may even deserve worse. Of all in our family, except that spoiled brat, I've had it the easiest. Even while confined in here, I've been privileged compared to father and him._

_ Gorim pleaded with me to try and rest, that I'd soon start to have hallucinations. Sod it all, I actually wish I did have one, because then at least I'd be able to pretend to be able to get this off my chest._

_ I am a fool. A blind fool._

_ I'm sorry, my brother. I'm so very, very sorry._

"-. .-"

The so-called exile lost track of how long he'd been standing there. After he finished reading through that tome, he got up from the desk and walked over to stand by the bed, just looking at Trian, still sleeping. He hadn't even shifted in his bed, and yet he looked completely different, like he was visible in a whole new light.

And it was there that Raonar knew for certain the fundamental difference between him and his elder brother, and that was that he (the second son that is) knew himself and his emotions much better and, thus, did not need as many weeks to realize how he felt. So he just leaned forward and placed his hand on Trian's forehead, knowing that the silence would not betray his words to anyone.

"I'm sorry too, Trian. Maybe I really did go too far this time."

What he did next could probably be classified as unexpected, as he simply grabbed the sheets and flung them well away, so he could pull Trian's shirt up. The scar from the stab wound was barely visible, but it was practically a beacon for those who knew how it came to be.

After tucking his brother in again, the white-haired prince made his way to meet up with the others. His walk through the corridors was slow and silent, spent in contemplation, until he at last reached that chamber, just before the passage leading back above. The room was neither big nor small, but there was a table there, with several chairs. Faren and Gorim were the only ones there, as Pyral and Baizyl has stayed up in the former's quarters, to speak with Gwen and Alim.

Gorim and Faren seemed to be chatting about something but stopped and turned to look at him when he appeared at the door. There was a short time of silence as the exile seemed lost in thought, eyes half-lidded and staring at nothing in particular.

"So," Faren broke the quiet with some forced cheer. "What happened with Trian."

"Oh," it took Raonar a single instant to just come out and say it. "He started crying so I sent him to bed." There was a pause. "Wait... that didn't come out right..."

The loyal second and the castless rogue shared a confused look before turning to regard the third dwarf again. And Faren spoke again. "Wait, so you made you big brother cry **and** sent him to bed early? Isn't that a bit harsh? Let me guess, it was for his own good?"

"Yes," was the prince's flat answer.

Gorim, however, had to appease the redhead's confusion. "When it comes to the Aeducans, I've learned to accept things in stride because nothing either of them does ever really makes sense."

"Yes, I suppose that's one way to say it," the exile agreed distantly. After that he walked straight at his second and stopped right in front of him, staring into his eyes. The man didn't look uncomfortable for even a second, although he did jump headlong into stupefaction when his master took his hands and kissed them both, one after another.

Gorim didn't need any explanation. "I didn't do it, but you did, didn't you? You read his journal again, right?"

Raonar didn't need to actually confirm either. "I'll skip the part where I start ranting about what a poor master I've been to you for indirectly turning you into a cripple since you'll just start to contradict me and we'll get nowhere. So... thank you. Just... thank you. You really performed a miracle over these past months."

And, oddly enough, Gorim Saelac just snorted. "I said I'll always be your man, my lord Aeducan, and I meant it. Just, do me a favor and, next time, don't kiss my hand or anything, especially when others are watching. Feels really awkward. You can always just give me a raise instead," he stopped and looked aside as if in concentration. "Or something."

"Fine, fine," the prince agreed with mock boredom as he made to go above. "Come on. I have to talk to Harrowmont. I find myself in need of measuring tape. I intended to bring some when we came here but I couldn't find any."

The two other dwarves decided it was best not to chase away the blissful silence by trying to ask questions meant to let them draw some sense out of that statement. It would have probably ended with their day getting more surreal than they would be able to handle anyway.

_The review space is right there and waiting, as always._


	45. Orzammar Arc 6: Quests on Top of Quests

Author's note: I know Oghren refuses to talk to you in the game, but that's only because he thinks you're like "all the rest" for getting involved in politics. Since the Wardens, in this case, stayed out of politics, his attitude is different.

Also, the deal with Vartag's son being fostered with Aeducan is genuine. Rica mentions it to a DC.

* * *

**Chapter 44: Quests on Top of Quests**

"-. .-"

It had occurred that, immediately after returning to Harrowmont's so-called office (which harbored the passage to the secret half of the estate), the dwarven noble asked Pyral to provide him with some measuring tape. After Gorim advised the confused, elderly noble to just go with it, the latter was quick in fulfilling the young man's wish (he left the chamber briefly and had a servant bring him something of the sort), at which point the exile again disappeared into the passage, only to emerge about ten minutes later, with a piece of parchment in his hand (which he tucked into a pocket before taking his seat at the table).

That said, Pyral was now seated at one head of the rectangular table, with Raonar at the other. Gorim and Baizyl were sitting on one side of the table, while Faren, Gwen and Alim had taken their places opposite from them. The mage had made a point of again casting the silencing barrier on the door and room, as well as the sleep glyph on the doorknob, just to be safe.

"I believe it's time we decided on our next step," Harrowmont suggested once everyone was seated. "I suppose you've already formed some sort of plan?"

"At this point," Gorim intervened. "I think it's high time Orzammar finally learned the truth."

The prince knit his finger together under his nose and looked thoughtful. "That there, my friend, is a perfect recipe for disaster."

There was a pause.

It was then that Pyral decided to give a long suffering sigh and just renounce any and all intention of trying to actually plan ahead. He realized well enough whatever he came up with would end up looking amateurish compared to whatever Endrin's son was considering. The main reason for this was that he actually thought revealing the truth as soon as possible to be a distinctly good idea, and yet the one across the table from him had just dismantled that assumption.

On the other hand, the noble couldn't suppress a smirk and remembered just why he favored that child. He could well admit that Bhelen was a good schemer, especially for his age, but his schemes, while not exactly easy to predict, did not really surprise him overmuch either when they did come to pass, mostly because they were no different from the ones so many other 'nobles' in history used in their own grabs for power.

Really, one of the main reasons why Bhelen had even managed to secure the support he had was because Harrowmont himself refused to stoop to his level, as he refused to use blackmail and murder and lies. This, of course, limited his options, since a bunch of the attempted kinslayer's supporters actually turned to his side because they liked the same methods and felt they'd have more 'freedom' in case he came to rule. As such, Pyral couldn't really do more than hold onto the supporters he had.

It was there that he respected Endrin's second son, as he was just so much better a schemer than anyone else he knew, not just because his plots always worked (as far as he knew) but because he also did not use any dishonorable methods (Trian HAD intended to have him removed, so Pyral couldn't really fault the middle son for the stabbing part). That, and he somehow managed to make everyone believe whatever he wanted without actually lying, and when he did mislead people, he phrased his words into questions or hypotheses that everyone else just couldn't help but use as basis to draw the conclusion he wanted them to.

That was the method he'd used to make it look like Trian was dead, for instance, as well as to paint himself the murderer, even as he kept defending his innocence, which was also true. And even as he kept shouting accusations at Bhelen, that day of the commission, Pyral now realized that the words "Trian is dead" had never left his mouth. he just said "corpses don't lie" and pointed out that one of the burnt bodies was wearing Trian's royal armor, all of it true. That everyone immediately assumed it really was Trian's body was their own fault.

"What do you mean a recipe for disaster?" Baizyl asked, bringing the elderly deshyr out of his thoughts.

Raonar allowed some dramatic tension to build up before answering. "Some of Harrowmont's supporters are those that joined with him only because they want the throne to be taken away from house Aeducan. Revealing that Endrin's real appointed heir is alive and well would actually take away some of the so-called 'allies' we have right now."

"That may be true," Gorim allowed. "But some of Bhelen's own allies are those that actually bought the story about you having really killed Trian and think Bhelen's the 'only' honorable Aeducan left." The man spoke the last few words more derisively than the rest. "Once we expose him for the deceiver he is..."

"At best we'd divide the fools into even more sides," the prince said with a shake of the head. "No, we're going to do this differently."

Gorim snorted and looked a bit annoyed. "You know, this all would be so much easier if you just decided to take the throne yourself. After all this mess, everyone will start worshipping the ground you walk on even more seriously than before anyway."

"Provided Trian doesn't throw a fit," Baizyl pointed out.

"Actually, he made it sound like he's not sure he even wants to rule anymore," the exile let them now.

Baizyl looked stumped for a second before he sat back in his chair and brought a hand up to press his fingers against his forehead, mimicking a headache. "Am I even in the same reality anymore?"

"But this is good, isn't it?" Gorim spoke again, a bit more lively.

"Look Gorim, I know I'd be an awesome king, alright? And I never dismissed the possibility, but can we please not start this discussion right now? My reasons for not jumping at the opportunity will stay my own for the time being."

"As you say," he conceded, looking a bit miffed.

"I'm guessing you won't tell us the details to your plan either, right?" Baizyl guessed, sinking deeper into his chair. "Like you only explained things after most of it had already happened... before."

"Exactly," he confirmed with a grin, after which he took a piece of paper from the stack near him and began to scribble something onto it. "Pyral, I'm guessing whatever monetary compensations you promised your supporters aren't going to be paid until after the election?" The white-haired one inquired, not lifting his eyes from the parchment as he wrote on it. "Meaning that your coffers should be pretty much healthy right now, yes?"

"Yes."

"Good." He finished writing with a dramatic swipe of that pen that Gwen rolled her eyes at, though she still smirked. Dwarves had long ago invented pens, since they didn't have many birds they could get quills from, although Raonar himself rather like the feel of one, hence why he had used a quill back when this whole mess got serious, to write those three letters. "I'll need this sum for starters," he passed the note to Gorim, whose eyebrows went quite high for a moment upon looking at it, after which he passed the note along. Baizyl had a more obvious reaction (a gape) before he gave it to his cousin.

"This is... quite the sum," the noble said hesitantly. "Although not quite as high as I'd feared. May I ask why you need it?"

"I'm meeting a certain smith house today and volcanic aurum is pretty expensive even without the enchantments I am interested in," was the answer. "And I have also been informed by my elven friend here of a particularly interesting ring that one of the merchants in the commons somehow got a hold of."

Alim perked up and leaned forward. "You want the Lifegiver."

"If you can vouch for its authenticity and potency," the prince confirmed.

"I can. I spent quite a few minutes studying it and probing at it with my magic. I was kind of hoping I would be the recipient, however." He put on an appropriately wistful look at that last part, though he realized just why the dwarf wanted such a relic. "I do, however, understand why you'd need it for yourself, knowing your particular problem with healing magic and the regenerative attributes the ring confers."

"Wait, problem with healing magic?" Gorim asked, sounding a bit alarmed.

"Magic goes wild around him," Gwen stated with a shrug. "Something to do with whatever left him with his weird hair and eye coloring. Anyway, healing spells are almost useless and most potions can only do only minor things by default anyway."

"Although equipment enchantment doesn't have any issues," Alim added. "Such items were made capable of withstanding magical assault. After all, it wouldn't do if any magical charge, however minor, could disrupt a powerful enchantment on a object, now would it?"

"Ah," Baizyl and Gorim at once acknowledged, though the latter seemed to remember something. "But my lord, weren't you able to find some more of that strong healing potion you used on Melec?"

"I did try to acquire some," he said. "But it seems it needs rare ingredients, takes months to prepare and the Circle of Magi had their stores ruined, in addition to many other... problems, recently, to think of brewing it. They also lacked the needed ingredients. Plus that it only works on fresh flesh wounds and small areas. Basically, if two or more of my ribs were to break, that thing wouldn't really help too much."

"I see."

"Anyway, I understand that you, lord Harrowmont, were thinking of asking the Wardens to head to Dust Town and take out Jarvia, preferably finding evidence linking Bhelen to this whole kinslaying mess, yes?" the prince moved things along, yet still noticing the slight tensing in Faren's posture at the mention of that place.

"Yes. Am I to understand you'll finally overtly ally with me against Bhelen, to further the ruse of me running for kingship?"

"No."

There was a strange silence.

"Accept things in stride, accept things in stride," Gorim began to chant with a half-hearted smile on his face.

"What is your goal?" the elderly lord asked, bringing his hands together on the table.

The other dwarf leaned back and began to stroke that beard of his. "I will make it impossible for either of you two to change the status quo as far as assembly favor goes. People need to be as receptive to a third and, possibly, a fourth option as possible." His grin widened. "The Grey Wardens will play the heroes and solve that Carta problem in no one's particular name. With that out of the way, the deshyrs will have no choice but to go along with our own idea to settle all of this." His eyes flashed. "And Bhelen will finally start to see that he is not in control at all."

"What should we do in the meantime?" Baizyl asked.

"You've been sending men to look for Branka, right?"

Harrowmont was a bit surprised at this sudden turn of subject. "Yes, we have, and so has your brother. A Paragon's vote can overturn the entire assembly and would solve this crisis immediately after all. Our teams are due back in a couple of days, though Bhelen's probably going to get some results of his own soon as well."

"Keep looking for her then," the exile said. "We Grey Wardens may just have on reason of our own to go down there as well."

There was a confused silence.

"We do?" Faren, Alim and Gwen asked at the same time, bulging eyes and all.

"You know, you all are so adorable when you're all flabbergasted," the prince asserted, much to their chagrin. "Anyway, nothing's going to happen until I'm ready to be seen in public again. Alim, you have the dye right?"

"Indeed."

"Good."

"-. .-"

"You're anxious, aren't you?"

Faren realized he'd not been paying attention to his surroundings at all, which was a very bad slip up for him. He only now realized he and Gwen were half-way down that long, ancient stairway that led down from the Diamond Quarter to the Commons, passing by the entrances to the city levels reserved for the warrior caste, smiths and artisans, respectively. Alim and Duran had gone to enlist the services of a certain, high-repute smith house and had told them to go on ahead.

"It must really be obvious, huh?" The dwarf was beginning to worry he was losing his ability to conceal his emotions. He was sure it was that guy's fault.

"Not overmuch," the human lady assured him. "But I'd be surprised if you weren't. I mean, you're returning to your roots, so to speak, however gnarled and... wretched they are."

"..."

"You know Kallian's going to want to go with you down there, regardless of what Duran has in mind."

The dwarf allowed himself a moment to wonder just why Gwen was talking about this. "I know," he mumbled, not looking up as he kept steadily walking down those stairs, step after step after step. He and Gwen were going to Tapsters, to meet up with Zevran, Wynne, Leliana, Kallian and Alistair. They had gone on a shopping spree of sorts and the tavern was going to be their meeting place. The rest of them were back at the so-called Grey Warden palace.

"You think you'll be able to find that friend of yours?" the woman asked casually. "That Leske you sometimes talked about?"

"If he's even alive," the rogue muttered under his breath, not glancing up to see that Gwen seemed to have hear him. If he was to be honest with himself, Faren Brosca actually was feeling guilty about just leaving everything behind last year, something he told no one but had been mostly guessed by everyone in that group of theirs anyway (again, it was that guy's fault somehow). This was the main reason behind how he hadn't been overly talkative over the past few days, since he wasn't sure he even wanted to set foot in that place again, even as he felt out of place in the better parts of the city, especially in the Royal Palace with Rica. Of course, he also found himself more and more uneasy the closer he was to that so-called 'only living' Aeducan prince.

"Hey!" He was startled when Gwen lightly whacked him on the head with her knuckles. "_Sodding humans and their height!"_

"Stop brooding!" she demanded with a mock glare. "It's not like you'll have to face that slum alone you know. We're all a big, happy family here now, aren't we?"

"I'm not so sure about the happy part," was his tired reply. Then, his lungs released a sigh. "I need a drink..."

Eventually, they did manage to reach and enter the tavern, at which point they saw that none of the others had arrived yet. What Faren did notice was a specific person sitting at a smaller table to the side, looking mighty surly and put out, and obviously at least semi-drunk. So he motioned to his female human companion that they should take the table exactly behind him.

"-. .-"

05 Pluitanis of 9:31 Dragon was definitely not a good day if you were a dwarf whose name was Vartag Gavorn. Then again, there was hardly any day that could be called good if you were that person, not since those months ago, when he'd been robbed of everything he'd worked for in the blink of an eye, all on the whim of some highborn whelp.

He shifted in his seat as he waited to be brought the next mug of ale, cranking his neck and shaking his shoulders. His no longer shiny, silverite, medium dwarven armor was proving to be more and more annoying lately. No doubt it was because he hadn't been bothering to maintain it properly, and the pit he'd fallen into with regards to his standing in his house had left him almost bereft of any servants that could (or would) do it for him. Dwarves had long ago learned to make all suits of armor comfortable and almost chafe-free even for the less seasoned men. Warriors, noblemen, their seconds and various other people often ended up seeing their armor as their casual wear after all, especially those with high reputation and/or many enemies.

Vartag had felt glee when he'd been told he would be the one to end that pompous Trian's life. Stone knew the so-called heir had it coming. Vartag had even built up a scenario about having him at his mercy, trying to bargain for his life, maybe even begging before he would spit in his face and run him through personally, knowing the Deep Roads would keep the secret well.

He used to be somebody, the second to the child to the first House of Orzammar and should have eventually become the right-hand man of the new king, bringing his house to the forefront in the process. He'd agreed to do whatever it took, regardless of who he had to kill or blackmail, often with forged evidence. He had even been eager, reveling in the feeling of power that that sort of control gave him. After all, it was the fate of the weak and stupid to be subservient to the cunning and strong, and the fact that he had been the one entrusted with so many tasks only meant that 'his prince' had placed great faith and trust in him.

Or so he thought.

Turns out he'd only been made to do those things so that Bhelen could maintain plausible deniability. As soon as the bastard decided he would do better without him, he cast him off like trash. He even looked so smug and uppity when he did it, telling him he was incompetent, useless, that he'd failed to do as he was instructed even despite the overwhelming advantage he'd been provided with. Bhelen had also told him he was a no-good sot for getting robbed and being completely humiliated by a single, worthless brand that he and his two guards were supposed to find in Dust Town and kill, under the pretense of payment delivery, to ensure there were no loose ends.

Bastard. So why weren't the castless mercs worthless and incompetent when he enlisted the Carta to get rid of his brothers? _Fucking hypocrite!_ he'd screamed in his mind over and over. How dared he think he can just throw him away like he did all those brands? After all, it wasn't his fault that other brother of his turned out to be so perceptive and somehow escaped that ambush that had been set up at the last minute. Wasn't Dugan Lantena the real idiot?

Yes, that sodding favorite of the king proved to be way too troublesome. He should have just died in the deep roads with Trian instead of surviving and even getting called in front of the assembly. Another proud bastard that guy was, and he'd even managed to throw Bhelen's other pet nobles at each other as his final act. If he'd just died like he was supposed to, Bhelen may not have flipped out and he'd still be his second.

But no, Vartag was way past the point where he wished to get back into Bhelen's 'good graces.' Snakes didn't have them.

Finally having the ale within reach, he drank down almost half in one swig, grateful for the half-bitter taste that, compared to his life, was actually sweet, heavenly nectar. it wasn't enough to stem the flow of his memories, however. After he'd returned injured from that shithole where castless lived (and the conditions definitely suited them), Bhelen had been quick to discard him, knowing well that the head of House Gavorn would instantly grovel at his feet, just because he happened to be born an Aeducan. A replacement had quickly been provided and Vartag had been all but stripped of any sort of value in the eyes of most citizens of the diamond quarter, for 'disgracing his house through his ineptitude.'

With just one word from that brat his life had been destroyed and he'd become a laughing stock. He knew that taking up drinking didn't really help matters, since it made him look all the more similar to that loser Oghren, but he didn't really care anymore. His own house, his family had all but cut ties with him, since no one wanted to be associated with such a failure, lest they lose the favor of House Aeducan. The idea of completely disowning him and, thus, actually stripping him of his status had been considered, but eventually dropped, so at least he hadn't been kicked out of his home.

No doubt being left a noble was Bhelen's way of tormenting him, of rubbing it in his face that he still had total control over every aspect of his existence. After all, Vartag's son had been fostered with the Aeducans, ensuring that there was more than enough 'leverage' to keep him in line. No one had even said anything about how this was the same as holding his child hostage, but he wasn't as blind or stupid as people thought. Then, of course, there was how Bhelen probably intended to have the boy raised according to his own designs, like a sort of puppet that would ensure house Gavorn's continued 'loyalty' to Aeducan.

Bah.

He realized he'd probably not had enough to drink yet if his mind lapsed into brooding, but he didn't care how people looked at him anymore. Once he sneered enough at them they'd turn away. He'll remind them of just who he is. One brat's ego won't dictate his fate, he'll see to that.

Taking another sip from that tankard, his eyes began to look around the tavern, eventually settling on the sight of that human woman Grey Warden and some red-headed dwarf that had just come in. Ah, right, that was the brother to Bhelen's whore, meaning that it was probably just a matter of time before that Aeducan bastard was going to have even the Grey Wardens at his beck and call. Vartag's gaze eventually crossed with that of the dwarf, and he noticed the brand that confirmed it all. Hmph, a brand in the Wardens. Just goes to show how little brain those 'legendary warriors' really have.

Of course, part of his mind was secretly glad the brand had beaten Piotin in the proving. Just goes to show exactly how wishy-washy the Aeducans really are if their best fighter gets mopped by a castless loser.

Sneering bitterly again, his eyes fell upon his mug, which he drank from yet another time, not paying any further attention to those two until he heard them walk over to the table behind him and settling on chairs without even bothering to be quiet about it. By the rustle of the massive armor, it seemed like the human had settled in the chair closer to him. That put the brand across the table, facing him (or his back in this case). But when he was about to empty the vessel, his hand stopped and he went totally still when he heard the guy speak in that familiar voice.

"So, seen that Rolik Gavorn guy since that incident a few days back?"

His heart skipped a beat and, instinctively, he tuned out all noise in the establishment, save for the voices of those behind him.

"-. .-"

Faren Brosca hadn't chosen that table at random. Since he was feeling a bit down, he figured it would lift his spirits to have some fun, especially if it came at the expense of the bastard that tried to kill a certain someone and his brother. He knew Vartag Gavorn well, from robbing him blind and running him out of Dust Town, after causing him to eat dirt through his nose of course.

So when he sat across from Gwen he decided to open a topic of discussion himself. He couldn't see the 'noble' (since those big-ass stone chairs completely concealed one from those behind them, also making those sitting in them completely backstab-proof) but he knew he was there, right behind the chair Gwen herself had settled in. "So, seen that Rolik Gavorn guy since that incident a few days back?" He could almost hear the scum tense from the sound his armor made, so Faren made a point of exposing his left arm and taking off the elbow guard. "Man, armor can be a real drag sometimes."

"Get used to it," his supposed commander advised, oblivious to the real purpose of that talk (which was to rile up that asshole). "And no, I haven't seen him, although it might just be because we've not been to the Assembly chamber again after that."

"That's weird," he pushed on. "I didn't see him in the Palace either, when I went to visit my sister. Aren't seconds supposed to be nobles' personal man-servants?"

"I didn't really dig into this overmuch. Whatever dwarven customs are, and I'm sure you know them better, it's not what we're here for."

"Probably for the best anyway," Faren shrugged. "He sounded like an ass. Makes me wonder why Bhelen even chose him as his second." He paused and looked at the chair behind Gwen. "Come to think of it, it kind of makes me wonder how much of a loser his previous second was if Bhelen can even **be** satisfied with this dude." The brand knew he should probably be worried he may be turning bad when that feeling of satisfaction welled up inside him upon hearing Vartag almost slam his tankard against the stone table. That didn't mean he'd stop now though. "Wonder if I should ask around. All I know is that he's turned into one of the biggest losers Orzamamr has ever gotten landed with."

Even Gwen tensed slightly when the chair behind her was roughly pushed away from the table and whoever was in it stood up abruptly. Revealed to be a dark-haired, gruff-looking person with a prominent, dark stubble, black, short hair and black eyes, he glared at Faren before his eyes settled on his left arm for a long moment. His eyes narrowed slowly, until he sent a final searing glare in the redhead's direction, even as the latter drummed his fingertips against the table and staring back.

_"Keep looking. You won't see any burn scars, sucker."_

Then, Vartag Gavorn looked away with a mixture of disgust and resentment, as if he was shouting "This isn't over!" from the top of his lungs, and stormed out of the tavern, followed by confounded stares from at least half of the customers.

Then, when the door had closed (well, slammed actually) behind him, the Warden Commander in name turned towards her supposed subordinate and applied a raised eyebrow above her left eye. "Ah, I did think it was odd that you actually **started** a discussion. Deliberately antagonizing people now?"

"He had it coming," Faren said with a frown.

Gwen did not get the chance to say anything else as their attention was suddenly drawn to someone approaching their table. It was another dwarf (surprise surprise), red-haired himself, although the shade was a bit brighter than Faren's. The odd part was that his hair style was oddly similar to Duran's, except for the fact that it was a bit more unruly. He looked to be in his late thirties and had a more unusual beard style than everyone else. His chin was shaven, but his moustache had obviously been allowed to grow out for years. As it was, it was arranged, along with the cheek beard, into four braids, two on each sides of his mouth. His eyes were green, one of them squinted more than the other, probably because he'd suffered blows to it repeatedly over the years. Overall, he looked to be in his mid to late thirties.

Of course, as soon as he got close enough to their table, something akin to a wall of alcohol smell rammed the two Wardens full-force, which was saying something considering the fact that they were in a tavern and, by definition, the smell should be thick everywhere there. Faren, being used to unholy smells, only applied a look of faint disinterest. Gwen, on the other hand, frowned and was actually amazed anyone could smell so perfectly like that brewery she'd pestered her father into letting her visit while they were in Denerim once, when she was eight (and which had cemented her belief that hell really existed).

As for his getup, he wore regular clothing, possibly laced with chainmail on the inside, like most dwarven clothing was.

"You two must be mighty brave or dumb for pulling something like that," he said with honest cheer. His voice sounded gravelly but still strong, and not too deep either. He then looked at Faren. "You got stones kid, that's for sure. Been wantin' to rub one in that guy's face myself but I've been busy, you understand."

"And you are?" Gwen intervened, determined to make sure the awkwardness lasted for as little as possible.

"Name's Oghren, and if you've ever heard of me before, it's probably all been about how I piss ale and kill little boys who look at me wrong," he laughed a bit at that. "And that's mostly true..."

"Oghren... Weren't you bickering with that noble in the Diamond quarter earlier? One of our friends saw you, I think."

"Aye. That blowhard Loilinar," he confirmed with some contempt. "Sodding cub warrior, barely off the teach and already giving lip to people who could flatten him in a heartbeat."

It didn't take long for the Warden rogue to piece together who this guy was. Once a promising fighter of house Kondrat, he married Branka, a smith that later got named Paragon for inventing a smokeless fuel. Some time later, she took the whole house and left for the deep roads, leaving only Oghren behind. The guy took to drinking and soon became a laughing stock, until he got angry at Lord Meino's son just for saying it was unlikely a smith would survive the deeps. After a challenge to a Proving to first blood, to defend Branka's honor, Oghren ran the kid through during the duel. He should have been executed, but the honors he'd won in the deep roads changed the sentence into being stripped of all right to bear arms, on threat of exile, which was seen as worse than death for a warrior actually. This ridicule just got worse from there.

"Well, was there something you wanted then?" the seated redhead asked.

"Just wanted to know if you've seen any Grey Warden hereabouts. I've been privy to the rumor that he... or was it they, you understand, this was several flagons ago, had come here looking for support against the Blight massing up topside."

The two at the table exchanged glances before Gwen spoke. "Any idea what this person you're looking for looks like?"

Oghren immediately turned serious. "Stout and muscular, fair of face, but with a strong jaw and a bold nose, surrounded by a great glowing nimbus. If she's a woman, she might be more slight, but her eyes will shine with the light of purity and her large but chaste bosom will heave magnificently."

Faren was having trouble not bursting into laughter. As it was, he couldn't help a huffed chuckle from leaving his lungs. "Heh. Well, glowing nimbus and shining eyes. Actually, there are two of those, both men, though they can turn the glow on and off at will. And there's a couple of women that, given the circumstance, can show off their own nimbuses, only they're not Wardens exactly."

"Really? I've been looking for hours, but I haven't seen anyone who looks like that. Very frustrating," the apparent warrior stated. "Hey, wait a minute," he looked at Gwen's front and squinted both eyes, like he had a special interest in her bust. He managed to speak again before she could decide to thwak him on the head with her sword's scabbard. "Hold up, I was thinking I was seeing double because of the drink but that oddly shapely griffon on your armor's really there, isn't it?"

"Ah, we have a sharp one," Faren deadpanned, though Oghren seemed to ignore him.

"Hmm, so the two of you are Grey Wardens? Standards must have fallen way down then."

"This coming from a guy who's not sure he's seeing straight even on his best day," the other dwarf said casually.

Oddly enough, the disgraced fighter just laughed. "Fair point. So, is it true you're looking for troops? Cause if it is, I might just be able to help you, if you do a favor for me that is."

"Help us?" Gwen did not even bother to hide her skepticism. "I thought only the king or the noble Assembly could pass a motion to aid us against the Blight."

"King? Nobles? Pah! We haven't got a king and those nug lickers ain't in no position to help you and you know it. What you need now is a Paragon, a Paragon that, apparently, I'm the only one still trying to save."

"Your wife Branka, yes?" Gwen realized.

"Aye, and I'm the only one who still cares about her as a person. Everyone else thinks she's just a symbol they can leave in the Deep Roads where she can't offend anyone." He sounded really angry for a second so he didn't really notice Faren subtly looking past him and grinning for a brief instant. "I heard Wardens were in the city and I know they often end up going down there for whatever reason, so I was thinking we might be able to help each-other out."

"Well, I'm afraid that's not what we're here for," the woman told him. "And we've been told that only warriors in approved scouting parties and those with direct permission from the Assembly can go down there."

"Not that the guardsmen would be able to stop us if we really wanted to go down there, of course," the rogue saw fit to add, sitting back in his chair.

"Exactly!" Oghren agreed, totally ignoring what Gwen had said in favor of what suited him, much to her dejection.

"Not saying we're considering this," Gwen said carefully. "But if we did somehow, by some cataclysm, end up working together, do you at least have some sort of lead?"

"Well, believe me, I tried to find her myself. But where she was going, it's a lost thaig. No one's seen it in centuries. I searched as far as I could, but I couldn't find a trail, although I **do** know that both princey and his Harrowness have been sending teams to look for her, no doubt to try and get her endorsement, teams that might just make it back any day now, hopefully with news."

"And you want us to somehow persuade them to give us the information," the woman commander concluded for him. "Doesn't that mean you can't actually help us at all?"

"Hey, if their teams find Branka, that's great," he said derisively. "But if they don't, then that means I'm your man. A Paragon will get you the King you so dearly need and if neither politician finds my wife, that means whatever they've got, it's not enough if you don't know what she was looking for. If we pool our knowledge, we stand a chance of finding her. See, I know what Branka wanted. Most folks know she as looking for some ancient technology, but I know exactly what."

"You mean the Anvil of the Void?" someone asked from behind him.

"Bwah!" Oghren at once cried out in fright and jumped around, swiping the area right behind him with the back of his fist by pure reflex, narrowly missing a certain dwarf that had somehow come to be behind him, just outside his reach. He had a white headband that also covered his eyes and wore a silverite coat of massive plates, mostly covered in a cloak though. An elf, wearing black leather clothing and a longcoat was right behind him. "How in sodding stone did you creep up on me?" Of course, if he had bothered to notice Faren looking past him earlier, he would have known he should be paying more attention to the sound of metal boots. "And how in all nug humpers did you even know that?"

"Ah, so that really **was** what she was looking for? I figured if anyone would drag 300 men and women into those deeps it would be for an ancient technology of at least that caliber, but it really was just one of multiple guesses until you confirmed it."

There was a pause.

"Bastard!" The warrior growled, half-heartedly, realizing he'd just been conned. He was also a bit weirded out by how that guy's eyes were covered so he couldn't really stare him down. "You got me. But you still don't know **how** she was looking for it, so we still stand the best chance of finding Branka if we pool our knowledge. Branka was a brilliant girl, but half the time she'd add two and two and make it fifty. You want to find her, you need someone who knows how she thinks."

"Well," the newly-arrived dwarf said, stroking that brown beard of his that was brought in a single braid in front of him. "We can't really do anything right now, but if it comes to it, we'll let you know."

"Perfect, that's all I'm asking."

Once Oghren, along with his brewery aura, were gone, the mage, oddly enough, spoke. "Well, this definitely feels like one of those weird, tabletop games where the player characters just get landed with quests that, for some reason or another, people drop on their heads."

Three pair of eyes turned to him. "Am I missing something?" Gwen inquired. She wasn't unfamiliar with those sorts of games, but she hadn't really had the chance to participate in a session either, having been sheltered and all.

The elf looked a bit surprised for a moment. "You do realize that being cooped up in a tower demands certain pastimes, especially before apprentices get old enough to engage in more... physical... ways of relieving stress, yes?"

"Anyway," Duran took the word before the others could complain of not needing those mental images right then. "We finished our meeting with the master smith a bit faster than I expected and also ran into the others on our way here. We should probably get to work soon."

Faren sighed. "I didn't even get my drink..."

It was then that Duran brought his hand out from underneath that cloak of his and deposited a mug of ale right in front of the disappointed 'youngster.' "I suppose we have enough time for this. Drink up." And he made a point of poking his forehead with his index and middle fingers, soliciting a pout.

"-. .-"

They found Zevran, Wynne, Leliana, Kallian and Alistair waiting about a hundred paces to the left as one exited Tapsters. They were talking to a dwarf that, oddly enough, was wearing the Robes of the Chantry. He went by Brother Burkel and said he'd returned from Denerim to spread the Chant to his brethren. Needless to say, Wynne and Leliana immediately advocated that they go to the Shaperate and try to get Czibor to allow him to open a temple or shrine of sorts.

"Hmm... let me talk to him alone for a while," Duran requested and just went along and got into a discussion with the man as the others walked away, to give them their privacy. Alistair began to jokingly pester Wynne into patching up his shirt while Leliana had Kallian were discussing dueling techniques. The bard seemed to be interested in the profession. It took about twenty minutes before that talk between the Chantry priest (or whatever he was) and the exile-in-hiding even started to look like it was ending. Unfortunately, their good mood was eventually dispersed when Zevran said he'd heard the sounds of someone begging to be left alone.

Alim, Wynne, Alistair, Gwen and Leliana decided to hang back and wait until Duran finished up (which wasn't going to be long), but Zevran and Kallian followed Faren as the dwarf strode over to the source of the commotion. The two made off and turned around the corner into a street a bit out of sight, only to spot a guard just as he was shoving what looked like a beggar to the ground. They managed to stay unnoticed. Obviously the guard was very absorbed in what he was doing. The other man, a poor sot, appeared to be middle-aged and his brand marked him as castless, just like his rags. "Please sir, I meant no harm! Please. Have mercy... I'm... I'm just trying to get by..." he pleaded pitifully, staring up at the armored guard from where he was now lying on the ground.

"You castless are like a plague," the other one spat, kicking him in the gut for good measure. The poor man could only curl up in a fetal position and heave in pain. "You're spreading around like an infection, stealing and leeching off the good folk. it's only been getting worse since the king passed, Ancestors welcome him. You should just stay in Dust Town where you belong."

"This is horrible..." Kallian breathed out, feeling disgusted. _"We should do something!´_ is what she wanted to say, but when her eyes fell on Faren, she saw him looking down with a darkened face and clenching his fists. His arms were shaking and she could almost hear his teeth gnashing. Zevran, by contrast looked only slightly perturbed, though he said nothing.

"B-But," the older man let out, trying to push himself up with one arm. "How can we l-live if no one bothers to spare a coin, or even goes down there?"

"Not my problem to worry about worthless scum like you," the one still standing said with disdain. "Your ancestors abandoned you and the Stone itself will reject you when you die." He delivered an armored knee to the beggar's face when the latter tried to stand up, sending him tumbling until he was on the ground, face-down. "Why do you even think your life should be any different? It's my job to protect the city from trash like you, so just crawl back to whatever dung heap you came from."

The brand pushed himself to a crawl and was clutching at his face. He was bleeding from his nose and a gash on his forehead, plus another one on his left cheek, from how the metal boot had hit him wrong, staining his dark gray stubble. And still he begged. "Please sir, I swear I won't inconvenience anyone. M-my daughter... she hasn't eaten anything in two days."

"Idiot," the guardsman sneered at him in scorn. "Why did you even father her? And why would I care? Castless aren't true dwarves, the Shaperate makes it clear. They are the dark spot on our people, like the imperfections in the stone that have to be removed and disposed of before the diamond within can be released."

Apparently, this was where the beggar couldn't take it anymore and he glared up at his attacker with pure hate. "Monsters! You're all monster-ACK!" another kick to his gut sent him reeling and gasping, but it was when the guard delivered another one, and then one to his face, that Kallian really felt like she was about to snap. As she saw the poor beggar barely bringing his arms up to shield his face from that boot, however, she saw that a certain other dwarf had already walked past them and towards those two.

Duran reached the scene just as another kick sunk into the poor man's stomach, and he did not hesitate in the slightest. With a mighty heave, he grabbed the guard, with just his right hand, by his large shoulder guard and practically flung him back and straight into a wall. The dwarf slammed into the stone with a clatter of metal and his helmed head banged audibly before he slid down that wall and hit the ground.

Finally snapped out of her inexplicable inability to move forward, Kallian glanced at Faren, who was still shaking next to her, bubbling with his own rage. She didn't dare touch him, so she stopped forward and halved the distance between her and that hideous situation. Zevran chose not to move.

Duran knelt and gently put an arm under the man's head, who looked a bit older up close, though it was kind of hard to tell from all the blood covering his face. The poor dwarf didn't even seem to be able to move anymore. "There there old man," the prince said in a softer voice than Kallian had ever heard him use. "Here, drink this up," he held a potion to the beggar's lips and fed it to him in small sips. "It'll make the pain go away."

The guard seemed to come to his senses and he blearily got up. "What in stone's name? Ugh. How dare you?" he snapped, storming straight for that ignoble attacker. "What do you think you're doing? Attacking the guard will get you flogged!"

The Warden didn't even turn towards him. With his left arm still supporting that beggar, he just flung his right one at the angered militiaman. The latter felt like he'd just been struck by a battering ram as the burst of magic blasted him head-on, strong enough to send him into the wall for a second time. This time he even lost consciousness when his head struck against the stone (his helmet had fallen off previously).

The warden then bit the gauntlet's belts loose and let it fall off, so that he could easily reach into his pouch and take out a cloth. "Did the potion make it better?" He started to wipe the blood off the beggar's face, who almost imperceptibly moaned a yes (or was it an "I'm sorry?"). "Kallian, go get Alim and Wynne over here. They, along with Alistair and Leliana, should be bickering about my 'exploit' with Brother Burkel back where we were before."

The young woman returned with everyone else just in time to see the old man accept another potion, although he seemed to have regained some mobility as he could use his own hands, although the exile still had his arm around his shoulders. "Alim, Wynne, check for internal bleeding. He's been kicked a bit severely, several times." After Alim took a hold of the man, Duran got up and turned to the guard, who was just now getting up himself and looking mighty outraged. Obviously the blow to the head had left him confused as to how he'd been knocked out. If he could still remember the force that smashed into him, he would have no doubt watched his words better.

"How dare you! Who do you think you are?"

"Oh right," the exile-in-hiding retorted in scorn. "Just **try** to challenge the honor of a Grey Warden." The man visibly flinched. "I can assure you I would immensely enjoy an honor duel. After all, it would be so much easier not to hold back, considering that flattening you would actually be legal."

The guard sneered but grudgingly backed down. "I apologize if you misunderstood warden. This man... this thing is-"

"Oh don't even start your lecture on castless, I've heard it too many times already," he took a step. "I'm really sorry for your wife and children, if you even have any. I imagine they bemoan their fate for being stuck in the same family as scum like you."

"Hmph," the unnamed dwarf snorted. "Watch your step with that attitude," and he made to leave, only to be stopped by an iron grip on the shoulder.

"I never said I wasn't going to flatten you anyway."

"Wha-" there was a crack as Duran's right fist, even unarmored, struck the so-called guardsman's jaw with such force that the so-called law enforcer was sent flying and spinning through the air, until he smashed into the ground, rolling overhead once before coming to a stop in a useless heap, jaw most likely broken.

There was only silence. Even Gwen, who had hung furthest back, didn't even flinch.

"How is he?" Duran asked the mages.

"It's good that we got here so quickly," Wynne replied, maintaining her stream of healing magic constant. "He had a very minor case of internal bleeding that could have gone bad. He'll be alright."

"I used my magic to put him to sleep for now, though," Aim added, using his own spells to heal the injured face. "If he'd been kicked much more he would have probably been beyond saving."

The dwarven warden released a deep breath. "Good." Then, finally, he went over to stand in front of Faren, who had not moved at all and was looking down as if in shame. At least he wasn't trembling anymore. "Why didn't you intervene?" Duran made it sound as if he knew the answer but wanted Faren to figure it out himself.

Faren tensed but said nothing, nor did he lift his eyes from the ground, and the shadows of that alley cast a darkness that made his eyes invisible. Zevran, on the other hand, walked away and leaned against a wall, finally saying something himself. "Often, one finds himself unable to act against a situation he has grown to see as the norm." The assassin looked pensive. "Or perhaps you felt like you would outright murder that guard if you did jump in? Or... worse?"

"Tch!" was all that the seething rogue could pronounce, and he flinched and looked up by sheer instinct when the other dwarf put his hands on his shoulders.

"it's alright," he said warmly, succeeding in calming him down even with his eyes covered. "It's okay to gradually grow out of this 'worthless brand' mindset you've practically been brainwashed into. No one expects you to suddenly change, nor should they. Identity has to evolve, not be rewritten out of the blue. After all, we couldn't be able to recognize ourselves anymore if that were to happen." He poked him on the forehead. "Now come on. Help me carry the guy home, alright?"

The former thug gave a wary glance past him before drawing his hood over his head and adjusting it to cover as much of his face as possible. "Fine."

Not long after, Gwen and Alim had taken point, followed by the two dwarves that helped the man walk by holding either of his arms over their respective shoulders. The rest were following behind, only absently registering the disapproving or just confused looks that people were sending them.

"Are we just going to leave that guard there?" Alistair asked. "You do realize you broke his face..."

"He'll live," was the frosty reply. "Which is more than others can say."

"-. .-"

Kallian Tabris used to think she was no stranger to poverty. The place she'd lived in was humble, a small home in a walled off section of Denerim, a city known to be overpopulated even at the best of times. Survival and, especially, anything resembling a decent life in the Alienage was dependent on how far one could and was willing to go to secure arranged marriages or jobs. It didn't help that elves were seen as second class citizens and couldn't hope for more than a servant's task, or maybe a small business, like fishing or running a store, if they were really lucky.

She'd also seen her share of shem brutality, not just on part of the guards, but of the bigot nobles that liked to set themselves loose upon the women in the Alienage. She, and her cousin Shianni (who got the worst of it) had their share of troubles with that Vaughan scum, on their wedding day no less. Overall, the city elf thought she knew what to expect when she learned they were going to descend into Dust Town that day.

How wrong she was.

Saying that things weren't exactly well in that place was, at best, a monstrously massive understatement. There was no longer any pavement. Instead, derelict homes and hovels and ruined patches of ancient walls stood on what looked no different from the floor of a mine or any common tunnel. Being the lowest level of Orzammar, this placed it closest to the river of lava flowing beneath the city. This made the air very hot and dry, though not bereft of all the smell of sweat, as well as dung and urine, most of it coming from the darker alleys and dead ends.

Wherever there was a spot only covered in dust and not some of the more disgusting filth, beggars were sitting or standing around, looking equal parts fearful and resigned. Men and women of all ages could be seen, most of them having nothing but the rags on their backs as there were too few homes, if they could even be called that, and those had been claimed by members of the Carta. Skin afflictions and grime were commonplace and, overall, the most grating fact was that there wasn't anything they could really do about it.

Duran and Faren, who had been helping that old man walk, despite his assurance that he could make it on his own and that he wasn't worth their time, let go of him when they got to the place he'd led them to. It was what looked like the remains of what was once a dwelling, with a few improvised cots spread around but not much else. At the very least the heat made sure people couldn't freeze to death down there.

"Daddy!"

It must have been the first time when Kallian Tabris even saw a dwarven child. it was a little girl, barely as tall as her knee was high. She had messy, brown hair, large black eyes and too cheerful an attitude for that hellhole, enough to radiate even despite that mark on her face. She had just a very worn, oversized shirt on, no doubt thrown away by some adult, ripped in a few places and which was really her entire getup, reaching as low as under her knees. That said, she would have normally looked comical, the way she ran over to her father and glomped him as soon as he got to his knees to greet her, if that entire scene didn't actually look more tragic that funny. "Daddy, you're back early!" she gushed.

"Ugh, easy there little jewel. Don't squeeze daddy too hard because he's not feeling very well today."

"Why?" she asked in honest worry. "Was it the mean people? I heard people saying that mean people have been showing up and doing bad things..."

"Haha, no. Daddy just fell because he was clumsy. You know how your old man gets."

"Who're they?" she asked brightly, looking over his shoulder straight at Kallian. The city elf felt a pang of guilt. She really felt stupid for complaining about life being unfair as she grew up. "You never brought people here before! Not like them anyway." She studied them for a while. "Why are they dressed so weird?"

The old man just laughed and hugged her, and everyone knew that she was all that was keeping him together. Tabris felt a bit sick at how the little girl hadn't even complained about hunger. If she really hadn't eaten in days and wasn't complaining, did it mean that it was a regular occurrence? Looking around, she saw Gwen, Wynne, Leliana and Alistair all looking very uncomfortable or downright apprehensive at what they were witnessing. Alim was unreadable, and Zevran had his arms folded in front of his chest and was propped against the one wall that had weathered the ages better than the rest.

It probably helped that this was one of the less conspicuous alleys in that slum, and that there weren't other people nearby. Most of them were gathered around a fire about a hundred paces far off. The humans stood farther back while the dwarven wardens were closest to the man and his child though Faren seemed to be a bit nervous and kept adjusting his hood over his face, like he didn't want his face exposed.

"Thanks again for all your help, strangers," he said humbly. "I only wish I had some way of repaying you. Few people even look at us castless, not to mention go to the lengths you did."

The apparently blindfolded one went over there and crouched in front of the girl, staring straight into her eyes (though it was odd to see, considering that he had that headband covering his eyes). He had brought along a sort of package, wrapped in some cloth, which he'd bought from the market before they entered Dust Town. "Here," he held out a cookie that the girl took and studied curiously. "Thought you might be hungry."

The elven lass couldn't help a sad smile when the little girl bit onto it and seemed to go to heaven in a single instant, relishing the taste she was probably experiencing for the first time in her life. She let herself be shooed away by her father and went over to sit against the wall, munching on that oversized, round, sweet thing.

"She's all that's been helping me go on. I can't imagine what would happen if I suddenly left her all alone, or if I lost her."

The exile-in-hiding, still crouched, held out the rest of the pack to the old man. "Here. This food should last at least a few days, depending on who you share it with," he held up a hand to stop the protest he was about to make. "There's one more potion in there. If the pain hasn't gone away by morning, drink it down alright?"

"My lord, you don't need t-"

"Do I make myself clear?" his voice was suddenly a lot more commanding.

"Y-Yes... thank you my lord. You really are too kind."

"No, really, I'm not," the other dwarf said with a huff, standing up.

The beggar suddenly looked at the still hooded Faren, even somewhat far off as he was. "You definitely picked up some good friends, kid." The rogue suddenly flinched and turned his head away. "You're Kalah's youngster aren't you? Rica's little brother?"

"..."

The old man sighed, picked up a rock and hurled it straight at Faren's head. The latter reeled when the stone smacked him hard and he almost lost his balance. "Gah! Sodding... ugh!" Nevertheless, Kallian figured it was his own fault for not paying attention.

"I may be old and battered, but I'm not blind," the beggar said with some sternness. "I may not have known you personally, but a lot of people here are looking up to you, how you did your best to hold onto some decency even under that bastard's heel and how you managed to earn yourself a better life. I can see you're feeling guilty about having found a way to escape this cesspit. Don't be. Sure, people were jealous when you and yours got out of here, but a lot of us were glad for you too. You spit in the so-called 'fate' those hypocrites force us into, and each time one of us gets to spit in the face of those upper class bastards it's a victory for all of us."

There was some silence, but the young one eventually threw his hood back and turned to look at him. The fair-haired elf didn't know what his expression showed. "I'd have thought people here would want to get back at me for killing Beraht."

"Bah!" the man scoffed, standing up. "Sure there are some. So are there those who'd like to kiss your sodding feet, and all those poor girls that you avenged when you drove your knife through those lecherous underlings of his that took advantage of them."

For some unknown reason, Faren looked aside.

"Wow, you really don't like the Carta," Gwen observed, no doubt grateful for something to help occupy her mind instead of getting depressed at all the misery surrounding them.

The beggar looked around to make sure people couldn't overhear. "Let's just say some of those thugs are worse than the guards in the commons, and you can't get much worse than that down here."

"Then maybe you could help us," Alistair chimed in. "We're actually here for-"

"Alistair." Duran cut him off, shaking his head to signal 'no, we're not asking him. he has enough problems already.'

"Nevermind," the templar said.

"Alright guys, let's go, we have work to do," Alim suggested.

"Take care of yourselves," Leliana told them with true sympathy before turning to leave.

After a few steps, Kallian noticed that their disguised leader was not walking with them, so she turned around and saw him exchange some final words with that man before passing him a small bag of money and running to catch up. "Nothing to see here, move along," he 'ordered.'

"This is horrible," Wynne said, rubbing her hands together. "How can these people do this to their own?"

"That's just the thing," Duran explained. "As far as the 'castes' are concerned, the Shaperate says the castless are less than men and should not have been born at all. They're considered the same as the filth they're forced to live in."

"I do not understand this at all," Zevran suddenly spoke up from where he was walking alongside Gwen. "I cannot see how our dear friend Faren here could have possibly grown up in such a miserable and mind-shredding place. He's more sane and reasonable that most people I ever met, if a bit... frustrated." A stone smacked the elf on the side of the head, causing him to yelp. "Ouch. Now that was a cheap shot," he complained with a frown in said dwarf's direction, who was making a show of the other stone he had handy.

"I should probably be more worried about agreeing with the assassin, but he kind of has a point..." Alistair said hesitantly before addressing the dwarf noble. "Anyway, please tell me whoever gets the throne after all this will do something to change this mess. This is just too wrong."

"In many ways," Gwen agreed.

There was no outright reply to that, except for one sentence. "That old man said someone called Nadezda might have the information we need, and that Faren here knows her."

"Yeah..." the redhead confirmed absently, obviously not feeling in the mood to talk anymore.

"Since we don't have any snake's head to chop off right now, we'll start at the bottom, right?" the elven mage uttered. "Too bad really. Most people here turn to crime because they have no other choice. Is there really no other way for this criminal mess to be stopped without slaughtering the whole Carta?"

"Huh?" Duran actually sounded surprised, and that, in itself, was so unexpected that everyone present looked at him with raised eyebrows. "I never said we were going to slaughter the Carta you know..."

_The review space is waiting as always!_


	46. The Chapter that Is Not a Chapter

**The Chapter that Is Not a Chapter**

"-. .-"

Howdy there, long time no see! Now before you freak out, this is not a notice of story hiatus or suspension because of Dragon Ag 2. I already finished that game (and was left unimpressed), but that's neither here nor there.

Some people may have noticed that this site has been having some issues lately, particularly when it comes to submitting or editing stories. Basically, pretty much everyone has been getting errors. I **did** find a workaround for this (though it only allows for adding chapters/editing them, not making a new story or editing properties), courtesy of the forums here, but I am still unwilling to post unless I am sure the alert system, at least, is functional.

To put it simply, after waiting for two weeks plus for an update, I'd like to avoid a situation where readers get frustrated by a lack of e-mail alert or whatever, so I'm putting this up as a test. You don't need to review/PM or anything (though it would not go by unappreciated) to say whether or not you did get an e-mail alert. If I get a new chapter alert, I'll assume you all did as well.

That said, Chapter 45 should be finished in a few hours. I know I've left the story hanging at a really hyped up part, so I assure you I am as eager as you are to see the new chapters out.

In other news, I managed (or so I'd like to think) to find a pen Name that sounds at once decent and as weird as my previous one did.

Regardless, you all have fun until the actual chapter gets posted (and pray no other errors sprout up too).


	47. Orzammar Arc 7: Criminally Minded

Author's note: Right, so here it be (At long Last!)

And thanks for the responses ladies and gentlemen!

* * *

**Chapter 45: Criminally Minded**

"-. .-"

Gwenith Cousland used to think she had seen enough of the world to know how to react even when going into those unsavory places that cities unavoidably contain. The visits to Denerim with her family helped in that regard, since it allowed her to see how life was beyond the walls of her comfortable keep. The capital was also fairly overpopulated even on its best day, and even her parents' best efforts couldn't shield her from the sight of ragged beggars and the less nice-looking side-alleys. All in all, she thought she knew what to expect when coming to Orzammar's Dust Town.

Needless to say, Dust Town had completely broken that unexpectedly fragile illusion.

"Are you alright?"

Alistair's voice brought her awareness back where it should be, and she remembered just why she'd become so uncomfortable, so she nodded a yes, not even looking to see if it put him at ease. They'd actually stumbled upon a dwarven woman that was huddled in a corner, cradling a small bundle of a son in her arms. She wouldn't have even stood out from all the other people in that slum, except for the fact that her face wasn't in any way marked, a detail that Faren had been quick to remark on.

Apparently, she was actually of the mining caste and had been disowned by her family after giving birth to the son of a castless man. Since children get the status of their same-sex parent, that made the baby castless as well. So now, her father had cast her out and wasn't going to hear anything of her until she agreed to abandon the boy in the Deep Roads and pretend he'd never existed.

Faren, apparently, was getting quite pissed. "The guy you were with, your kid's father. Where is he? Why doesn't he do anything?"

"A question I ask every day. He was eager enough for a daughter who would bring him into the Mining Caste," Zerlinda answered, rocking her sleeping (and somewhat ill) child in her arms. "I suppose I was naive. I fell in love. He seemed so exotic, you know, tough and smart and never had to bow his head to anyone, but since the boy was born... I've not seen nose or heel of the lout. My parents disowned me and stripped my caste from me."

"What in all hells is wrong with these people?" Gwen snapped.

"It's my fault, ancestors curse me," the woman pronounced in self-defeat. "The shapers teach that only children of true lineage exist, not those born casteless. But they never carried a child. He cries like any other infant and smiles when he's warm and full. I can't kill him because of an accident of birth. An accident **I** forced on him!"

"Well then," Gwen stepped forward. "Seems like your family could use some reasoning with."

"Y-you would do that? But why?"

"Now now," Zevran chided from the side. "Must you look a gift warden in the mouth?"

Her face brightened just a little bit. "Then I cannot offer enough gratitude. But I warn you, my father is a stiff-necked man. His name is Ordel and he's usually at Tapsters in the evening. I do not think he will listen to you. But I will wait anxiously to see if you can do anything. I... have nowhere else to go really, so you'll find me and my son here."

Once that was over, Duran had Wynne take a look at the child, and she was able to make him feel better with just a small application of magical healing, much to Zerlinda's wide-eyed gratitude. They even passed her five silvers and, after they were far enough away, Duran expressed his annoyance at not having bought any food besides the one he'd given to that man earlier.

Some time later, they finally found Nadezda. She looked past her prime, in her late thirties, more or less, and she was sitting around one of those ghetto fires that there weren't many of. Mostly, they served as gathering places, away from the worst of the filth and the stench, since just some of the 'luckier' beggars managed to land the better spots, away from the dark streets where many a duster ended up beaten, sometimes even to death.

Gwen did her best not to think about what women went through when ending up in those places.

Nadezda definitely looked her age, and she had shoulder-long, brown hair, plus some rags, like an old servants' gown that had been discarded with the trash and salvaged at some point or another. Needless to say, it was torn in some spots and grimy but, then again, all dusters looked like that.

"Well, look at that. It's not often ol' Nadezda sees a fine-dressed stranger here in Dust Town. Help a poor cripple?" Her voice was like any middle-aged woman's, though it had the tone of resignation disguised as false cheer. The difficulty with which she stood up didn't really help Gwen's mood.

It was Alim that asked what they all wanted to know, however. "First we run into some idiot almost beating a man to death and now this. What on earth happened to your legs?"

"Did you **have** to ask so bluntly?" Alistair hissed.

"It's not like it's that hard to figure out," Faren said from the side, so it was only then that Nadezda recognized him, seeing as how he had his hood drawn over his face.

"Well, I'll be a drunken nug. You're Rica's little brother!" She seemed just honestly surprised, if anything. "You used to work for Beraht before you jaunted off to be a Grey Warden. What in the dust are you doing here?"

"I heard the carta's expanded since I left," the rogue replied, throwing his cowl back but not looking in any way merry.

Nadezda gave a brief glance around. "Jarvia's been real shrewd. Some of the men thought Beraht made a bad choice in her, but they're all feeding the lava. She killed a few of Beraht's relatives topside, got them in line, and the goods've been fast and steady since."

"Nadezda used to do some soldiering for Beraht before I did him in," Faren explained to the others.

"Aye, I did some soldiering for Beraht. Until some new-commissioned guardsmen decided to teach some brands a lesson," she confirmed bitterly. "I'd say it was an accident, try to get some sympathy coin, but you look like you'd rather hear the truth. I was running protection for the carta when some guardsmen caught me. Duster I was with had coin for a bribe, but I took a stand. Guardsman broke my sodding kneecaps and had me kneel in dung until the infection set in and I passed out from the pain. Never healed proper." She sighed. "Beraht tossed me on the street since I had no more use. Pretty much how my mam told me I'd end up."

"This is unbelievable," Kallian gasped. "Can they just get away with all this?"

"You think they shouldn't, you take them fancy clothes and tell the Assembly attacking a casteless should be a crime," Nadezda said fiercely. "I don't know where you're from, miss, but in Orzammar, casteless have no lineage, so it's no crime to hurt you."

"Maybe we can find another one of those guards like the one we... reeducated earlier," Gwen suggested with a scowl. "I do believe I would feel better after punching one of them."

"Careful, my dear," Zevran put in. "Or do you **want** to walk in on someone abusing another again?"

"That's not..." the woman stopped. "Damn. Fair point. Forget I said anything."

"Am I right in assuming that magic cannot fix this sort of injury?" Leliana whispered, looking meaningfully in Wynne's direction, to which the elderly mage shook her head.

"Strong healing relies on the intervention of benevolent spirits, and the stronger ones in the Fade, those of Faith, aren't easy to contact. It's more akin to luck. Either way, even my own... guest... doesn't have the power needed to heal something of the sort." _Although if we had more than one mage, we might stand a chance, albeit a very, very slim one._

Nadezda, thankfully, didn't catch that exchange, since the two female humans were farther at the back of the group. "You folks never did tell me. What takes you out of the Diamond Quarter?"

Faren walked close and chose a low level of voice, so as to prevent other from overhearing. "We're actually looking for an entrance to the carta's den. Since you used to run with Jarvia, we thought you might know something about that. I checked some of the old entrances I knew of but it's like they're not even there anymore, like they were collapsed or left unused for months."

"Well, I'm not in the good anymore, and Jarvia's gotten real careful lately. Real paranoid," she answered. "Some of those doors are sealed, aye. But there are others all over the city, and only one is ever open at a time, and if you show up without a token, you'd never know it was there."

"Tokens? What sort?"

"She's got carta members all carrying these finger-bone tokens. She scratches some mark into them, so she'll know they came from her."

"Hmm, so we just need to get someone to try and rob us," Zevran deduced, pressing a finger against his chin. "Might prove tricky, what with there being so many of us and with the heavily armored, very intimidating human couple here." he finished that sentence grinning in Alistair's direction, who actually seemed to blush as much as Gwen did (or more?).

"Thanks for the info," Duran finally spoke. "I think it warrants at least 20 silvers, right guys?" And he passed her the money.

"You folk are too generous," she uttered in awe. "I'll think of you when I go to bed with a full stomach."

"One more thing," Faren spoke again. "Is Leske still living here anywhere?"

"Oh, sure. You'll see him around. Not like when you two were cracking skulls together, though. You had the whole neighborhood terrified."

"We weren't that bad!" the redhead protested, shooting a wary glance in Kallian's direction.

Nadezda didn't seem to notice it. "Hey, you did scare a lot of folk into going into hiding or leaving for topside. Oh, but I should probably stop or you'll regret parting with your silver. My apologies."

"Better for them to hide or flee than to end up dead," Faren muttered.

After they finally left that place, they managed to find a spot where there weren't too many people around to overhear them (although it took a while to find one). "So," Faren broke the silence, not even bothering to show how much he disliked the fact that everyone saw the heap he'd come from. "This is where we castless spend our days. The raw stone and filth, since we're not allowed to live anywhere else." He did try to sound completely blase, of course, but he'd been growing more and more reluctant to hide his feelings around the others. It was like something inside him was screaming that it had had enough of faking good spirits.

Gwen didn't know this, of course, but his discomfort didn't escape her. That said, she also knew that trying to alleviate his state of 'this sucks' wouldn't help, so she did the wise and considerate thing and didn't say anything about what Nadezda had implied regarding what he used to do. "Well, that was an... invigorating discussion. Now all we have to do is somehow get lucky enough to just find one of those doors that looks like any old patch of wall or rock."

"And a finger bone token," Zevran added helpfully.

"And a finger bone token." She agreed.

"I think Zevran had a good idea earlier," said Alim. "We really don't look like an easy enough target. And I understand that just Alistair and Kallian were enough to scare the skin off some thugs that were harassing a merchant in the commons two hours ago."

"Well, they were threatening to break everything in his store if he didn't pay 10 sovereigns as protection money," the almost-templar explained hastily. "They weren't even bothering to be subtle about it either."

"Then they instantly made themselves scarce when Alistair glared at them," the city elf explained, grinning. "You should have seen them look like they'd been scared spineless by a metal giant, like a golem was staring them down or something."

"Kallian..." Alistair complained sheepishly.

"Well, your Templar armor would definitely have that effect I suppose," Gwen saw fit to agree. She knew she was probably enjoying his blush a bit too much but she found that the moments of him sipping back into his old, timid self were getting fewer and fewer. As such, she was going to enjoy these rare times as much as possible. "So, I propose we split up."

"I'm going to go look for that prat Leske," Faren decided immediately.

"I'm going with you," his elven significant other was quick to declare.

"Look, I appreciate it, but I, uh, would rather go by myself. You don't need to go see each and every hole I'm going to check." He scratched his head.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," Alistair uttered slowly. "These guys work in gangs you know..."

The former thug groaned. "You think I don't know that? I was one of them for years, in case you forgot." He stopped. "Not that I'm proud of it or anything... bah! Who cares? This is just something I want to do alright? I didn't realize I had to get everyone else's permission to go visit my old neighborhood."

"Faren," Duran interjected, flatly. "You are not going wandering around by yourself and that's final."

There was a pause.

"This is unbelievable," the rogue threw his hands in the air in frustration. "I never got blasted with that line... even from by mam **or** sister."

If Duran hadn't had his eyes covered in that headband, his raised eyebrow would have had a much stronger effect. He folded his arms in front of his chest. "Faren, just agree to let someone to accompany you before I raise the number of necessary companions."

"Fine fine, Kal can come, sheesh!" He made a placating gesture that amused Gwen to no end.

"Then it's settled," Kallian said, looking pleased (and smug). "We'll go looking for his friend of his and whatever other info we can find."

"Okay, then I'll take Alistair, Wynne and Leliana to settle some... business..." Gwen spoke, flat monotone fully in place. She then met Duran's 'gaze' (covered eyes and all). "Don't ask. it's nothing important."

"If you say so," the dwarf shrugged. "Then Alim and Zev are with me."

And they parted ways to accomplish whatever it was they wanted to do.

"-. .-"

It was just one minute after the split-up that Duran made a sudden stop and turned to stare Zevran straight in the face (well, as far as someone with eyes unceremoniously covered by a bandana could stare at someone).

"Something wrong?" Alim asked first, stopping in his own tracks and looking back.

"Not wrong," the exile answered, though it was the other elf he addressed afterwards. "Zevran... I would like you to do me a favor..."

"-. .-"

Faren Brosca really wished he hadn't been forced to take Kallian along with him. If there was anything he would want, it was to make sure she never had to see that hellhole. He'd been trying to get out of this heap, to get away from Dust Town, his whole life, but he couldn't because there was never a good enough Idea that would see his mother and sister safely away as well, especially after he turned fourteen and that scum Beraht sunk his... claws... into their lives.

Then, he got dumped into such a pile of shit that he wasn't sure he'd be able to get out of anymore. Admittedly, it kind of was, at least partially, his fault for impersonating that idiot Everd and entering the proving, but he really hadn't seen any recourse at the time. Either way, after escaping and killing that scum Beraht and the goons that would... harm... his sister, he was apprehended by the guards and knocked out (none too gently), until he and Leske were, yet again, in those same cells. Jarvia had, apparently, been all too fast in stepping in and bribing whoever it took to have the two of them 'delivered' back to her carta (again).

He was acting all defiant and kept glaring at those bastards, for lack of a better idea, but each minute the uncertainty over what would happen to Rica was sapping his will, piece by piece. No, not really uncertainty. With him gone, there was nothing stopping thugs from going after her, not to mention that she and mother would have been forced out of that slum house.

All because of his slip-up. He wasn't sure he would have been able to go on long before losing it or just going ahead and dying, by refusing to eat or something.

That he'd been rescued from that hole was nothing short of a miracle, and a lot more than someone... some**thing**... like him deserved. And then his life got skyrocketed straight to heaven just a few hours later, when Duncan, Stone honor him, showed up on his doorstep, (well, you could call it heaven if you didn't count the whole ghoul-to be, darkspawn-killing, Archdemon-wanting-you-dead part, among other, trifle things, like getting outlawed almost immediately... and being sent to the surface, that too).

All in all, he'd gotten more than he ever dreamed of, especially these... friends... which he knew he didn't really deserve. The only reason he didn't act all broody and self-defeating (and overall neurotic) or at least aloof was because he just couldn't help going headlong into honest cheerfulness in their proximity for some obscure reason. Logically, after everything he'd done, especially... back then... he knew (on an intellectual level) that the life he had was far better than what he should be suffering through, especially after just going away and leaving Leske behind to deal with the consequences.

He knew he shouldn't, but a part of him that had been dormant was now yelling 'I deserve a sodding break for once!' from deep inside him, even as some feeling he couldn't classify never really went away. Either way, his entire state of heart and mind could easily be summed up in three words.

Sodding Dust Town.

"Well, chew me up and swallow me whole! I never thought I'd see you back here. What happened, duster? You miss getting spit on?"

Now there was a voice he recognized, and probably belonged to the only connection to this place that he didn't completely abhor. "Leske, you rockworm! I missed getting you into trouble!" Leske, wearing what looked like the same old, run-down duster leather armor, was leaning against the side of a decrepit wall, rather hidden from view, but that didn't stop Faren from striding over there and giving one of those forearm/handshake things, just before pulling him into a hug for good measure. He didn't exactly have the time to notice Kallian falling behind and giving him space.

"I know. I've had to get all my trouble myself since you left. But you know, I got really good at it." Ah good, at least his attitude wasn't sour or anything. He'd managed more or less well (as far as dusters go at least). "Who's the elf?" He didn't restrain a leer either, although the lass in question was, thankfully, not looking in their direction.

"She's..." saying _lover_ would probably be weird and inappropriate, since they had yet to do **that** "...another Grey Warden. But anyway, I'm surprised you're even still here!" the redhead said.

"Where else would I go? Just because you and Rica managed to find a vein doesn't make anything different for the rest of us." The guy with braided hair somehow managed to make it sound like a casual, shrug-like declaration, a tone Faren knew all too well. It was the one used by any misfortune-hit sot trying to tone out all the crap thrown at them constantly. "You're a Warden, but I'm still a brand, and Dust Town's my home."

"Well, you could have left for the surface too you know," the now-Warden said hesitantly.

"Even then I'd have nothing to go on," Leske said back plainly. "And we don't all get to score the luck you did. Even I heard that you actually went and showed your stride in **another** proving and are even going in and out of Bhelen's palace like you belong there. You're playing some pretty high-stakes games. So why would you come back to Dust Town?"

"Well, **you** and wanting to know what happened to the carta mostly... I really was hoping to catch up with you."

"Well, I'm glad I caught you first, duster, because I've been keeping out of sight since you took off." At that, Leske glanced around, warily. "As for the carta, you can probably guess yourself. Jarvia didn't waste a day. Apparently, killing all possible competitors was her way of mourning. She made some kind of deal with Beraht's family topside, claimed to be his wife, and kept the whole lyrium trade flowing."

"The deal is probably what Nadezda said about her killing some of his family members..."

"Well, I wouldn't know," Leske said with another shrug. "Jarvia was Beraht's lover and she blames us for his death, so you can understand that I've been staying low since you left. And anyway, king Endrin's death really opened new ground. All of a sudden, guardsmen were all busy in the Diamond Quarter. Jarvia moved right in and has pretty much everyone scared of her now."

Faren was wondering why he wasn't feeling as relieved as he should be. "So you're not in the carta anymore?"

"Stone, no!" the braided one almost gasped. "You think Jarvia'd give me a hug and kiss for taking down her lover?"

"Right," the former thug frowned. "I was really hoping you'd know where she is..."

"Why in Stone's name would you be looking for her?" the other one asked incredulously.

"The others... my... friends I guess... decided we'd try and make things better for Orzammar at large while we're here looking for aid against the Blight massing topside."

"Blight... sounds serious," Leske nodded. "And you think killing Jarvia will make things better eh?" He started to wring his hands together but stopped abruptly. "Look, she'd kill me if she knew I know this, but after Bhelen took Rica up-city, the carta laid claim to your old home. They put a back entrance in. It just goes to some storage tunnels, but there's probably a way into Beraht's old estate from there."

"How in the world did they manage that?" Faren couldn't help but ask. "That place is basically on the fringe, right next to the lava. Was there even a thick enough layer of rock underneath it, or on any side, to allow for a tunnel?" Granted, he'd been shown how some brands had actually tunneled into the sodding royal palace (Bhelen really had a poor track record if even THAT happened under his nose) so he could admit they're probably give the smith caste a run for their money in making new passages, but really? This was a performance, although he had to admit he was no burrower to know for sure.

"I'll be a stalker's booze if I know," the other brand said. "Now I'd better get out of here before anyone sees us together. But, uh, tell me how it turns out." And he made off rather quickly.

"Well, that was a rather... short ... reunion..." Kallian noted as she walked over to him. "So that's Leske eh?"

"Yeah, that's him," the dwarf confirmed absently. "Anyway, I think I know what to check." But he'd really hoped he wouldn't have to. If anything, going back to that... place... was something he wanted to avoid as much as possible. Either way, what he was most sure of now was that he regretted agreeing to have Kallian along with him even more.

He really didn't want her to see the kind of place he'd lived in. It wasn't THAT horrible, by dust town standards, but it was nowhere near as clean as her home, not to mention that her folks were actually kind people, whereas he still had a lingering fear that he might still find a shattered bottle of mosswine under a table fallen over.

He wasn't sure if he wanted more to protect Kallian from the sight or protect himself from having her opinion of him ruined because of it.

Apparently, he was now hoping that the carta really had started to use his old place as an entrance, because that at least meant they'd cleared out the place of any aftermath of all bottle-against-wall episodes.

"-. .-"

Contrary to what some may believe, Zevran Arainai did know debt. The idea that he was nothing but a tool that constantly had to prove its worth, since it owed it to those that spent their coin on him, his training and his meals, had been drilled deep into his brain since he was a child. Granted, as time went by, he eventually reached the point where it was either laugh or scream, meaning that he could either rage against his fate and, thus, get disposed of (or go insane and **then** get disposed of), or to just go with what life gave and at least enjoy what he could.

Then, of course, came that last mission with Taliesen and Rinna, and his monumental screw-up that made him want to seek death at the hands of the fabled Grey Wardens. And then, life happened, and he ended up traveling with them, **after** the so-called leader made sure to put him through a nice amount of pain.

He'd initially thought that he'd landed in just as bad a pit as he'd ran away from.

But then he understood that it wasn't sadism or anything, just a special sort of punishment that, if he was to be honest with himself, he deserved after not only breaking that bonding moment between Faren and that adorable flower (whom he later found out was sick) but had even almost gotten the young dwarf killed, something that the commander definitely took offense to, to put it mildly.

Contrary to what some might think, Zevran Arainai was no fool either.

It only took him a day to grasp the dynamics in that group. Gwen and Alistair were obviously into each other... or were going to be soon enough, but neither had the disposition to make the next move. Faren (who he'd become a bit jealous of. He should not be so selfish as to keep that lovely flower all to himself!) was quite close to said flower. Alim and Morrigan, likewise, were getting involved, while Leliana was futilely trying to seduce the Warden (though Zevran did find the whole effort amusing).

Then, of course, there was Wynne, whom the leader had somehow mellowed into someone reasonable at some point (though she still pestered him about how killing was upposedly wrong) while Sten was always quiet and staring away, as though doing his best not to notice anyone below his eye level. Theron did much the same, only he took advantage of his tree-climbing skill to put that tendency to even greater effect. And there were also the two mabari and wolf. Ah yes, the two mabari and wolf.

Regardless, through that whole ordeal, Zevran Arainai had noticed two things.

For one, the bunch of people that even outright loathed each other in some cases (Alistair and Morrigan were exhibit A) were knitted together by a sort of unspoken and unseen cohesion that made it more than clear that either one of them would stand together against anything (even if Morrigan probably did it for her own reasons, she was likely starting to be confused by some newly awakened sensation of kinship and closeness with the elven mage warden). This, Zevran had later come to understand, was the effect of the Warden's leadership, who did not hold back from 'periodically pointing out the sheer retardedness of not being able to look beyond the little mental boxes they'd built around their brains' as Alistair had explained it to him.

Apparently, this dwarven noble led by letting everyone do whatever they wanted while also making sure that the consequences of their actions 'came back to bite them in the ass at the nearest possible opportunity' as Alim had reported. Zevran did agree that getting a smackdown now instead of getting killed later was preferable, and he understood at last just why he'd been shot in the back, punched and left to heal slowly upon joining. After all, the guy **was** just acting as the instrument of karmic justice... sort of.

The second thing he noticed was more subtle, but just as ever present. The Warden was far more careful and considerate of Faren than he was with everyone else, while also making sure to be just as strict as it took. At first, Zevran had assumed the first thing that came to mind (well, he **had** been raised in a whorehouse as a child). But as time went by, he realized it was not **that** but just an instinct of wanting to look after him, like a parent or elder sibling would. Still, he never really went past the part where he assumed it was just Faren's manner (cute badass, as Kallian had once called him) that instilled that sort of instinct, not until now. Dust Town definitely put things in perspective.

The former crow even now remembered that night, when he'd given the Warden that vial of sleeping draught. Zevran had made a point of adding some to his own tea and drinking some of it, to prove to the prince that it was safe. Of course, the Warden couldn't know that that cup of tea had the counter to that drug already in it, and that he hadn't really fallen asleep when the dwarf said "Thanks Zev" and left (although the fact he bothered to speak those words might be interpreted as the possibility that he knew he wasn't really sleeping, outlandish assumption though it may be).

Instead, the ex-assassin snuck out of his tent and watched, unseen and unnoticed, how the brand (who hadn't slept in 4 days because of worry for his ailing significant other, who was going through hell both in her sleep and while awake) finally fell into unconsciousness sitting by the fire, after unwittingly drinking that sleeping potion.

And then, the white-haired noble just held him, hugging his head against his chest, all the while reciting some strange litany, or prayer in his native tongue that Zevran couldn't really understand. He did, however, listen intently enough to know it wasn't just some short verses repeated over and over, but always different. Either he was making something up on the spot, or he'd been such a bookworm at some point in his life that he'd memorized an entire religious sermon.

The fact that it had taken two hours for him to finally carry Faren over to the tent hinted at the latter. The Antivan knew he should have probably have restrained himself, but he didn't, and snuck close enough to the tent to even hear him say "Goodnight little brother."

The assassin still had trouble believing those two were not related by blood. He also made sure to never, ever mention that bit to anyone (he WAS supposed to have been unconscious after all).

At any point in that half a night, If he'd really been looking for an opportunity to finish his 'job', Zevran wouldn't have had to look any further. He could easily (stupidly easily even) have killed them both, and everyone else (who were all asleep) right then and there (well, there was the matter of Shale and the dogs/wolf of course, but he had enough powders and brews to shake them off). Naturally, he did not choose that course.

Yes, Zevran Arainai knew debt, at that was exactly what the exile was trying to repay. After all, it was his kith that condemned Faren's own kind to this life of misery even worse than his (Zevran's) own life had been. This thought had carried him to the present. These Wardens were nothing like the Antivan Crows, which is why he was very eager to hear what the exiled prince wanted from him, what kind of favor he was asking once they split up from the others. He didn't really expect this, of all things.

Basically, he'd been ordered to shadow the two lovebirds (or lovemoles, or whatever dwarves used as a metaphor these days). In any other time, or if he'd been less insightful, the elf assassin would have likely been all giddy. After all, he'd been instructed to spy on Kallian Tabris and that Faren kid (with whom he'd entered a fairly animate rivalry even, one that he'd come to enjoy). In other words, this was just like stalking, only better! Because he could just blame it all on Raonar if he was caught! After all, 'follow them and don't let them see you unless absolutely necessary, just in case' was his exact order.

As it was, he was not that person right now. This 'favor' that he had been asked to accomplish was his first real opportunity to make up for having almost killed the two, Faren especially. It wasn't precisely regret or guilt, since he really was just doing the whole attempted assassination bit without any sort of spite. He wasn't blind to what this meant either. Essentially, he was being entrusted with the lives of those two people he'd been punished for endangering at the beginning.

Zevran Arainai knew debt well, and he knew just as well that repaying one felt good and satisfying. So he summoned every skill he had and managed to stay undetected as he followed them through those alleys and dusty passages of that slum. He'd listened through that conversation with that Leske fellow, even though he couldn't catch every word, having had to fall farther behind as Kallian had also done and he would have been detected otherwise.

After that dwarf left, he resumed his pursuit, steady and silent. It wasn't even that hard, as there was much darkness around every corner and walking silently was his specialty. Eventually, his charges (so strange to call them that) reached a derelict slum house, with one of those stone, thick doors. Then, they entered, and Zevran caught a glimpse of other people inside before the door was abruptly closed behind them.

'_Brasca!'_

"-. .-"

Looking back, he should have been more careful when entering, but as soon as the door was opened and he Kallian had walked in, some thugs came out of the shadows (that place was pretty dark in itself in absence of braziers or candles, though there was one on the back wall). Normally, he would have reacted sooner, only one of them was able to jump Kallian from behind and get her in an armlock (the dagger to her throat didn't help matters).

Faren Brosca was only dimly aware of the adrenaline rush filling him and of how his temples were throbbing.

"Well, look what we have here..." The leader of those thugs was a rough-looking, short-haired duster. His underlings numbered five in total. Two had swords and shields (and were flanking him), while one had immobilized Kallian and the other two were carta assassins, leather armored and dual wielding daggers. "You were looking for trouble. So congratulations, you've found it."

The now Grey Warden glanced sideways at how deeply Kallian had scowled but realized she was in no position to defend herself, or at least made it look like that. "You don't like your arms much, do you?" he growled menacingly and the one threatening her.

"There there, no need to get violent," the leader chided. "If you care about the pretty lady, you'll throw down your weapons."

"You've got to be joking," Kallian herself said in disbelief, just before the blade moved a bit closer to the skin on her neck. Her sword had already been removed from her.

"Weapons. Down." The 'boss' said again. "We know you won a proving so you'll pardon us if we're not stupid enough to take you head-on."

"Cowards," Faren spat but unclasped the belt that held his daggers and let it, and them, fall on the dusty stone floor. "You give all of us dusters a bad name."

"And the chain," one of the two on both his sides (though out of reach) added.

"Faren, don't," she urged, but to no avail, as he took his chain away from his side and let it fall noisily, after which he did the same to his strap of throwing knives on his leg and the hidden knife in his right boot.

It took a lot of self control to do it too, since he had to actively prevent his arms from trembling with his bubbling rage that had become more and more intense. There was a primal instinct that kept screaming at him to jump on the bastard that was threatening her life. His anger also prevented him from realizing that, contrary to what that cesspit had taught him, he was not putting his own survival above everything else just now.

Of course, this left them a bit stuck as to what to do next. Naturally those idiots would come at him first, since doing anything to **her** automatically removed their hostage advantage and he'd have nothing stopping him from just grabbing his weapons and slaughtering them, unless they were at least reasonably skilled, although that would only delay their death a bit, nothing more. They'd signed their death warrants when they dared lay their hands on her.

The two assassins began to close in on him from both directions. The two bastards that were going to tackle him at once were just out of his reach on both sides.

Yes, there were just three words Faren needed to describe his liking of his current situation.

Sodding Dust Towm.

And then the door burst open with a loud noise.

There was a double snick sound, and Faren Brosca's both arms had already been thrown wide out, palms drawn back as two wrist blades were now deeply embedded in the throats of his would-be aggressors. He gave them only a moment to widen their eyes in shock before he violently withdrew his hands, and only then did blood sprout like geysers out of them, staining his cloak as he leaned to one side. Not much, but just enough to catch the motion of one of those two and grab him just right for a perfect throw.

Five second into the fight, the 'boss' barely managed to dive away with an "OH SHI-" as his underling was sent flying towards him. The distance was not that big, so one of his bodyguards was slammed full-force by the human projectile and hit his head against the wall with a rather loud thwack when the force sent him tumbling backwards.

"_Wait, what?"_

Only at that point did Faren realize what had just happened, so he whirled around, terrified he might have just botched things. _"Sodding survival instincts!"_ only to see both Kallian and her aggressor dizzily trying to get off the floor. Apparently, when the door burst open, it had smashed them both.

Hard.

_"Wait, door?"_

There was something like dark fog shrouding the entrance, so no one could react well enough to the sight of a sort of bottle being tossed into the room, right at the thug boss's feet (who had managed to drag himself to stand at some point). The glass burst and the liquid became gas instantly, causing those last two to become dazed for some reason.

Faren didn't pay them any mind, however, as he had already jumped on top of the one that had manhandled Kallian and took hold of his head with both hands.

Snap.

Dying instantly from a broken neck was more than he deserved for laying his hands on her.

Bastard.

"You'd think they would run away more," a familiar voice joked, just before a certain elf (complete with grey cloak) walked into that slum house, throwing knife dancing between his fingertips.

The brand thought of rushing over to his other companion, but she was faster and had already come close enough and put a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, calm down. Your arms are trembling." And she sounded rally worried too. "I'm fine, see? Just a bit roughed up," she shot Zevran a smile, "because of how the door smashed into me."

"Apologies, cara mia," the Antivan let out with a deep bow. "I had to be sudden, and you must admit that it solved whatever problem you were having most effectively, no? I shall, of course, endeavor to be more gentle in the future."

"Ugh.." the 'boss' and the only goon still conscious groaned in unison, finally getting their wits back together.

"You..." Ah yes, that was the guy responsible for endangering Kallian. Faren began to step towards him, slowly, clenching and unclenching his fists and wearing a searing glare.

"D-don't kill me! Please!" the guy screamed in true fear. "Sodding ancestors, what do they teach you on the surface? You fight like a bleedin' Archdemon!"

Unfortunately, Faren had already taken him by the throat.

"P-please! They know where I live! I-I have a little girl there!" he gasped out. "I was just doing what Leske asked! Said Jarvia gave the word to make sure you never left!"

"... WHAT?"

"He told us he'd get you here. All we had to do was take you out!" the scared bruiser managed to sputter now that his neck wasn't so tightly held. "You don't disobey Leske, you know? He's Jarvia's top man!"

"What? He's working for Jarvia?" There were equal parts rage and disbelief smashing against each other just then. "You're lying!" He had to be lying, This couldn't be real.

"I swear!"

Lucidity was no longer even an issue at that point.

Just as before, just three words were enough to outline his state of mind.

"F_ucking Dust Town!"_

"-. .-"

_Excerpt from journal of Senior Enchanter Wynne_

_05 Pluitanis, 9:31, Dragon:__ Some might say that things are getting exciting but I find that they are merely becoming more complicated. What we've witnessed... what __**I've**__ witnessed today is something I would not wish upon anyone. After seeing this Dust Town for myself, and the sort of policies dwarves have, I am starting to understand just why Duran is so protective of that young lad._

_ Speaking of Faren, he, along with Kallian and Zevran, came back just a short time ago. The poor lad looked like he was about to smash something but settled for dumping a fingerbone token on the table in the common room before just walking out and heading for his quarters. Kallian told us of the encounter in his former home and of how she'd had to calm him down before he agreed to let that 'poor fool' and his still living aides go with their lives._

_ Poor lad, to have the closest thing to a friend betray him like this. All of us, except Morrigan (probably) are trying to keep an open mind about this, and what Zevran could tell us of the discussion with this Leske fellow leaves enough room for speculation, but this really isn't looking well._

_ Some of us ended up spending some time in this common room that the Grey Warden estate has. I must say this establishment is very luxurious, even by my standards. After we learned of what happened in Dust Town, Gwen, Leliana, Alistair and some of the others decided to try and distract themselves from that mess by playing with this odd, bunny-pig hybrid called a nug. Turns out that the 'business' Gwen spoke about when she took Leliana along through that slum was so they could find someone that could catch a nug that Leliana could use as a pet._

_ Schmooples she named it. The animal became the center of attention and managed to chase away most of the heavy atmosphere that had settled in after Faren's return. It would have probably lasted too, if not for Duran. He'd been slowly drinking a glass of wine during the whole 'doting on the nug' episode. I should have probably realized something was amiss from how he'd lapsed out of his regular, humorous persona, although, to be fair, Theron and Sten had already retired and Alim was sitting to the side with Morrigan, so he wasn't the only one not enamored with that pink blob._

_ It became immediately clear that something was most definitely not fine when the noise of broken glass filled the chamber. Silence fell as everyone present looked at him and saw that, for some reason or another, he'd gripped that glass tight enough to crush it into shards in his grasp. The red from the wine had well mixed with his blood and remained indistinguishable as he quaintly began to pull out those shards out of the flesh of his palm._

_ Soon after, he walked over to the door and, before leaving, said that he'd be helping some nug wrangler called Boermor recover the animals he's lost in the commons._

_ I should have realized that everything piling up would start to grate on him sooner or later. The reason I didn't bother to even think about it was probably the fact that Duran had managed to aggravate me when he confused Brother Burkel enough (before the abused beggar episode) that he was seriously doubting the validity of the Chant and had decided to stop preaching until he figured out if that really was his calling. I really didn't approve of him doing that, though I suppose I should not be that surprised. _

_ Regardless, it's been hours and it's high time we turned in for the night but he still hasn't returned. Alim left to look for him a few minutes ago._

"-. .-"

After quite a bit of searching, Alim Surana was fairly certain that 'Duran' had not returned to the diamond quarter, so he descended into the Commons, where he decided to just skip the part where he went and asked around for him. Instead, he skirted on the edge of a certain deal and activated the 'point me' capabilities of the spirit fragment embedded into his left arm.

It pointed... up?

There was a pause.

Most dwarven 'buildings' were actually carved out of the stone itself, so they didn't have a roof one could get on top of. The commons, however, being the oldest part of the city and the most vast, had a larger number of dwellings of this type than the other levels. There were also a bunch of massive columns that actually seemed to support the ridiculously high up 'ceiling' of the inside of that mountain. What's more, in typical dwarven style, there were various architectural elements large enough for one to sit on.

Provided someone had the ability to jump very high or long distances, it was not totally impossible to get on top of a house, and then even higher, until one reached a sort of archway and either stood or sat on it, from where one could behold the commons and the lake of lava, not to mention the proving grounds, from high above. This was, basically, the only explanation Alim could think of for how Duran had actually managed get to this very type of spot.

Simply put, he was sitting, cross-legged, on... something, way up there, performing a task that Alim couldn't make out from that distance. After a moment, the elf realized it was hardly impossible for the dwarf to get up there, what with those pulsing steps of his. Of course, it was probably easier in this instance, since he was wearing chain-laced clothes instead of his thick and massive coat of plates, so jumping and running, magic-aided, would have been easier than usual.

Alim decided to make some free use of his magic and just get up there himself. He didn't exactly fly, but he could still add some momentum to his every leap with no big effort. Normally, he would just turn into a bird, but he'd been instructed to keep his shapeshifting abilities a secret in Orzammar. Thus, one jump got him on top of a shop, while a second one allowed him to land right behind where the dwarf was sitting.

Duran was, oddly enough, using a sharpening stone on a sword he'd probably bought for the specific reason of having something to scrape that rock against.

Yes, this was likely the first time Alim ever saw the commander truly frustrated.

"Wow, rub that stone against that blade much more and ther'll be no edge left."

"I" -snick- "am" - snick - "aware."

"It's getting kind of late,' Alim really was a bit at a loss. Talking to someone's back was annoying, even if he wouldn't see much of his face if he moved up in front, what with the bandana over his eyes.

"I" - snick - "know."

"How long have you been up here?"

-scrape- "Irrelevant." -scrape-

The elf decided this was going to require bluntness, so he used his magic to complement for his not very stellar sense of balance and levitated over to his front, until he landed right in front of the dwarf and crouched. The black suede duster (coat) even billowed magnificently, not that anyone noticed, except maybe gawkers below, if there were even any out at that hour. Duran didn't look up, instead keeping his covered eyes firmly on the edge of that sword.

Currently, Alim Surana had crouched low and his relaxed arms were being supported by his knees. "You know, this brooding thing looks really silly on you." He abruptly lost his balance for a scary moment as his supporting magic failed him and he almost fell off. He managed to catch himself and recover, at which point he realized that the prince had probably glared at him, since he was now facing him.

Well, he did have the issue of causing magic to go nuts, so of course Alim would have to focus harder than usual to keep his balance-enhancing spell working.

"I am channeling" -scrape- "this annoyance" -scrape- "into something productive."

"On a sword no one will ever use," the elf added dryly.

"What do you want Alim?" - snick - "Or is it just that you won't be able to sleep" - snick - "if I don't oblige your desire" - snick - "to hear me whining?"

"This insult spree is already out of character," Alim noted. "And besides, you're already whining."

There was a pause.

"True enough," the dwarf conceded, finally letting his sharpening stone-holding hand in his lap.

"I'm guessing this is more than just your regular reaction to children, and Faren, getting betrayed or harmed?" he ventured to guess.

"I am pissed as all hell," the dwarf smashed without any more preamble. "Just when things are looking up a bit, **this** happens, and to him no less. It's like there's some strange natural law that has to preserve the metaphorical shit quotient." He resumed sharpening that weapon. "Some" -scrape- "new" -scrape- "shit" -scrape- "always" -scrape- "happens." -scrape- "And yes, it's about more than this."

"The cursing and slurring made that much clear," Alim deadpanned.

There was a deep sigh. "All the nobles are trying to play everyone else for their own benefits. Harrowmont is the exception, but he has to make deals and alliances of his own. Then there's the higher houses, who keep outplaying each other while exploiting the smaller ones. All in all, half the city is playing politics in Harrowmont's favor, while the other threw its lot in with Bhelen. Bhelen, of course, thinks he's outsmarting them all and is constantly looking to manipulate and deceive, just because he wants attention and the feeling of respect and reverence, even though it's all for a lie, a stale imitation that will never satisfy him. it's like he's addicted to lies."

"..."

"Small houses are planning gambits to gain profile and oust older veteran ones, while the latter want to grow at the expense of the former. Then, there's Frandlin Ivo, who's constantly working all possible sides, those being Bhelen's, mine, that of his house and his own, provided he has his own interests that differ from everything else he does. He's a sort of quadruple agent really."

"..."

"Schemes on top of schemes, a real pileup of lies an deceit, and I try to not play this filthy game yet still pretty much keep a strong rein on it, and now this happens. Something always happens." He sighed again and waited for a while before talking again. And he sounded so distant. "I feel like, one of these days, I'm going to miss something and things will just spiral out of control."

"I think you worry too much," the mage found himself saying.

"For people like me, who practically have the fate of entire nations in their hands... there's really no such thing." He looked at the sharpening stone for no particular reason. "Even a small oversight will spell trouble." He frowned, visible even through the headband, and the stone met silverite again.

-scrape- "Fucking Orzammar." -scrape-

"You're not going to come down from here regardless of what I say..."

"Until I get over this, no. Don't worry, it won't take all night and I'll be ready for the raid on the Carta tomorrow... probably."

Hearing the blase tone, and seeing that Duran hadn't even looked at him, Alim just stood up, turned around, and jumped off, which meant that he fell and fell and gained speed, until it looked like he'd turn into a smear upon hitting the commons' 'street.' Three meters above the ground, his jump abruptly slowed down and the air whirled around him from the magic release, calming only once his feet touched down, his coat floating down slowly behind him, after fluttering the rest of the way. Levitation was taxing, but momentary slowing in falls was much easier to manage.

Needless to say, being the totally nonchalant person he was, Alim Surana completely ignored the few guards out and about staring at him in awe and daze. He simply began to walk back towards the Grey Warden quarters in the Diamond Quarter.

"-. .-"

06 Pluitanis, 9:31 Dragon was definitely not going to be a day easy to forget for the Grey Wardens 'visiting' the dwarven city of Orzammar (or for the city itself). As such, knowing what they were about to do, the visitors made sure all possible loose ends were tied up. After all, they wouldn't want to have the backlash from their actions hurt more people than it should. As such, before launching the attack, if it could even be called such, they reviewed everything they'd heard.

Yes, everything they could do, they'd done. They'd even accepted that guy Rogek's proposal to smuggle a big box of raw lyrium to the Circle of Magi. Well, Duran had decided to take him up on his offer saying, some time later, that he would like to have lyrium in handy, 'just in case.' Upon being asked to elaborate, he almost broke the integrity of the universe (or so Alistair thought) by **actually agreeing to explain**, which was against all natural law for him

"Just in case we get landed with another Connor situation_,"_ was what he'd had anything against the decision afterwards.

The only other task they could have done was to somehow solve Zerlinda's woe, but Duran had already done it. Apparently, after getting tired of failing to relieve his frustration on the blade the previous evening, he went over to Tapsters' Tavern, finally finding Ordel and giving him a nice piece of his mind (he would not say just what words he'd used). The miner accepted his daughter back, along with the child, something Zerlinda herself was completely astounded by. According to the prince-in-hiding, she'd actually promised to send her son to swear himself a knight in his service when he grew up.

Which, under Orzammar law, would not exactly be common or permitted (usually), since miners should stay miners. This only cemented the belief that the case system should not be so rigid if even citizens were driven to such fantasies.

"Well, everyone ready?' Gwen asked.

They had gathered in front of that entrance they had been directed to. Everyone was suited up in the best equipment they had. The ones there, besides Zevran (who had shown them the way) were Alistair, Sten, Wynne, Morrigan, Leliana and Theron (plus the dogs and wolf).

"Right behind you," Alistair said loyally.

"Let us be done with this if we must," Sten spoke from his ever so high vantage point.

"Yes, the sooner we are finished with this, the sooner I can go take a bath. All this dust is maddening," Morrigan complained, plucking something imaginary form the sleeve she did not have.

"Strangely enough, I agree with Morrigan," Leliana followed.

"Perhaps you are not a lost cause after all then," the aforementioned witch snarked.

"So much like an old married couple you two are," Zevran quipped, feigning innocence, though both women glared daggers at him simultaneously (although the bard seemed to blush and Morrigan looked mildly horrified).

"And it seems universal laws go ignored again," Alistair decided to say with a grin. "Since I happen to agree with Zevran on this, something that doesn't usually happen."

Wynne began rubbing her forehead and stifled a grumble. Actually, only Theron managed to remain totally unaffected by the madness around him (not counting Sten of course). He had, after all, no real expectations from shemlen, especially not when it comes to sanity.

"Alright you lot," Gwen pitched in, loud enough to stop their antics. "Let's move!"

What followed was not really eventful... at first. They inserted the finger bone token, slid the door open, entered a tunnel which, though a bit narrow at first, widened into a sort of underground cave and chamber complex. The first door they found led into a fairly large entrance hall filled with barrels and crates of many sizes. The welcoming party was there, namely a bunch of dwarves, one of them looking scruffier than the rest and possibly being their leader.

Sure enough, he stepped up and didn't seem to realize just who those people were. "What's the password?"

Of everyone, only Sten wasn't taken by surprise by that, this being shown by how he so very unceremoniously stepped in front and whacked the guy over the head.

Hard.

With a red steel-gauntleted fist.

After the victim of Sten's wrath became a prone heap, there was a moment of stunned silence before the other carta thugs finally scrambled together and began to pull out weapons. Of course, by then, the intruders had already jumped for cover or begun to cast spells or whatever they were doing.

"Shall we compete for points?" Zevran was heard asking form somewhere.

Sten sighed and looked at Asala, firmly held in his grasp, like he was begging her to deliver him form this cruel world. "This madness is kadan's fault. I am certain of it."

"-. .-"

"Welcome to Janar Family Armorers," the middle-aged dwarven smith said when Duran, Alim, Faren and Kallian entered his shop in the commons. "Looking for a new set of mail? At Janar's we have everything from leather to platinum." He then eyed the former castless rogue. "I, uh, assume you have some kind of dispensation to let you wear all that?"

"Yes. I'm a Grey Warden. How many times do I have to say it?" the dwarf in question responded impatiently.

"Many apologies, I had to ask. So, what can I help you with? We take commissions, sell equipment, even take items on trade."

"You're Dagna's father then?" Alim asked.

"Aye. Has she been bothering you? Gets a whiff of surface stink and she's like a cave tick-won't let go."

Alim had, meanwhile, walked around and was looking at the goods on display on shelves, or was pretending to.

"Your daughter wants to study at the Circle of Magi," Duran informed him.

"That girl! I've been telling her for years to give up those foolish notions," the man complained. "Magic's a human trick; if Dagna wants enchantment, I can apprentice her to a lyrium crafter. Either way, she's a smith. The ancestors granted her to us to carry out that role, not pretend to be what no dwarf can."

"What no dwarf can, you say?" the apparently blind-folded, brown-bearded one asked, raising his hand to his face and pulling his gauntlet off. Then he shocked the dwarf out of his mind by having a sort of white light start coming out through his skin, until it coalesced in a sort of mist, like multiple threads floating about. "Really?"

For a while, Janar just stared there dumbstruck, so of course, he didn't realize that a certain elf had snuck behind him until a hand was on his shoulders.

For all the good it did him.

"Hmm, you dwarves rally are annoying," Alim pronounced once the unconscious Janar was comfortably seated in that armchair of his. "I actually have to **concentrate** on my magic if it's going to have any effect. Troublesome. Even a sleep spell actually takes effort."

The dwarven wardens were already at the far wall, which was covered in a suspiciously large, single-piece set of shelves. "So you're sure this used to be the shop Beraht used as a cover?" the bandana-wearing one asked, stroking his beard as he faced the furniture.

"Yeah, just let me see if I can find a switch or something. The direct route to his shitty 'estate' should be just behind here."

Faren Brosca did begin inspecting and fiddling with the tools on show and whatever else, but Alim Surana apparently got tired quickly and decided to just telekinetically force the whole passage open. He'd grown fond of waving that silver wand around lately and hadn't even brought his staff along for some reason.

"Ah good, passage located," Kallian assessed. "Let's just hope the others provide a big enough distraction."

Turns out that the tunnel was actually a lot better lit than they'd expected. There seems to be unusually bright lyrium veins high up here and there. After about a dozen paces, the spacious tunnel (it was large enough to fight in even) took a turn and a stone door was spotted up ahead. They all did their best not to make too much noise, though the two rogues in the group walked in front and went close enough to listen in.

"-. .-"

The room was rectangular and pretty huge, with part of it, on the far side, elevated about a foot above the rest (steps let one go up and down on both sides of the chamber). There were four columns delimiting a square in the middle, right where Jarvia was waiting.

"You're saying they found the way in?" the carta leader asked said gruffly.

The messenger looked a bit tense but no less driven. "Aye, them bunch are up front."

"Seems like you were right," she told Leske, who was standing not far away from her, leaning against the wall, expression a bit sour. She addressed the thug, however. "Set the other boys on them then. Show them what a mistake they made."

"Got it." And he was off.

The door shut behind him with a really loud noise too, which was probably what contributed to everything that went down immediately after that. About a minute after the thug had left to gather everyone to go and resist the attempted attack, the other entrance (which led to the Commons) swung open violently and allowed two... things to fly in.

There were about a dozen different thugs in that room. Three of them started choking on smoke, all crossbowmen located opposite from said entrance. The next instant, another glass flask shattered against the ground, only closer to the door, again releasing dark smoke.

The carta members could only stand alert when the fluttering of a cloak signaled that someone had dove into the chamber, but none could react before a figure appeared right in front of the three aforementioned, dazed bandits. A standard judo throw had one slam against another, while a roundhouse kick to the face took care of the third one. only then, did a certain, former lackey of the now dead Beraht pause and turned to behold Jarvia, Leske and everyone else.

And, of course, by then, the smoke had cleared, revealing another dwarf, silverite-clad, and two elves. One was a blonde young woman dressed in a sort of mix between leather and chainmail, while the other one had very long, dark hair, most of it (except for a really long strand in front of his face) gathered in a ponytail. He had a black outfit on, jacket and pants, plus a coat reaching as low as his ankles, also black.

"-. .-"

"If it isn't our little runaway. Finally come back to finish the job?" Jarvia taunted.

Faren realized he couldn't exactly look at Leske right now. "Who did you have to kill to make Leske turn on me?"

"Make him?" the ugly bitch sounded surprised. "Who do you think suggested going after you? Leske's been licking my feet to get back in favor ever since you crawled out from under Beraht's corpse. When he heard you were in town, he finally had a way to prove his loyalty."

"Leske? How could you do this?" There had to be some explanation, something. Anything.

"What was I supposed to do? You were gone and Jarvia's pulling the strings. Not all of us got your opportunities."

"I'd never have stooped to this, betray you like this..."

"You got too much sun on the brain. You forgot what it's like." Leske sounded like he was trying to persuade himself of that as much as he was trying to get Faren to see his point. "Go off, be a Warden, rah-rah. I'd have shared a mug for it, sure. But I still gotta live here. Maybe you forgot with all that sun blinding you, but there weren't too many options."

"I can't believe you trust her after what that Beraht bastard did to us!"

"You messed with his plan! He lost thousands of sovereigns because of us. What else could he do?"

"Oh please, you're not even convinced of that yourself," the now Warden shot back.

"Dammit man, it doesn't matter! When Beraht died, Jarvia came out on top. She's got the swords, she's got the coin, and she's got the bed where I sleep. If you were here, you'd have done the same."

"No." Shockingly enough, it was a different dwarf that said that, and all eyes were suddenly on him. And of course he was as unnerving as ever with that cloth over his eyes. "He wouldn't have done the same."

"Definitely," the elf lass enforced, slowly drawing her sword.

"Leske... please, step aside," the youngest Brosca pleaded, clenching his fists until they went white even in the reddish light characteristic of the underground city (not that it was visible under his leather gloves).

And Jarvia laughed. "Hahaha! We'll see who holds the leash, here. Leske, kill him."

"_Dammit! Fucking dust town!"_

Normally, one would have used the stairs to run down and charge, but as soon as 'kill him' had been uttered, Faren Brosca entered Dark Wolf mode and vaulted overhead through the air, landing well into the middle of the room, sliding in a crouch and continuing in an ascending front kick that knocked the senses out of a most unfortunate minion. In hindsight, he should have probably kept his wits about him, especially considering that he'd had a whole night to emotionally prepare for this.

Unfortunately, he just lunged forward and gave up on paying attention to anything else as he engaged his old friend in hand-to hand combat.

"-. .-"

Two seconds into the fight, the dwarven prince in hiding had already gained a pair of arrows embedded in that shield of his and was making his way to the far side of the room, so as to flank the assassins that were creeping up on Faren from behind. Alim had already sent a nice sleep spell in the direction of two crossbowmen (it had, thankfully, worked) while Kallian had spotted a trap and jumped clear of the tripwire trigger (it was a really thin and subtle one too, one that would have blown up in her face in a very literal sense).

This wasn't a battle where the exile needed to maintain appearances, so he uncovered his eyes and channeled magic freely, jumping over all the stairs and charging straight for his target, making his introduction by means of a shield bash to the face. He was able to parry the sword of another and pummel him in the head with his targe's edge, but before he could deliver a gauntlet punch to knock him out, he felt a singeing pain in his lower back and barely managed to whirl around in time to swipe the area behind him with his own weapon.

That had been a close enough call and, to make matters worse, Jarvia herself had been the one to almost seriously wound him. Of course, his plate mail wasn't that easy to penetrate, but not impossible either. The carta leader had managed to duck away in time but that didn't give Duran any time off, because two fighters jumped him at once. One tackled him from behind and tried to restrain him, while another lunged at his front with a broadsword.

Okay, that was it.

"Unhand me."

A flash of light left his feet as he kicked them both forward, hitting the aggressor straight in the chest. Both the brand and himself (along with the one restraining him) were sent flying backwards, the latter right into a wall. Basically, he sandwiched the one trying to hold him from behind and knocked the wind out of him instantly. Unfortunately, once he landed back on the floor and tried to make his way past some crates, intent on taking Jarvia on, since she so dearly wanted it, he heard the noise of a metal string being stretched somewhere around his feet.

There was no time for a pause.

"OH SHI-"

The following explosion was hot, loud and very painful.

"-. .-"

Alim had heard that there might be mages and Qunari mercenaries working for the carta, but there seemed to be none of them in this particular chamber, which was just fine with him. Meaning that it was already hard enough to keep up with all these dwarven castless thugs even without having to worry about accidental magic or whatever apostates had to show off.

The first order of business, namely softening up some goons for Duran, had been a success, but he had to dive behind cover the next instant in order to (barely) avoid getting ever so unceremoniously shot down by a crossbow bolt. Said projectile struck against the stone wall and rattled near him, at which point he picked it up and realized it was poisoned.

This was most assuredly not good.

No longer bent on holding back, even though Duran **had** said that he would like the death toll to be as low as possible, he cast a forcefield on himself and stood up. Immediately two more bolts appeared, but they were harmlessly deflected by said forcefield. This really was a useful spell, because it made one more or less invulnerable as long as nothing from inside disrupted it.

Doing his best to tune out all the grunts and sounds of weapons clashing, he took in the scene. Faren and Leske were fighting with abandon, neither using any weapons. It was like they were having a martial arts duel, so immersed they both were that they weren't paying any attention to what was happening around them. Alim actually couldn't stop himself from gaping when both rogues ran half-way up supporting columns, jumped around and spun through the air, ending up with their forelegs in a cross-kick that one doesn't usually find anywhere except in illustrated books, or maybe particularly exciting dreams.

Another deflected bowshot mercifully snapped the elf out of his daze and he noticed that Kallian had taken Jarvia on by herself. That dwarven woman seemed stronger than her and reasonably agile too, and she wielded two knives with ferocity, but the city elf had more reach with her weapon, and better technique. Miss Tabris also seemed particularly furious in her assault, only it wasn't detrimental to her performance, mostly the sort of tranquil fury that jumpstarts one's prowess in times of duress.

Like it was personal.

The elven mage was forced to rejoin the fray when he heard the noise of the explosion and saw Duran being thrown through the air (again), and hitting his head against the wall rather painfully. It was then that Alim jumped over the railing of that higher floor level (wisely avoiding going within the space delimitated by those four columns in the middle).

The landing was softened by momentary levitation, and the motion which returned him to a standing position was accompanied by condensation, and ice growing to shape itself like a staff that had a blade on one end and an orb on the other. The wand in his left hand sent a white, lighting-shaped bold of kinetic force straight into the chest of a crossbowman. The thug was thrown overhead, and when the tip of the ice staff in Alim's right hand hit the floor, the only remaining archer was caught by surprise as huge icicles grew from the ground and shredded his muscles.

It wasn't really lethal, but he was cut in various places and the cold seeped into his bones and sent him headlong into hypothermia.

"Idiot!" Jarvia yelled at one of the remaining thugs, sounding a bit out of breath. "Get more of the boys in here! And those mercenaries!"

Somehow, the guy was able to dash out the door before Alim could send him flying from afar.

"-. .-"

Kallian Tabris didn't really feel like saying anything to this dirty-looking, crass woman. All she needed to know was that she was responsible for Faren's heartbreak and how he was now locked in a duel to the death with the closest thing to a friend he'd ever had.

Yes, this was personal. She was going to make sure Jarvia was going to pay for destroying his life. She would make sure the 'woman' was never going to destroy anyone else's life either.

"-. .-"

_"Uugh... my head," _ Is what Duran **would** have said if he wasn't too dazed to speak. The hit to his skull had been rather bad, and he could feel some of the skin on his face was blistered. He'd have to heal it later, unfortunately. Right now, the first order of business was to make the room stop wobbling somehow. And was there something wrong with the laws of gravity? Or was it something else that made him feel like he was drifting in every direction at once?

Oh yeah, the blow to the head.

With some effort, he managed to remember on which leg his potion pouch was, and he brought a poultice to his mouth. It didn't heal him fully, but at least he could actually see things double instead of triple now, and the view wasn't as skewed.

But when he saw things clearly enough again, he almost froze.

No, this required swift action, so he charged forward, uncaring of whether or not he'd get burned by any more traps.

"-. .-"

Two kicks met again. "Dammit, Leske, why don't you just back down!"

The dwarf in question did not relent. "She was right you know," he did sound tired at least, but he managed to deflect a punch. "I really was the one who suggested going after you." He made to kick at Faren's chest, but was met by a cross guard, so he withdrew his foot and immediately sent it to his face. The Warden ducked and spun, performing a sweeping kick that the carta fighter was, nonetheless, able to avoid by making a one-hand backflip.

"There weren't any options!" Faren yelled as he jumped overhead and brought his foot down in an axe kick. "That's always your excuse!" The kick met stone but was immediately followed by a roundhouse variation that broke through Leske's defenses and hit him in the jaw. "Always with excuses!"

The one with braids tumbled and rolled, but was able to recover his footing somehow. "There's no point in talking..." The distinct sound of a dagger being pulled carried through the air as Leske armed himself at last. "In the end, none of us really has a choice. We do what we have to."

"Dammit!" the redhead was only dimly aware of the dagger in his own hand. "Dammit!" he caught Leske's wrist as the latter tried to plunge his weapon into him. Had he the room, the warden would have somehow tossed Leske aside or something, but they'd come to be too close to the wall.

_'Survival! Always sodding survival! It shouldn't depend on this kind of shit!" _But his body was moving of its own volition._ "Fuck!" _His right hand gripped the hilt of the knife tight, and the thrust came by itself.

_"Fucking dust town!"_

_ "Fucking carta!"_

_ "Fucking nobles!"_

He failed to reign in his instincts, and all he could command his body to do was shut his eyes, so that he could at least not see his old friend's look as he sunk that blade into his heart.

He felt the weapon strike something and go through it, but the noise... why did it sound like nails grating on a blackboard?

It was only a few seconds later that he realized he was trembling, and that his tears were coming out even though his upper eyelids were welded shut to his lower ones. And then, a shiver went through him when his own hand was gripped by something.

_Wh-what?_

Eyes finally open, he met the image of a certain other dwarven warden that had somehow come to be between him and Leske. The latter had a stupefied look on his face, though it was most likely justified, considering that the blade that should have pierced his heart had gone through Duran's right palm and even come out through the silverite plating on the back of the hand. It was the fingers of that stabbed hand that had come around Faren's fist.

Duran no longer had a shield encumbering his left arm.

As such, nothing stopped him from delivering a very, very powerful elbow to the gut of the one behind him. Likewise, there was nothing to stop him from following with another elbow, to his face this time.

Leske fell in a heap, totally smacked out of his wits.

"It's over, Jarvia's dead." The prince still winced form the stabbed hand element. He motioned behind the proving winner, where Kallian had managed to overcome the dwarf woman in question, though not without sustaining a rather large gash on her forearm. Alim was already tending to the wound with the basic healing magic he'd managed to finally master with Wynne's help.

"Hey," the no longer blindfolded one said warmly. "Calm down, alright?"

It was then that everything caught up to the lad and he realized he'd just stabbed... him. And the horror of it made him jump back almost by reflex, letting go of the weapon that remained stuck well in that hand. He realized now that he was breathing irregularly, sobbing almost, and hadn't even come to notice that he was already trying to wipe some tears off.

"We should probably find those incriminating papers and get the hell out of here," Alim suggested blandly, even as he was causing more and more ice to form around and over the door that led to the rest of the carta's tunnels. "The diversion will have worn off by now and more will pour through soon enough, masterfully weaved ice block or no."

That suggestion was probably more than pertinent. Unfortunately, for some reason, just when the shellshocked young dwarf put another step between him and the other dwarf, the dagger in Duran's palm suddenly flickered with electricity and he seemed to go still. The lighting enchantment on that weapon somehow went mad and actually became visible as it arched through his whole body, under and over his armor alike.

The scream of pain carried far and was loud enough to cover up the scraping of metal on metal as he keeled over and clawed at the area over his heart.

_The review space is there and waiting as always!_


	48. Orzammar Arc 8: Care of All Kinds

Author's Notes: Well, this ended up taking longer and many more words than I expected, but I really wanted to take things all the way to this point. I just wanted to cement what the reasonable (well, sort of) Trian Aeducan is like while still preserving some of the animosity that always defined his relationship with the DN in canon.

Anyway, don't shy away from telling me if you think I went too far into OOC territory (in context). Character derailment is something I wish to avoid after all.

* * *

**Chapter 46: Care of All Kinds**

"-. .-"

_Excerpt from journal of Senior Enchanter Wynne_

_06 Pluitanis, 9:31, Dragon:__ Yes, I really am starting to think the more time we spend in our dear leader-in-hiding's company, the more complicated our lives will get. I remember him once telling me, when we were standing guard one night, that he sometimes felt like some sort of doom magnet because things tended to get surreal when he was involved. On analyzing the day's events (and this is not counting all the strange things that happened in the months after the rescuing of the Circle), I am leaning towards believing this might even be true._

_Our diversion went about as well as we expected. We caused a large enough ruckus but stayed tight in that first large room in order to have most of the Carta members converge on us. And since the tunnels, while wide and high, were connected to the rooms through comparatively small doorways, we weren't faced with much attack, especially since they were all waiting for us to charge in. All in all, we managed not to kill too many people before retreating. Duran hopes that taking out the leader will be enough, at least for now. I also think he mentioned something about making sure the situation in Dust Town is properly addressed once this succession crisis is over._

_Verily, our diversion was not the problem. The problem was what happened with Duran, Alim, Kallian and Faren. Alim was, again, the only one to come out uninjured, although he looked somewhat tired and his clothes were dusty. It was he that brought us up to speed with exactly how events came to pass. Apparently, while the operation was a success (Jarvia was killed and the incriminating papers found while leaving most of the Carta members alive) Duran had a fairly close call (again!) and it wasn't because of the enemies this time._

_It appears we discovered yet ANOTHER problem with the warden's unnatural connection to the Fade. Apparently, enchantment runes have a tendency of getting strengthened by the stream of magic constantly gushing out of him, and this becomes a serious issue if any enchanted weapon pierces his flesh and says there for more than a few seconds. So when Faren accidentally stabbed his hand, with an electrically-runed dagger (I understand it was originally, and quite ironically, a gift from Duran to him), the magic spiked rather violently and each and every pain center in his body was pushed almost beyond bearable limits all at once._

_I understand it was a delayed reaction, as that young lad's magic resistance nullified the magic outpour until the distance between them got large enough. Fortunately, he rushed back to the other dwarf immediately after the latter started to scream in agony. This nullified the magic overload. A few more seconds and Duran may have just gone into cardiac arrest. At least I found no lasting damage to his body (barring the cut in his hand and back that he is currently meditating on), although my magical healing continues to be a grueling, mostly impossible task on him even with Faren standing right next to him._

_I shudder to think what would happen if a weapon embedded with a rune of fire lingered in his flesh for long. While the damage might be more localized, I doubt getting burned from the inside would feel well. Getting frozen in a similar fashion is an equally real possibility._

_Honestly, sometimes I wonder if the disadvantages of this power of his are still outweighed by the benefits. I suppose we should count ourselves lucky that most of our enemies lack weapons of this caliber. Fortunately, while he did fall unconscious after the ordeal, he managed to recover enough of his senses in swift order, though he still wobbled on his feet for longer than any of us were comfortable with after we reunited._

_Now for what actually happened. Janar was, thankfully, still asleep in his blacksmith shop when the four of them walked out, so he was spared the sight of Jarvia's head, (which Alim carried by the hair). The guard captain, on the other hand, was not as lucky. Actually, the head was pushed into his arms quite unceremoniously as Alim informed him of the Carta's hideout and how he should do something to protect the innocent Janar. Meanwhile, Duran and Faren carried the battered Leske by both arms. He was dragged all the way up here, in fact, to our (well, the Wardens') enclave, under the pretense of us needing to interrogate him (and that's actually true, since Faren might have more than a few questions for him I think)._

_Measures were taken to ensure Leske does not awaken before tomorrow. Duran said plainly (and openly) that he wanted Faren to have enough time to calm down and consider things. Faren himself is, if my guess is right, still a bit shellshocked, probably because he actually almost caused our commander's death (albeit inadvertently). He's been in the bathing room, in one of the showers cabins, for a while now._

_As for the city, it is already bustling with whispers of how both candidates for the throne might be unsuited for kingship, seeing as how it took surfacers to put a stop to Jarvia's reign of terror. Yes, both Harrowmont and Bhelen lost a lot of face because of failing to prove they could take care of the city (which was exactly what Duran wanted of course). Soon, tomorrow in fact, is when we will make our boldest move in Orzammar yet. I probably shouldn't, but I really wish I'd be there to see the look on this Bhelen fellow's face. After coaxing Faren into confiding in me about his utter disgust for him and how he's basically horrified by the kind of person his sister ended up with, even I think I would draw satisfaction from seeing the so-called prince realize just how oblivious he is to the truth._

_Ah, I should put such thoughts out of my mind. It is not my business after all._

_ Duran said he intended us to go to the deep roads in search of this Paragon Branka. The others did say it was a little crazy, although they did concede to the point that revealing everything might just sow further chaos, since Orzammar will be even more divided. There is also the fact that, with the Blight amassing on the surface, the Deep Roads will be less packed with those fiends than usual. What really caught our attention was the other reason he gave._

_ Yesterday, I understand he implied that the Grey Wardens might have their own reason to go down there. What he meant was that there might be a chance to encounter the Archdemon somewhere, not too far. Reports of that terrible roar of rage, which coincided with the Archdemon's attempted intrusion into Duran's mind, seem to hint at it being still below ground. Duran thinks we (or he) might be able to locate it, maybe giving us a chance to end its threat sooner. When confronted with the fact that it will probably be leading a large part of the horde, he answered by saying we should be able to get help from the Legion of the Dead if any army-breaking was necessary. Said Legion, as far as Harrowmont knew (from reports) was holding the line near the Dead Trenches, in order to give the deshyrs the time needed to choose a king._

_I believe Duran said the Archdemon couldn't have much 'open' ground for any large darkspawn force to form down there at once and that we should be able to bring down some passages on top of it if we're lucky, or at least collapse some tunnels in order to deprive it of reinforcements. The same could work with stalactites. Of course, it would all depend on where we found it, if at all._

_ Gwen was the least convinced. She said Duran was just looking for reasons to go after that insane woman for her political support. She also stated that she didn't 'buy into the sowing further chaos thing' because, once the truth came out, Duran should be able to just persuade everyone into doing whatever he wanted without even asking them to, like he always does. I believe Alistair stared at her in shock for a while at how she'd actually complimented the not-leader on his diplomacy skills. On the other hand, she was intrigued at how it was she that was going to cause all the lords in the Assembly to become completely flabbergasted._

_ Theron was even more incensed (which, for him, translates into frowning). He said he isn't looking forward to being even further below ground. Kallian shared his feeling, but was less against it. Faren, of course, supported Duran's intentions (though he was still not over his emotionally-trying experience so that may have played a part). Alim was impassive, but it was Alistair, of all people, that actually sealed the argument._

_ Simply, Alistair pointed out that the dwarves had the largest force available to fight the darkspawn out of all the three treaties. Mages were few, and finding the Dalish, even with Theron, would rely on luck, not to mention that any one clan was quite small on its own. As such, it was imperative that they resolve this political crisis as effectively and thoroughly as possible. So if Branka's support was what they needed for it, then they should go find her, regardless of the possibility of finding and killing Urthemiel._

_ I am sure I saw Duran cracking a brilliant smile of pride. Alistair really is growing into his (possibly) future role, and a teacher (Duran) will, invariably, dote on his charges' accomplishments. I know the feeling well. Of course, Alistair is currently regretting speaking out so decisively, because he was and, to some extent, is still being teased by Gwen, Duran himself, Zevran, Alim, Morrigan and even Leliana, although her reaction was mostly on the lines of gushing "that's so cuuute!" right before shoving Schmooples into his arms and allowing him to play with him as a reward for being so sensible._

_ I only hope that he won't need to relieve some emotional pressure by asking to lay his head in my bosom after this. I get enough of that from Zevran._

_ Tomorrow, Gwen will go to address the assembly. She and Alim already went to speak with Assembly Steward Bandelor and asked for a meeting. The dwarf said that it is unusual but not unheard of for Wardens to demand to speak to the deshyrs, so he arranged one for around noon. It will be another example of 'how fragile Orzammar Politics are to any sort of straightforward action' as Duran put it._

_ Meanwhile, Faren will have the chance to see if his relationship with his old friend can be salvaged, while Duran intends to go spend some time in Harrowmont's estate again, one last time before embarking on the expedition._

"-. .-"

The thing about good sleep, especially after long periods of insomnia, is that it isn't something one would easily relinquish. Often, when slumber begins to slip away, a slowly waking person will cling to it, focusing on the warmth and comfort of the sheets, maybe even shifting, burying one's face deeper into the pillow. As such, they will not take kindly to any sort of disagreeable outside stimuli.

Especially being poked and prodded. "Grumph!" Trian Aeducan really didn't even try to stifle that groan and actually made a point of shutting his eyes even tighter. "Lay off…" Seriously, one of these days he'd have to have a nice chat with that guy, although this was new. Since when was poking in the ribs an appropriate way of waking Orzammar's Heir Apparent anyway?

Poke.

Another groan, almost exasperated this time, and the firstborn pulled the sheets over his head. Trian most assuredly did **not** miss those really uncomfortable weeks when he'd been almost completely confined in bed, after breaking so many bones from that fall, but at least Gorim had been much more considerate and careful (and susceptible to teasing). But now seriously, poking him awake? The prince's annoyance was brimming. Nevertheless, he had to push it aside. Yes, focus on the texture of the soft fabric and let the mind drift away. This was time for more slumber! Sleep was his! By right!

Poke.

The exasperation came out in a grunt. He almost growled, but instead of jumping and glaring, he secured the sheets over his head even tighter. After all, if he began to move so abruptly, he'd lose all chances of drifting back into sublime unconsciousness. Come to think of it, why was Gorim even trying to wake him up? He'd only done that several times and even those were before that damned assassin crippled him. After that, his eagerness for any sort of socialization plummeted. So why was he even awake? He should be resting more.

Poke.

Again in the side of his ribcage! "Leave me **alone**, Gorim!" he snapped, making a point of bringing an arm around himself and place the hand over the poke-abused area, mostly secure in the knowledge that his whole body was hidden from view under that bedspread so he didn't look **that** ridiculous almost curled up in a ball as he was.

And then, there was finally an utterance, but the voice was different, yet familiar. And it sounded kind of disappointed even.

"Wait, so Gorim wakes you up by poking? And here I thought I was being ever so original…"

There was a pause.

Then, the gears in Trian's head started turning, and he suddenly remembered why it was that his body wanted to sleep more. He'd been unable to sleep for days and had only gotten little rest before that, because of all the unrest in the city and worry for his brother…

Hold on, his brother!

Blankets, sheets, everything was thrown aside as he jolted upwards, memory flooding his mind at last. "You… You're here…" he breathed out from that awkward pose, prone but not quite, since he had used both arms to push his face away from that pillow. It had really happened. The last real family he had left really had shown up out of nowhere. There had been a moment when he wasn't sure if he could trust his memory. Seriously, his brother had been glowing like a lamp or something. Who **does** that anyway?

And he'd punched him across a room and half. Nice way to welcome him back **that** was. And there was the part with breaking down and weeping in relief, which was a close second to the punching in terms of how embarrassing it was, in hindsight at least.

Still, he really had come back and, most importantly, he hadn't disappeared to enact some crazy plan again. He was standing there, white hair (and clothes) and all, right next to his bed, with a very… hard to categorize smile on his face. He was balancing a tray on his right hand while the left held onto the object of torture, a black cane with brass handle and tip.

"You were expecting the tooth fairy?" The cane was being allowed to rest on his shoulder.

Trian collapsed on his back and released a long and deep sigh of relief that he didn't remember drawing in. He was too preoccupied pressing both palms against his eyes for some reason, though he let them fall, outstretched, soon after. A part of his mind did think that he should probably be a bit more upset at getting drugged (and mocked just now) but, well, that part of his brain lost to sheer joy. He hadn't felt so… good… in a long time. "I thought you'd gone off somewhere again…"

His brother grinned. "Well… technically, I, along with the others, **did** go off somewhere. You **have** been sleeping for two days after all."

"What?" he abruptly sat up (well, half-way, with the weight of his upper body balanced on his elbows). Then he remembered. "You really were serious about the drug being so strong then…"

"What, you assumed I wasn't?" the second eldest asked with a scoff of mock disbelief. "You do realize that, technically, I never lied to you. Not even once. So you shouldn't be so quick to assume I would lie about this." He grinned and let the cane's tip down on the floor. "Besides, you should have seen your face."

Trian realized too late that he'd rolled his eyes and groaned at the same time. Again. "So it's the seventh of the month?" _Wait, why am I asking something so pointless? _This was getting awkward, and if he'd been any more perceptive, Trian would have realized it was because he wasn't used to having casual, pleasant conversations with this particular sibling. Which, actually, was kind of sad in and of itself.

"Yes, ever so uneasy one," Raonar confirmed, tapping on the tray with one of the fingertips of the hand it was balanced on.

"What did you mean you went off somewhere? What have you been up to?"

"Oh, nothing much," he waved (he'd let the cane lean against the bed). "Just visiting Tapsters Tavern and some smiths and merchants for the most part. Oh, and beating up violent guards for abusing castless… And killing the leader of the Carta, that too."

"What?" he really pushed himself up this time. "Is that commander of yours insane? Why would she have you do something like this, knowing this mess you have to deal with?"

His brother opened his mouth to reply, then shut it and tilted his head. "Um… The Commander of the Grey… that's me actually…"

There was silence.

"Are…" _Wait, back up here. Just how many things happened that I don't have any idea of_? "Are you serious?" The shrug really left him confused, although he supposed it did kind of makes sense, since the other Wardens had actually gone along with his infiltration scheme so far. But there was something nagging at him. "What about that man, Duncan? Wasn't **he** the Warden Commander? What happened to him?"

That was probably one of the few times in recent years that his sibling had such a distant and subdued look on his face. "What do you think? He died in the… aftermath… of the battle of Ostagar. We're all that's left of the Order, at least as far as Ferelden goes."

"Oh… I'm sorry to hear that." He was a strong man too, that Warden, tough as Stone. And Trian would know, since he'd fought alongside him. He felt like asking more of just how it happened, but the other one held the tray a bit lower and raised an eyebrow in impatience.

The firstborn finally took a hint and let the subject drop. "What's that?"

And those silver eyes squinted. "Your breakfast of course!" His smile really did look sincere too. "Yes, I am bringing you breakfast in bed! So sit up properly." He moved forward and set the tray on top of him, near his waist line.

"What brought this on?" Trian really didn't know what else to ask. This situation was very high on his personal 'Scale of Awkward,' mostly because it reminded him of his older self, which would have just loved to see such servility in this particular brother of his. And he felt really ashamed by it now, but didn't want that to taint this moment either. "You didn't need to do this you know…"

"Oh please," he scoffed. "Like I don't know how you enjoy being pampered."

"Hey!" That exclamation sounded very weird form a voice so deep and rugged.

"What? You know it's true."

There was a "Hmph!" before the eldest spoke again. "I do NOT enjoy it…" Wait, that had come out wrong. "I mean I don't **necessarily**… That's no longer what I… Look, I'm not… Oh, blast it all. Look, I'm trying to outgrow that, alright? I don't…" His mouth snapped shut at seeing Raonar's pleased expression. "You're enjoying this aren't you?" He realized, flatly.

"The flustered you? Oh sod yes!" His honesty really was a bit hard to handle sometimes, Trian again realized, much to his chagrin. "I mean," he continued merrily. "There's something sublimely adorable about a big sack of solid muscle stuttering out of embarrassment."

"Oh, I'll remember this."

"Yes yes!" His warning was brushed aside like a spec. His brother really was a bit too much like Gorim sometimes. Or was it the other way around? The odd part was that Trian didn't feel angry at all, more like it was all refreshing. Speaking of refreshing, his nostrils (which could take in much of the aroma at once, such was the delight of possessing the sizable Aeducan family nose) instantly notified him that whatever food that was he had most likely never eaten before. "What is that smell…?" The scent was actually really appealing.

Meanwhile, his brother had stuffed another pillow behind him, so he could sit up straight. Only afterwards did he remove the lids of those plates (and bowl). The bowl was the main source of the scent, as it held some sort of stew, steaming, and the meat was definitely not nug. The plate was where a sort of stake on toast sat, well roasted too, covered in a sort of sauce. The third, smaller vessel had what looked like green… shreds of something?

"It isn't drugged this time," Raonar first said, since he had to get that out of the way at some point.

"What is this?" Trian asked curiously, poking at the roasted meat with a fork.

"Hare."

"…"

"Don't look at me like that! Hare as in rabbit, an animal from the surface, not hair." He pointed at the stew. "That one is rabbit marinated with onions and wine. The roast on the toast is seasoned with cheese for extra flavor. And don't worry, while I may know how to prepare basic things, I know I'm not that much of a cook. This was all made by one of my friends, a Dalish elf. He's really good at cooking. I mean **really** good." He pointed at the green thing. "That's cabbage salad. Cabbage is a surface vegetable, in case you don't know. Our own palace cooks sometimes used it, but not raw, so you might not have seen it before. It's really nice though, at least I like it."

"I see…" Definitely, of all the ways he'd expected his brother to act now that they were more or less no longer hating each other, this was not one of them. He could not deny that it all looked and smelled great, however. So, carefully, he took a spoon and sampled the stew, thankful that he'd at least avoided one of those clichéd scenarios when one's stomach starts making loud, deep stalker-like noises.

And it was delicious. "Stone, it's good…" he gave out in awe. "So much better than nug..."

"So you **do** like it!" The guy picked up the cane and made off. "Well then, I'll not be counting your bites, so I'll leave you to it. Meanwhile, I'm going to prepare your bath. Have fun with the roast!"

And he was out of the room fairly quickly.

Trian Aeducan was a prince. The Crown Prince of Orzammar, last, proud city of the Dwarves. He had been drilled on protocol as he grew up and knew well all the manners suited to one of his status. As such, he most assuredly did **not** start gobbling up the absurdly delicious food like some starved, uneducated peasant, knowing that no one was there to see. He remained perfectly civilized and satisfied his immense hunger steadily and with the utmost temperance, never exceeding the top speed that spoon-feeding ca manage without spilling the contents everywhere.

He was the epitome of aristocratic grace each and every moment of it.

Really.

"-. .-"

Half-way through the meal, Trian realized there was much more food available for him to devour than was regular for any person… which was just perfect because he felt like he could eat for ten men just then, especially something as delicious as this. No doubt that sibling of his had predicted this would happen (although, to be fair, it only makes sense one would be starving after sleeping for two days). He decided he'd have to somehow make it possible for varied surface food to be more readily available in Orzammar once he became king.

Once he became king…

He stopped chewing and leaned back on those pillows, contemplating the next piece of roasted hare that he was about to bite onto. When it came to it, the heir apparent realized he had no idea just what his brother intended to do after this whole situation. He decided not to think about it for a while, however. It wouldn't do for him to ruin his meal with sour thoughts like these, especially one that his sibling had prepared with such care. Well, meal that he had arranged in the plate with such care anyway.

The prince suddenly struck at his forehead with the back of his fork. He shouldn't be thinking about how he craved the feeling of a hammer and chisel in his hand right now. He was eating, dammit!

His brother seemed to have the same idea as him. He wanted to set everything aside for a while. This feeling familiarity was so… nostalgic and felt really fulfilling, and Trian realized he'd missed the times they had, long before their falling out. And with that came sadness, because the most recent memory he had of his little brother really feeling at ease around him was actually just before that accident, 16 years ago.

And it wasn't even that event that ruined their relationship, not really. It was what happened in the years afterwards, more precisely after the mages healed him successfully and he got back to his feet. He had to go through a period of rehabilitation. He hadn't been left with totally atrophied muscles, but he'd lost much of whatever strength and flexibility a ten-year-old like him had gathered up to that point.

Raonar had been practicing swordplay while he'd been confined in bed. Well, after the first week at least, because **that **one he'd spent mostly by his side. What he did didn't make sense. He faked cheerfulness in the presence of their parents and only let **him** see that he really was taking it hard… even though Trian was the one worst off. Little, scrawny Raonar didn't want to burden mother and father so he ended up burdening him instead. He was such a crybaby, even after Trian had made him promise he wouldn't blame himself for that mess. And he'd chosen to feel responsible instead.

Dammit, him and his semantics. He was always so impossible to reason with, this being one of the main issues he'd had with him in recent years.

But no, that wasn't the reason for their drifting apart either. It was jealousy, pure and simple, though the firstborn only now had the courage to name the feeling. His sibling had been but a bookworm before that whole debacle, but suddenly began practicing weapons and advanced at a surprising pace. Well, it was Trian's own fault really. He'd gotten so tired of seeing him cry that he made him promise he'd grow up strong enough to protect their parents and their little brother, and eventually the city, regardless of whether or not the healing operation succeeded.

He didn't realize back then that Raonar was always meaning to do that very thing, in his own way.

Raonar didn't like to make any promises, even back then. He said they were limiting, a means for someone to violate another's right to freedom of choice (Trian had been weirded out at that odd, scientific language. It sounded strange coming from a seven year-old). So he didn't promise anything, ever.

Except when his big brother asked him to, for some reason. It was ironic really. To think that today's second son of the late king of Orzammar was once a little kid that doted on his big brother. His 'stupid big brother.' That's what he'd called him, when he revealed he understood full well just how badly he'd been hurt and that the magic surgery was risky and, if he undertook it, he would either get healed or remain paralyzed for life, if not die altogether. He called him stupid for ever jumping to take the hit of that bookshelf.

Nonsense. If anyone or anything was stupid, it was that furniture. At least father had decreed that all Shaperate bookcases be nailed to the floor or welded, and had taken similar precautions in the Royal Palace soon after. There, better safety standards overall for everyone.

And then came Trian's post-surgery recovery period, when he started going back to his training. Raonar had mostly grasped the basics by then and offered to be his sparring partner, saying he hoped that someone weak and unskilled like him might do as a moving practice dummy until his strength came back in full.

Trian never won against him in sword fighting. Not once. Even though Raonar wasn't all that extraordinary at first. Initially, losses came because of his atrophied muscles. But he eventually realized he had recovered but still couldn't beat him. He later learned that his little brother had been dedicating most of his time, except what was scheduled for tutoring, to the training and workout. He had drastically reduced the time spent on reading. But there was another matter: he had stopped pranking.

Raonar had stopped **pranking.**

Had he been a bit more grownup, Trian would have spotted the problem right then. Unfortunately, they'd already started to drift apart. Tired of losing (and he sometimes could swear he lost because his body refused to move as it should in critical moments), he discarded the sword for a more straightforward weapon, a maul. He started to jokingly say he didn't feel like sparring too often, since he didn't want to so totally get trounced now that he was trying out a new weapon. They trained together less and less, until they stopped altogether. Then, Raonar drifted back to studying more and trained less with each passing month. It was then that he began practicing meditation.

They were still getting along, more or less, but there was a really big distance between them at that point.

Meanwhile, Bhelen, though he was in no way ignored by either of them or their parents, didn't seem to want anything particularly much, like he didn't have much of an ambition. He didn't excel at anything either. He wasn't bad, he wasn't impressive. However, back then, it was like it didn't matter to him either. Mother was alive, she always knew how to make all three of them feel perfect. In that she was a less common monarch, since she disregarded much of protocol in favor of making sure her children felt at home.

Which was why her death hit everyone so hard. Things just went downhill from there. And it was all because of the people that wanted to see him removed. He still couldn't wrap his mind around how Bhelen had all those nobles murdered back then. Maybe Raonar was wrong about that… Maybe…

Probably not.

Raonar started practicing swordwork more when he got Gorim as a second. Trian understood why now. It was enough to know what Gorim was like. It was a while before the queen's death and the warrior only became more loyal as time went by.

Having Bhelen as his second, Trian realized, probably wasn't his best idea, especially with how he'd treated him. One should have more respect for one's family than to bark orders like that. He hated admitting it, but he probably contributed his going bad.

Bhelen becoming an idiot was most definitely **not** on his hands, however. Seriously, since when was it a good Idea to try and gain father's approval by murdering his other children? Honestly, it boggled the mind.

The crown prince realized his meal was over, so he set the tray on the counter and finally got out of that bed. Stretching his body felt better than he'd expected, and allowed him to push aside the unhappy memories and focus on the present, which was looking up for once. He eventually finished grunting in satisfaction and, at long last, exited the bedchamber and headed towards the larger bathing room there. It was, of course, where his brother went if he didn't go to the smaller bath next to his quarters.

It was quite a big room at that. The marble-encased hot spring was at the far side, opposite from the entrance, isolated by a very thin wall, with a fairly large sliding door. The area closer to the doorway leading to the hallway, which Trian had just walked through, was higher up by about half a foot. There were a couple of vanities on both sides of the door, while the walls on the left and right each had three doors that led to private bathing cubicles, with both shower mechanisms and bathtubs. The estate had a sauna too, but it was accessible through the other, smaller showers adjacent to the training section, not from here.

He spotted Raonar at one of the vanities, arranging his white beard into that style of his. He was relaxed, at ease.

He was humming.

It sounded absolutely horrible.

Fortunately, he noticed his elder coming in and stopped producing the discorded sound (it wasn't outright grating, but Trian was, nonetheless, grateful for the fact he stopped). "So, enjoyed your meal?" His fingers went about the complicated task of interlocking those braids together even without him paying that much attention. He was still at the beginning, however, so it was likely going to take a while.

"I think it's the best food I tasted in my entire life," the eldest admitted, more easily than he'd expected. And he was glad for it too.

"The first door to your right is the one I prepared for you," his brother followed, turning his gaze upon that vanity again. "Have no fear. If you doze off and end up with your head under the surface of the bathwater, I'll come to the rescue. I'm pretty sure the panicked splashing will be loud enough to draw my attention."

Trian escaped a scoff. So that's how he was going to play it, was it? And all said in such a blasé tone. Well, two could play at that game. "I'm pretty sure I'll stay perfectly awake, since I'm certain sleep will not come easily, what with your utterly abysmal humming."

So his brother sighed. "Rub it in my face why don't you…"

By now, the firstborn was already walking over to the door in question, but he wasn't done yet. "Don't feel bad," yes, casual tone fully in place. Perfect. "I'm sure there's **someone** out there who sings even more horribly than you do. Well… maybe."

"Yes yes," the second son waved his reply away. "Throwing false hopes now? How cruel. Truly."

So they were throwing jabs at each other already. Things were going back to normal.

Trian considered that might not actually be the most desirable outcome. Nevertheless, he decided to put off thinking about it when he discovered the water was just at the perfect temperature. Then it struck him: his sibling was performing the tasks Gorim usually took care of.

The duties of a servant.

A different Trian might have loved to see everyone shuffle over how to best serve him, but that person was long gone. The current one felt a bit… bad about all this. A prince of Orzammar shouldn't be reduced to this role. Hell, he continued to think these things were far beneath Gorim himself as well. Would brother always have been so considerate if he'd just been allowed to be? It was a bit too humbling.

"-. .-"

The thing about good sleep was that it is actually the worst type of rest. There was no such thing good sleep. The only time any duster felt like he was sleeping soundly was when he was either dying (and, thus, hallucinating or delirious) or so thoroughly battered that his brain didn't work properly anymore. Some of the more fortunate kids might get to over 5 years of age before they got slammed with this reality, since they might (**might**) have a parent to hold them while they rest, but even those ones were few and far between. Most castless babies didn't usually survive beyond a few days or weeks of life, provided their parents refused to do the **sane** thing and let the kid die in the deep roads before he or she could live enough to wish they **had**. Dust Town was a hive of pestilence after all.

Among other things.

As such, brands usually developed a very different kind of reflex than what normal people fall into upon drifting out of slumber and feeling a soft bed underneath.

Leske shuddered and his eyes snapped open as he practically jolted to a sitting position, taken by fear even before his eyes adjusted and he realized what kind of place he was in. He looked down to see he'd been taken out of his armor and had some common clothing on. Not rags though. No holes in sight.

"No, you're not dead or brain damaged."

His so-called old friend was standing there, in front of him, some distance away, leaning against a wall. Dressed plainly, he wore a blank look and said nothing more. He just stood there, with his hands folded in front of his chest, making the braided one feel no more secure than before. Out of his element, Leske cast his eyes around the room, only to see that it was very… well, luxurious was really the only word to describe it, especially by Dust Town standards. Even Beraht's so-called estate didn't come close to the level of comfort there.

Hmph. Pretty garments to disguise trash no better than everyone else he knew, that's what all the Diamond Quarter was. And it had to be the Diamond Quarter, because he'd ran protection in the commons and knew the level of living there, and it was beneath this. The bed he was on had no lumps and was one of just a pair in that room, though no other people were present, except the two of them. All in all, he didn't really know how to react, other than to guide his hand over his face, where he'd been elbowed really badly just before he was knocked out.

So he had been healed fully. He got to live to see another crappy day of a brand's life, only it looked like this one might just be more complicated than the rest. Faren had never looked at him with that cold stare before. Not knowing what else to do, Leske got off the bend and ended up standing there, next to it, staring at the one he'd almost gotten killed… yesterday, days before? How long had he been unconscious? "What day is it?"

"Seventh of Guardian." Again, that same, cold voice.

The two castless dwarves just met each other's gazes and stood there for a while, saying nothing. They just…. watched… until Leske was the one to avert his eyes and look aside. Only for a moment, however, as he locked eyes with Faren again, his expression sour. What was he supposed to say or do now? He'd just woken up, after thinking he would die and get it all over with. He hadn't had time to think, to come up with anything witty to say.

That was when the warden unstuck his back from the wall and let his arms hang to the side. And the silence was broken by a single word.

"Coward."

It wasn't a grunt, nor a growl, not even a hiss. It was said in such a level, hollow voice that made Leske shiver. He didn't even have the heart to challenge that accusation either, or maybe it was because he couldn't open his mouth to retort at the moment. He was too busy gnashing his teeth together. The silence was deafening. There were many sorts of quiet, but this one had a particular brand of weight behind it, like an unseen pressure was weighing them both down, tiring them. Stripping them of all the mental acuity needed to lie to each other, and to themselves.

Betrayal was heavy, on everyone involved. It showed who people really are in the dark.

"I'm not the best judge of character," the redhead began again. "And I definitely can't claim to know what makes people pull the shit they pull but… There's someone who does. Someone that spent some time explaining it to me, yesterday and early this morning."

"…"

"He said that there are some things that people can't control, especially in this shithole of a dwarven city. He said that this system is wrong, unfair. Unjust. He said that those wronged spend their lives wishing things were different, raging against their fate but not often actually stepping up to change something. He said that those few who try most often end up broken or killed, their lives never really amounting to anything much besides more dust."

What in the hells was he rambling about?

Faren's eyes narrowed. "I honestly don't get it all myself, but I do know this." He made a step. "I'm not going to be your pass out of the shit you got yourself into."

Right, like he'd asked for things to change for him. "You forgot what real life is down there with all the sun in your head. Either way, I don't remember asking for your help," Leske replied bitterly.

"Idiot!" Faren spat, making the sill carta thug draw back like he'd been punched. "You groveled at that bitch's feet, had to live through shit to get where you were, act like nothing more than her slave! You even **fucked** her!" Leske started to feel sick, but Faren just went on. "You lured me and my… me and Kal into a trap, even after everything we went through together, and then fought me again when Jarvia ordered you to. And you actually expect me to buy into the idiocy that you **believed** that was the best thing, the **only** thing you could do? That it was what you **wanted**? Don't make me laugh!"

Leske really was getting alarmed all of a sudden. Just what was that guy saying? He never talked like this before. It struck way too close to home. And that look… So decisive…

So free.

He couldn't speak. He didn't trust his voice and he had a lump in his throat. It wasn't like he didn't regret it all, because he did. But what else could he do? It was all he knew.

The warden wasn't finished though. "I'm not going to apologize for becoming a Grey Warden while you didn't," he was a bit calmer now, or maybe he was just restraining himself better. "I know you practically wanted to be one. After all, anything is worth getting out of that hell, right? It's not as wonderful as we originally thought, but I'd be lying if I said I regretted it." He clenched his fists and glared, searing and intense. "But don't think I'll buy for even a second that it was enough for you to resent me enough to want me dead, because we both know that's bronto shit."

"…"

"The guy that explained things to me pretty much confirmed what I thought. He said some people break. Said they suddenly start to look for a way out, any way. Even one that goes against all instinct and reason." His eyes narrowed further. "Only they** suck** at dying."

Leske was petrified and his eyes were wide.

"You **wanted **me to kill you," he took another step but stopped, although his fists were white now, from how tight his grip was, and they were trembling. Leske wondered if he should brace himself for a punch. "Maybe you thought it was appropriate, because of some twisted notion that it should be someone close to end it for you, regardless of how much it may hurt them. Of how it would hurt **me."**

Sod it, why couldn't he just leave things well enough alone? Why did things always have to get worse? And the problem was that… he was right. Dammit, he was right.

"And after you threw me against those thugs, maybe you felt it was the least you deserved**,**" he continued. "You want it to end, but Dust Town raised you to be a survivor. And the fucking brainwashing is strong enough that even the possibility of a better life on the surface won't make you leave that cesspit." He took a few breaths and forced himself to step back. "Well too bad, but I'm not going to solve your problem for you." He turned around and made for the door. "I know you don't have Jarvia's connection with Beraht's family. The carta's finished and the ones who remain will fight amongst each other unless they have any brain in their thick skulls. There's a bag by the bed. It has food, clothes, some leather armor, money. Use it here and then end up the same as before, go to the surface and make a new life, throw it away, do whatever."

Then he stopped. He didn't turn around, but his words were loud and clear. "Some people died, but always in self-defense or fights where it was us or them." Each word made the atmosphere harder to bear. "I won't be a murderer. Not for you, not for anyone." He paused and, instinctively, clutched at his right forearm, hunching forward just a little bit. "I won't become that thing again. Never again. I'm done surviving. From now on, I'm going to sodding live."

Faren had been gone for five minutes, and only then did Leske realize he'd fallen to his knees at some point. Late. Far too late. He realized now the enormity of the mistake he'd committed and it was too late. It was true. All of it. He knew that those Wardens would probably be able to carve through the whole carta if they wanted, but he betrayed Faren anyway. And the worst part was that… it would have worked. He was going to succeed. Faren really had lunged his knife forward, to stab him in the chest.

If it hadn't been for that guy…

Whoever he was, he stopped him because he wanted to spare him the pain of doing something like that, even if it harmed him instead. "Heh… you made really good pals, didn't you…?" Only silence greeted him. "They really care for you… Good on you..." He wiped at his nose. No, he was not crying. "_Bastard nobles. Look at him. He's better than all of you_." He was definitely not crying. It was normal for someone to rub his eyes after waking up. "_He grew up in fucking Dust Town and he's better than all of you."_ Sod it all, he'd caught a cold and he didn't have anything to blow his nose on.

Eventually, alone, he dragged himself out of that room. "_I'm so sorry man…" _The pack was left untouched. "_But you'll never hear me say it. I'm a coward… and I held you back long enough." _He didn't bother paying attention to how long that corridor was. He was just looking for a door, slowly, and his head was hung low. _"I'll never be more than a brand, but you are. Don't let anything stop you. Get away from Dust Town. Spit in destiny's face. Spit in __**all**__ of their faces, once for each of us."_

Finally, a door. Odd that no one came out yet. Not that he expected them to see him off. _"So, this way out and I'll probably be killed or, if I'm lucky, beaten by guards."_ He reached for the doorknob. _"Or was it the other way around?"_ Something grabbed his shoulder, and he froze. Then, a cloak enveloped him, so he turned back to see that elf girl that was with Faren the other day.

"Put on those boots too," she motioned at a pair of shoes right there, on the doormat. "And here," she pushed a sort of backpack into his arms before he could say anything. "Faren said you might leave without the other one, so we packed a spare. Oh and," she passed a slip of paper. "This is a pass, so you won't be harassed by the guards here."

After getting over his stupefaction, Leske automatically accepted them with the most confounded face he could ever, possibly wear and he remained just as dumbstruck as he slipped into those shoes. He couldn't even think of a joke. Even after she worriedly asked him if he really did want to just leave like that, heonly wanted to be as far from that place as possible.

And just as always, as he left and did his best to stay out of sight, to keep his brand covered as he hurried through the upper city, three words were enough to describe his state of mind.

"_Fucking dust town."_

"-. .-"

Normally, he wouldn't have any objections. The temperature of the bath water had been perfect, after all, and he'd actually been able to relax for once. Well, his sibling didn't stop his atrocious humming, audible even through the wall and door, but Trian found it wasn't so unbearable after a while. The only real problem appeared once he got out of that bathtub and realized one crucial thing.

He had absolutely no change of clothes in sight.

Damn.

After hesitating, the prince approached the pile made of his old garments. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how one looks at things), having been bathed in steam, his nose was clear and his sense of smell acute… so he now sensed perfectly just how thick with the stench of sweat those things were. Now he realized he'd failed to change them for a couple of days even before he slept in them for two more.

They were definitely a no go.

Dammit, even wondering if he had a spare set of clothes had slipped his mind. He'd been preparing his baths himself for a while now, especially after Gorim got injured, and even before that Gorim had never forgotten to always prepare a spare set of clothes. This time, there weren't even any bath robes in sight. And the other bad part was that the small shelf beneath the wall mirror was bereft of any sort of hair comb or brush, so he couldn't do anything about his damp hair and beard.

Walking over to the door, he did all he could. "Hey! You, uh… still out there brother?"

"Hmm?" was all he got in response.

"You, uh… go on ahead… I'll catch up with you…"

There was a noise like a drawer being pulled out. "If this is because you have no spare clothes, don't worry about it. Just use a towel or something. We're both men." There was a pause. "Besides, I already undressed you all the way down to your smallclothes once. I had to change your armor when I faked your death, remember?"

There was a pause.

Instinctively, Trian swallowed a really big lump in his throat and his cheeks felt really, really hot for some reason. "You did **what**?"

Damn him, he was laughing! "Hahaha! If it's any consolation, I can tell you clearly that you've got more muscle mass than me. Besides, it's your own fault. I mean, what kind of person wears his armor directly on his skin? I know it's patched with soft cloth and all, but even a big beast like you should be able to stuff a shirt and some pants underneath."

_"Well excuse me if I didn't immediately assume I'd be stripped naked!"_ Is what the firstborn almost blurted out, but he stopped himself. He felt like things would really get awkward if he just came out and said that.

Well… nothing to it he supposed. He had no choice but to settle for a towel covering his dignity before he pried the door open and stepped back into the main part of the bathing room.

Oddly enough, Raonar was… sharpening a razor? "Sit down," he motioned to a stool next to him, right in front of the nearest vanity, without even turning around to face him.

He had to be joking. Like hell he'd sit down while naked and with just a towel draped around his thighs. "What in the world are you-?"

The second son turned on his heel and made a perfect mix of a frown and a raised eyebrow. He even pointed at the seat, much more demandingly this time. "You look horrible, so I'm going to give you a proper haircut before I fix that temperamental beard and moustache of yours."

"Dressed like this?" he asked in disbelief.

"Like what? Trian, you have no clothes on."

The groan of exasperation came out unaided. Hello mister obvious! "Thanks, but I'll do it myself," he couldn't help but insist as he made for the vanity, looking around for a bathrobe or something. Where had they all disappeared to anyway?

Unfortunately for him, his sibling stepped in his path and had his face close in on his own. "**Sit!" **

Trian realized, after two seconds, that he'd done just that. Wait, what? How the sod? _"What th-"_

"Unless you haven't noticed, your skill at personal hair care is about as good as my humming, not to mention my 'singing.'" He even air quoted. Soon after, Raonar had picked up a hair brush and was tapping the back of it against his palm.

"You're impossible," Trian complained, feeling exposed and self-consciously pushing the towel deep in his lap. Dammit, was his brother deliberately trying to make it all awkward? Or was he enjoying this?

And why the deep chasms was he himself going along with it?

"Hold still." Raonar entered barber mode and, after tying a large piece of cloth around his neck, as a cover for most of his upper body, quite decisively walked behind him and grabbed him by the head with both hands, to set it in a good position. "Hold your head like this." And he got to work… which proved to be harder than expected, and quite uncomfortable from the feeling in Trian's scalp as he passed that brush through his shoulder-long hair… or tried to at least. "Holy hell, Trian, what did you do? How did you get it so entangled?"

"You try letting it grow out and scrubbing it," was the lame reply. The response came in the form of a more brusque tug. "Grumph! Hey!"

"For your information, Faren's hair is longer than yours and he never gets it entangled."

"This discussion is so pointless…" The eldest really was starting to feel eerie. He could well see his brother in the reflection in the mirror in front of him. He looked a bit too… content for someone reduced to this sort of thing. When his life still had any semblance of normalcy, Trian had servants that got his hair done, so it really didn't seem appropriate for a prince of Orzammar to perform such a task. It didn't seem… well, fair.

This went on for a while, until Raonar began to gather the hair near his temples in those two braids that would come together at the back of his head and unite in a single one. He'd even done it all without humming, so engrossed he seemed. And it all just made Trian feel more and more uncomfortable until he couldn't hold the question back anymore. "Why are you doing this?"

There was a pause.

"Huh? What, am I pulling too hard?"

"Not that," was he really missing the point? "Why are you acting like a servant?" Trian Aeducan could only duck vainly as the back of that hairbrush (made of bone) smacked him on top of the head. "What the!"

"I am **not** acting as a servant," two hands again, though brusquely, set his head in the required pose before he could twist it enough to send him a glare. Needless to say, the heir was too stumped to react in other way besides looking absolutely flabbergasted. "I am simply giving you a haircut," his brother followed. "Now stop fidgeting. I'm creating a masterpiece here."

"…"

It didn't take long for it all to be finished, at which point the heir apparent realized just why his sibling had left such a large distance between the vanity and the seat. Basically, once the hairdo was done (and he'd even trimmed the ends), Raonar walked over to his front, pulled another stool and settled himself on it before wordlessly starting on his facial hair, calmly and methodically.

He began by passing a comb through it, to straighten it out. "Don't talk for now." The utensil passed through that beard, again and again, until the razor was put to work, trimming the longer ends. "Now you know why there weren't any hair brushes and the like in that bathroom. And I didn't leave any bath robes or clothes around because they'd be a mess with all this hair in the fabric."

"So that wh-"

"A! No talking!"

Trian stifled a sigh. And a smile. They'd never actually socialized like this in years. Well, that's not to say Raonar had ever played the barber before. Either way, this closeness was a first in recent years. And yet, Trian still felt uneasy. His heartbeat was a bit more alert than it should be, and there was a faint trembling in his hands (his forearms were resting on his thighs). He couldn't exactly understand why.

Until his sibling began to trim lower parts of his beard and accidentally touched the skin on his neck with the cold metal of that razor.

Whether by reflex or not, Trian drew back and just slapped his sibling's hand aside in the same movement, with back of his left hand, sending the razor flying out of his grasp. It hit the stone floor some way off and slid with that hissing noise. For a moment, both of them froze in place, Raonar with his hands pulled away and Trian with unconsciously settling his other hand over where he'd been stabbed so many months before.

What in Stone's name had just happened?

Finally realizing just what he'd done, the elder son widened his eyes in realization. He still didn't trust him. On some deep level, he expected him to stab him again. He ended up looking at his hand, and then at his brother, hoping he'd have something witty to say to this, a one liner that could just brush this all away.

Instead, Raonar cast his eyes aside and looked old, and worn, because he understood. Of course he understood. "I'm sorry. This was a bad Idea." He spared him just one more look, a really torn and sad one, before he made to get up and leave.

"No." Trian didn't even have to order his arm to move. He'd taken him by the hand even before the thought left his brain. _No. Not like this._ He was finally regaining something. He'd be damned if he left this ruin it, even though some fear and wariness was actually justified. So he pulled him back to his seat and looked him square in the face, at that expression, with half-lidded eyes and full of such contrition that even he could clearly see it. Regret at how it had all happened. But Trian didn't know what to say to make it go away. Like always, nothing good came to mind.

But it was his damn turn to do something for once, so even if he didn't know what to say, he did the next best thing and reached out to cup his brother's face. Yet it wasn't enough, so he pulled him closer, close enough for their foreheads to settle against each other. They ended up just sitting there like that for a while, waiting, each of them with their eyes closed, holding onto that comfortable silence.

Sometimes, words were unnecessary. Sometimes, words were hurtful.

But not this time, or at least his brother didn't think so. It took him a while but he finally responded and reached up to gently take a hold of his forearm. And what he said actually hurt, because it was something that should never have to be said from brother to brother. "I never meant you any harm, Trian."

Had he not thought about it, the firstborn would be raving on the inside and asking how it had come to this, but he lacked the bliss of foolish ignorance in this case. He'd be even more of a fool if he'd allow it to interfere again. "I know, my brother." He knew well why it had all happened. "Now I know. I was just… too much of a blind fool to see it before."

He didn't waste energy trying to keep track of how much time they spent that way. He never drew his palm away from his brother's face either. Either way, the next thing he knew was that he was calm and relaxed, and could feel a soft tugging on the beard beneath his lower lip. Only then did he finally open his eyes to see that Raonar was back to work, smiling softly as he put together those three small and thin braids that the eldest usually had in front of his chin.

Trian most definitely did not forget to unstuck his forehead from that of his sibling. It was an unspoken decision on both of their parts to just stay like that for as long as it didn't interfere with the barber's routine.

Nevertheless, eventually, his white-haired brother straightened up and leaned back, far back, reaching for something on the vanity behind him. Apparently, he got what he was looking for, namely a small mirror that he held in front of Trian's face. "Well? How does it look?"

After a moment, the eldest just had to sigh. Once again, that guy had been proven right. Compared to how he looked now, he really was hopeless when it came to arranging his hair and beard. "Fine, I admit it. It looks good."

At least Raonar's humming was worse than his abysmal hair care skills.

It **was**…

Right?

"Well, that's that," the second son concluded as he got up, returning to his previous cheerfulness. He turned around and went over to pull out a drawer, out of which he took out the stack of fresh garments that had eluded the prince heir for so long. "Here." He passed them over to him and looked like he was about to give him some privacy when his eyes settled on his front.

Trian took the clothes in his hands and watched as his younger sibling reached out to touch the scar beneath his sternum. He knew he shouldn't feel uneasy, but he tensed a bit anyway when the palm touched his skin. He even had a rare flash of insight and realized he should probably say something comforting, maybe even profound.

Needless to say, his brain fell short of coming up with anything even remotely appropriate, so he settled for what he could scrounge up on such short notice. "Well, I suppose getting stabbed wasn't as bad as getting almost crushed to death."

Raonar drew his hand back like he'd been hit.

Then it dawned on Trian. "_Oh no! Bad example! He feels responsible for that too!"_ He groaned in annoyance. "What I mean is don't worry about it. I… understand why you did it…" Of course, he didn't sound convincing at all. "Oh sod it!" Just as suddenly as his slip-up, the eldest dumped the clothes on the floor, left his position and strode over to where the razor had ended up, picked it up, then returned to where he was previously. Then, he took his sibling by the hand and put the razor in his palm. "Here." If words failed, action would have to do, so he guided Raonar's hand until the blade of the razor held in his grasp settled itself on Trian's throat.

It was probably the first time in a long while that those nearly colorless eyes showed real surprise, and the rest of it made it clear that even that guy hadn't predicted something like this, because he'd stopped moving and held that blade there, pressing against the skin for quite a bit more than just a moment, even after Trian let go. He'd actually been left speechless.

And finally, his face softened and the razor fell to the floor a second time, unheeded by either of them, mostly the second son's expression settled into a wry smile. "You really are something Trian, you know that?"

"Naturally."

"Hahaha!" finally, the brilliant grin returned. Unfortunately for Trian, that wasn't an entirely good thing because Raonar reached forward and very brusquely pulled out one of his chest hairs.

"GYAH!" No! No! It most definitely was **not** a screech. It was a perfectly level, deep, manly exclamation of protest! ... But Ancestors did that sting! The firstborn was only barely aware of how intensely he was rubbing the abused skin patch.

"I mean, you actually have amber-colored chest hairs!" Raonar pronounced in awe, obviously having gone into full dramatic-effect-enhancing mode completely on purpose. "Do you have **any** idea how rare that is?"

"You're **insane**!" the victim shot back before he could think of something better, like _"You're one to talk."_ And he was still rubbing at his chest. It also didn't help that the guy had already made for the door.

"Insane, eh? You'd be amazed to know just how many times I get that." And he was gone.

Once he was finally alone, Trian couldn't help but think that maybe tempting fate by writing in his journal of how much he wanted a teasing match with Raonar had not been his most sparkling moment after all.

Raonar was obviously cheating! And, Trian realized, he himself had not had time to prepare, dammit!

This was not over.

"-. .-"

Morrigan was starting to lose patience. It hadn't been so unnerving while on the road. Traveling, the outdoors, they hadn't been such a far cry from home, or what passed for home in the wilds. She'd been able to keep to herself and camp farther apart from the others, securing some measure of privacy. Granted, she'd been approached on several occasions by the others, especially Alim and Gwen, and even that so-called leader of theirs, though the latter always seemed to act a bit too much like Flemeth, always throwing snarky jokes around. It also unnerved her how the dwarf had actually managed to give her doubts about what she really thought about Flemeth, back when he informed her of the unknown deal she tried to goad him into.

That he was actually **nice** also didn't help her uncertainties. Even Alim wasn't so troublesome to deal with. At least with him she knew he was acting polite because he desired a certain, special kind of companionship from her (something she wasn't exactly against).

But that wasn't the point here. The point here was that the witch of the wilds did not like this place under the mountain. It wasn't because of any sort of fear, nor even because of the people, since she hadn't had to go out overmuch. What put her off was the fact that there wasn't any way to totally escape from all the so-called display of affection two certain couples often engaged in. Even Denerim hadn't been this bad. Back there, all she had to do was turn into a bird or some other animal and just fly or run off for a while. And winter eventually came, so heat wasn't a problem.

Here, however, this was not really an option, what with so little to see and such heat to bear. The others had touched upon the subject of her revealing clothing from time to time, but it seemed like only the head warden and Alim had actually realized that she wore those robes simply because it was too hot compared to what she was used to. Ferelden was cold by default, but the Wilds were even harsher, being just north of the frozen, uncharted regions where the Chasind live.

Yes, both the surface and, especially, Orzammar were hot, and it did not help her mood that they'd had to spend so much of their time in the city at their so-called headquarters. Even this enclave, while luxurious and not as cramped at the merchant quarters of before, made it hard for her to not run into other people at the worst moments.

In fact, even turning into a cat and hiding on top of a closet in one of the bedrooms proved to be less of a good idea than she expected. While she was hidden from view and, thus, spared all of Alistair's nonsense, Leliana's rambling about shopping and everything else, she also went unnoticed by those that would go to another chamber if they knew they didn't have the benefit of privacy there.

Case in point, Faren had chosen **that** of all rooms to come brood. He was sitting on top of a bed, cross-legged, facing the foot of it, with his head hanging low. He'd actually spent the past ten minutes like that, enough that Morrigan was seriously considering going to sleep when her sharp cat hearing notified her that Kallian was coming down the corridor (she was able to recognize people by their walking in this form).

Eventually, she showed up at the doorway. "Well, you were right. He was going to leave without the parcel."

Cats perceived shades, not color, but in pretty much every other way their sight was better than that of humans. As such, Morrigan noticed his shrug perfectly. Strangely, however, she felt less antagonized by having to assist to one of these awkward socializations and more curious, though she didn't really understand why very well.

"Theron said he'd 'shadow' him, more or less, to make sure he didn't get harassed by any guards. Still, are you sure you don't want to go after him?" the city elf asked.

The only response was another shrug, and the black, concealed cat figured this was why any sort of emotion was a weakness. One shouldn't become so downcast over anything. Her thoughts, however, were broken off when she saw the city elf boldly walk over to the bed, climb on top of it and wrap her arms around Faren's neck from behind.

It shouldn't have stirred longing within her. It shouldn't have. All this touching was pointless, so why was she now thinking she would like to see Alim behave similarly towards her? She wasn't some weak thing that would ever come to need any sort of support. All this did not make sense! How could a simple hug so visibly lift that red-haired dwarf's spirits so instantly? Because that was what had happened. Morrigan's eyes saw it well, how he relaxed as soon as Kallian touched him.

By now, the cat figured, she should have already looked away in disgust, but she found that she couldn't, and she didn't understand why. Why, by the storm, why were all these wardens so confusing? If it had been peasants, commoners, she would have paid it no mind, but why was it that even formidable people like them indulged, no, seemed to grow when engaging in such confounding acts?

Morrigan couldn't prevent herself from assuming a more attentive, four-paw position when Kallian sat properly on the bed and pulled Faren back, until he was lying with his head in her lap. The witch couldn't understand that look on his face. Was it distress? Grief? Something else? Not that she wondered about it much. She was more focused on asking herself why her feline heart was starting to race when he reached up and caressed her face with the back of his fingers.

And then Kalian took his hand in hers and began to stroke his forehead in turn.

No, this wasn't happening, Morrigan urged herself. She was **not** feeling jealous. She was not!

This sort of weakness did not become her.

This meant nothing, so she watched on. Surely she would lose interest soon and would finally get over her inexplicable incapability of just brushing it all off like some bad joke.

The dark cat watched on until she forgot she shouldn't want to.

"-. .-"

"Where in the world did he go?" Trian Aeducan asked out loud in frustration. He'd checked every room in that level of the estate, be it the bedrooms, the training area, the so-called kitchen, even the sauna and his brother wasn't anywhere. He'd even stopped by the bathing room a second time and he was nowhere in sight. And now he'd ended up in his sleeping quarters and still couldn't find him. Had he just left? Had he gone up to see Harrowmont for some reason?

After all, if he wasn't anywhere he looked, those were the only possibilities, unless…

"Oh no…" Without preamble, Trian almost ran over to his desk and shuffled through the papers (with utmost care of course, since it was imperative that they remain orderly). Not finding it, he began to look through the drawers, only to be met with the same level of success.

The key was gone. "Oh no... I'm never going to hear the end of this," the heir grumbled to the silence. This was just one of those days. He'd been a fool to think getting his chest hairs pulled out was the worst that could happen when his brother was involved. At least he'd found a certain letter that he decided to stuff into his pant pocket.

But still, blast it all!

His feet took him walking faster across those corridors than he was used to, although the rest of it all was definitely a familiar feeling. Only this brother of his had ever been able to aggravate him to this extent just by walking about. Although, if he were to be honest with himself, it was embarrassment (again!) that he was feeling, nothing else. Blast it, this was most likely Gorim's doing! Who else would know of that room and where the key would be?

Sure enough, the door was already pried open so Trian could do little but sigh in dejection, brace himself and step inside as well. He was **so** never going to be allowed to live this down, he just knew it.

The room had clear signs of a chamber that was supposed to end up larger than it was but its carving into the stone had been stopped at some point. The part nearest to the door had the floor and walls already sculpted and polished, but the construction eventually degenerated into less architecture and more tunnel. The far 'wall' itself was actually pure rock, mostly obscured by a big scaffold that reached almost as high as the ceiling (which was about five times the height of the average dwarf). There was also a rather large mound of rubble in the corner.

There was a barrel of tools (hammers, chisels, etc.) and other things on the right as one entered, while the left wall had several sets of shelves, as well as a person-sized mirror, brass-framed, plus a chest of drawers and a desk. There were also a couple of tables about, iron-cast, all of them bearing the various fruits of his labors over the past months. Some were still pretty dusty and had utensils lying about.

And there, fiddling with some of them, and with his back turned towards him, was Raonar himself. "You know Trian," he began, turning around, looking mighty pleased for some reason. Or maybe that was just a smile that didn't mean anything in particular. "I always did think you took more after mother than father, but honestly, I didn't go so far as to suspect this." He went over to a table and picked up what looked like a small figurine of a bronto, palm-sized, made of stone. "To think you'd actually take up sculpting."

The eldest began to rub the back of his head. "Right, sculpting… It sort of just happened. Just something I used to do to pass the time. And before you say it, I know. It's not a kingly quality at all, possessing skills more fit for an artisan."

The younger one put the carving back among the others (nugs, dwarves, deep stalkers, even some darkspawn carvings, among other things). He looked perplexed, if anything. "Are you kidding? I think it's great." He picked up a miniature golem doll, one of those that Trian had managed to actually give semi-mobile arms and legs. "Can I have this?"

Trian could only stare in bewilderment.

"Not for me," he added quickly. "For Alistair, a friend of mine. He likes these things. Reminds him of his few good times as a kid."

"Sure… I suppose…" Was there any way his day would get any more surreal? "He's another Grey Warden then?"

"Oh, he's king Cailan's half-brother," the younger Aeducan prince replied with a shrug.

Another pause.

"What?" _Wait, what?_ "How did **that** happen? He had a brother?" No wait, the worry was different. "Hold up, what kind of company have you been keeping?"

"Oh, not much." He sounded completely blasé. "A bastard prince, a human noblewoman, a circle high enchantress, a dalish elf hunter, a city elf thief girl, an elven Blood Mage, a Qunari Giant, a Chantry sister that was probably an Orlesian spy at some point, a witch of the wilds whose mother is Flemeth (yes, THAT Flemeth) and, finally, an assassin originally hired to kill us all. And Faren you know already, cute guy."

Trian's eyes were bulging like they were going to come out of their sockets. "What... When… This… I don't even…" He was definitely stuttering. "Are you having me on?"

Raonar's eyebrows were a lot higher than usual. "Nope. Don't worry though. You're going through the standard reaction," he brushed it aside. "If you think **that's** shocking, you should know that the Circle Enchantress is Wynne. You know, the woman who healed you way back then?"

Trian really felt like he'd been mauled. "Sorry I… I think I'll need to get over my shock. Slowly…"

"It will pass," the other one dismissed his worries. "Anyway, we were talking about the sculpting!"

This whole misfit mobilization deal was definitely not over with. Still, for the sake of sanity, the heir apparent decided to let it rest for now. Either way, there was another thing nagging him. "That isn't the reaction I'd expected you to have upon finding out about this … silly hobby of mine…"

"Really? Why?"

"I'm not really sure." He really wasn't. He just felt this was hardly what his brother would have expected. "Because of your letter, I suppose. It said to grow stronger and wiser, not find a useless hobby like this."

"And since when do you need me to tell you what to do?" Well, armor piercing question right there, not that Trian had time to think of an answer. "I actually think this is… very appropriate." He took another carving in his hand and passed his fingers over it. "To be able to shape the Stone itself to your will, to impose your vision upon it. I think it's an amazing skill to have. You have the hands of a creator, not like me." He put the figuring back on the table.

"What are you saying?"

"Hmph," he stared at his hands with a sad smile on his face. "My cooking is just passable, I can scratch some sketches when I need to but, all in all, the main thing my hands really know how to impart is death. And pain." He let his hands fall to his sides and glanced aside.

"I don't think that's true," Trian said immediately, frowning. "This is some odd behavior. Since when were you a defeatist?" He decided to walk over to that same table, until he was on the side opposite from where his brother stood. _"Besides, that hug you gave me felt great, and it involved your hands,"_ is what he **felt** like saying but chose not to for no real reason.

"Heh!" Wait, was he grinning? "I did say my **hands**. I have other body parts, you know, like my brain and my mouth. But the fact is, Trian, that I'm always at the center of trouble. Even though I tried to limit my kills to darkspawn, people just tend to form a line and fight over who to gets ran through by my sword first." He turned around and paced aimlessly. "And this isn't counting all the screwed up situations I and the others ended up in, this succession mess being just the latest in a string of messes. You have no idea just how much has happened. It's like I'm a magnet for trouble, as though fate itself constantly amuses itself by dropping bombs, one after another." He smirked. "Maybe it's karma or something, I don't know."

Ah, and there it was. Maybe this was finally the moment when he'd, at long last, get the answer to that question that had been nagging him for months. "Is that why you think you wouldn't make a good king?"

Raonar stopped dead in his tracks. Well, it **was** a sensible question, Trian thought. After all, just why would he not want the throne? Why would anyone not want it, especially those closest in line for it?

Slowly, the white-haired one turned around and applied the perfect look of incredulousness, raised eyebrow and all. "Are you kidding? I'd be great."

The silence was already overloaded with stupefaction.

"W-What?" the eldest sputtered, eyes wide. "But then… Wait, back up. Even Gorim told me you didn't want to rule, and now you're slamming me with this?"

There was a sigh. "I never said I thought I'd be bad for the position. I'd be great, probably better than anyone actually."

"But then why in the world do you **not** want the throne?"

"What, you're saying you want to pass it over?"

"I didn't say that, no." But this was getting really hard to follow.

"The answer is…" he sighed and walked back to the table. "The fact is that for me to rule Orzammar as it is now… would be a veritable disaster in the long run."

"… Explain."

"There are so many schemers," his face was sour. "So many dishonorable pricks. And such fools. Do you know that about half the idiots in the assembly are ready to start a rebellion? Even if Bhelen gets killed? This is the rampant stupidity I'd have to deal with. And make no mistake, I'd have no trouble with it. I'd outwit everyone, manipulate everything my way. And that's the problem. My methods would work, they would make Orzammar stronger, but at the same time, those scum would get more subtle, they'd actually **learn** from me." He smirked. "I honestly wonder what would happen if one or more of those guys were suddenly forced to live through what the servant caste deals with every day. Or what castless have to contend with every second. It would be enlightening."

"…"

"Basically, **my** rule would have the unfortunate effect of actually upgrading this sodding game of politics instead of breaking it. And what's even worse is that I'd create a precedent and make everyone erroneously think that monarchs like **me**, awesomely brilliant ones as it were, are the only ones that can get things done… which is basically the opposite of what the dwarves should come to realize."

Trian regarded his sibling with no small measure of shock. Of all things he'd expected to hear, this was most assuredly **not** among them. "Wait, so let me get this straight," he rubbed at his eyes before locking his gaze into his brother's. "You're actually telling me that you becoming king would be a bad thing… because you'd be too good at it?"

"That's not exactly…" that was probably the closest Raonar ever got to a stutter in many years. And he sighed again. "Yes."

Okay, that was it. Trian was gaping. People inclined to deceit or overly convoluted logic would have probably considered the explanation, maybe even started to find extra reasons why it might be valid.

Not Trian though. He was gaping and was absolutely sure that **this** was **it**. "That… is just so incredibly stupid!" Had the table not been between them, he'd probably have smacked him one by now. What kind of reasoning **was** that?

Another sigh.

"For one, I completely disagree!" Trian said sternly. "And secondly, even if it was true, you'd still know what **not** to do, right? So you'd just have to find some different way!"

"No… I wouldn't…"

Some things never changed. Whether because of one thing or another, Raonar still ended up completely annoying him. "Why in Stone's name not?"

"Because I can't help it, alright? There!" Wait, what did he say? "Plotting, scheming, solving mysteries and making others, that's what I do. I can't just turn it off. You, on the other hand…"

"What **about** me?" Trian realized he probably shouldn't be glaring but he couldn't do anything about it.

"Well, you don't play politics of course!" The exile took one dwarven figurine and put it at the center of the table. "That's what Orzammar needs right now. You see, a king that does not play politics would be the bane of all these idiots' existence, because he'd be either oblivious or uncaring of their schemes that they'd end up so frustrated that they'd want to bang their heads against the wall, and each other, on a regular basis. Bonus points if the king upholds real justice and pushes some reforms while he's at it. Granted, this sort of king would have a rough time with the deshyrs." He took three more dwarf figurines and set them in a circle around the first one. "One normally changes under the influence of the environment. And that's if he's formidable enough to not fall prey to any attempts against him. But if there were a few people to handle the pressure, said king would actually be able to mutate the environment instead."

"Your reasoning is among the strangest I've seen." Though Trian did start to see a pattern. And it wasn't one he liked especially much.

"Well, you asked me what it was. Basically, we need a non-politician stubborn enough to break this completely senseless game of politics."

"You're just sugar-coating it," the so-called heir said back, scowling in annoyance. "What you're really saying is that you need a king that can dumb everyone down."

Raonar looked aghast.

"So that's really it?" the eldest pressed.

The younger one slammed his palm against the table, hard and loud, causing the other to flinch. "Do you consider yourself an idiot?"

"…"

"**DO YOU?"**

"Of course not!"

"Then why in Stone's name do you think I think you are one? I'm not that idiot Bhelen, dammit!" Trian almost stepped back. That had nearly broken the shout barrier. Then, the warden drew a shaky breath to calm himself. "What I am **saying**… is that, unlike me, you are capable of believable obfuscating stupidity. That means-"

"I know what it means," he hissed hastily.

"Then that's your proof that you aren't an idiot, so sodding stop thinking I consider you one!"

"Fine!"

That would go down in unwritten history as one of the most intense but also the most pointless glaring matches of the Dragon Age. Only those two Aeducan princes would become so annoyed with each other for actually giving one another **compliments**.

"I still don't agree with your reasoning," Trian finally said. "You actually expect me to believe you can't act? If that's true, you wouldn't have been able to pull all of this off."

"And that is it right there," the younger one shot back, much to his elder's aggravation. "After I reveal that I practically made fools of everyone in the city with my manipulations, do you honestly think anyone is going to buy into any act of obfuscating stupidity on my part?"

"…" _Blast it all! Is there no winning with you?_

"Anyway, let's just change the subject," the silver-eyed one suggested, walking off and towards the scaffolding. "I see you're even thinking big." He seemed to survey the pattern that had already been carved into the hard granite. "I mean, to think you're actually making a giant-sized statue of Aeducan. And so much more lifelike than the Paragon carvings in the Hall of Heroes."

The heir apparent gave himself some time to come to terms with how quickly his sibling could switch form one mood to the next. He didn't wish he'd gain the same ability, however. He very much preferred sanity, thank you very much. "Well, I'm still not sure I'll get past the mural part," the elder explained, hesitatingly, walking over to stand beside him. "And it's not like anyone will ever see it."

Nothing was said for while. Both brothers ended up just standing there, looking at the sculpture-in-progress in silence. Content silence that lasted a while, at least ten minutes. Raonar, at some point, walked closer to the scaffold and began to inspect its joints, where it had been welded, how the metal bars were interlocked. He never said anything though, and his eyes always returned to that wall, as if he was trying to imagine what the finished piece would look like.

And yet, eventually, it was he that broke the silence. "So, did you make a decision?"

"… About what?"

"Did you decide on what you want?" he hadn't turned around to face him.

Ah, he was referring to two days before. So yet **another** change of subject. Could he be any more random? "Not… completely…" Trian admitted. "But there is one thing." He took a deep breath and stood straight. "I've decided… to no longer think of you as my little brother."

The exiled one stopped what he was doing and turned around. And instead of confusion or surprise, he only looked pensive. "I see…"

Of course **he** would understand. "You've obviously gone beyond the call of duty, tradition, law, everything really so… I figured I may as well do the same. So I'll not think of you as my **younger** sibling. Just as my brother." He cast his eyes across the room. "Age stopped mattering long ago anyway." Trian wasn't brave enough to go that step further, to admit out loud that he considered his brother to be the better man in that room. But it was okay to at least take a step in the right direction, wasn't it?

Someone, however, had other plans. "And what about what **I** want?" Raonar stunned him by asking. "What if I **want** you to keep seeing me as your little brother?"

_What in the deeps?_ "What? But I thought…" Blast it all, was there no limit to how confusing he could become?

"Oh, dammit Trian!" the second prince shook his head ruefully. "Why is it impossible for you? Can you really not see me as your younger brother **without** considering me your lesser?"

"I…" Hold on, where had **that** question come from? Either way, the heir apparent found himself speechless and confused.

"You know, this is the same as what you've been doing all the years up until mother's death."

"… What? What are you talking about?"

"Oh, you know, the way we drifted apart because of your growing jealousy over not being able to defeat me during any of our sparring matches," his eyes narrowed, and Trian knew it was because he himself had cringed. "You kept growing apprehensive over being beaten by your 'lesser' so you eventually began to shun me altogether!"

"I didn't, blast it!" That had been a yell, but it was most unnerving to get just a disbelieving eyebrow in answer. "I…"

His sibling turned to face him fully, and he was actually impassive, of all things. "You still don't realize it even now, do you?"

"Realize what?"

"Trian… I only surpassed you in fighting prowess three and a half years go."

That single sentence sounded like it could shatter stone, even though it had been delivered at a pitch and intensity no different from that of any other casual line.

"What are you saying?" _"Are you for real?"_

"Just as I thought," White eyes narrowed further. "The source of your jealousy, the reason for us growing apart was because you never even realized just how obscenely much you were subconsciously holding back against me, just so you wouldn't hurt me by accident."

Trian felt like he'd been slapped. _"Holly Ancestors! So that's why I felt like my body wasn't listening!"_ He had no words. He just stared at his brother in confoundment. Was it really all his doing?

"It wasn't **all** on you thought," Raonar followed up, much more calmly, letting his shoulders drop. "It was my own fault too because, unlike you, I didn't hold back at all. Not ever. And I kept pushing myself to get better and better, so that I wouldn't fall behind, hoping I'd become strong enough for you to finally allow yourself to do your best. An I also thought you were the closest to indestructible anyone could get. Hmph. Everything backfired in the end."

The older Aeducan could almost see the torrent of utterly conflicting thoughts and feelings hashing it out in his head. "Why… why did you push yourself like that anyway? You even set aside what you really liked..."

The second son's face lit up in a smile. "Why do you think? Because I'd obviously developed a major case of hero worship for you of course."

Okay, if there was anything that could make Trian's jaw drop, this was it, because it had fallen to the floor and gone splat like a pancake.

"Hey," Raonar raised his hands in a placating gesture. "It was totally justified! I mean, you saved my life and then almost… and then you were all better again, like those heroes I'd read about who rise form hardship and bla bla. You know I read a lot back then. Plus, I was seven… and then eight… So there you have it." There was a pause. "Whaaat? Do you really have to bring out the eyebrow? It's not like I'm the first kid in history to idolize his big and strong older sibling. Sheesh."

The disbelief made itself heard regardless of the heir's intent. "Are you messing with me?"

"Pah, you're unbelievable," even Raonar couldn't stop the impulse to rub the bridge of his nose.

"So what, am I supposed to just believe you'd blurt these things out just like that?"

"Well, contrary to what you may think, I happen to **not** be embarrassed by all of this." The exile folded his arms in front of his chest. "I rather think I turned out alright and really have no problem giving you your due credit."

"That's…" Confusing was the perfect word. "How in the deeps am I supposed to respond to this…? This is all a bit overwhelming."

Sagging, the younger one released a deep breath before looking at his older sibling again. "Trian… can't we just… start over?"

Start over? What did that mean? Start over from where? Just jumping back to whatever mentality they had so many years ago couldn't be it, and that was impossible either way. Trian had to push back a headache. He thought their reunion had been trying but this went beyond even that. The hero worship thing didn't come as a **total** surprise, but the way he'd so bluntly told it to his face… It hurt. He understood Raonar a little better now. He really did have a reason to feel like all he imparted was pain and trouble, and death. After all, his honesty… it was brutal, and his forgiveness and unconditional affection were merciless punishments for someone that had wanted him dead at one point and realized their mistake.

And their guilt.

Ah, that was it, wasn't it? Guilt was one of those feeling that could destroy someone, or at least prevent him from moving forward. Was that what his brother wanted? For them both to just renounce all guilt and start anew? No, his brother had already said he didn't feel guilt.

Questions and answers formed and disappeared in the prince's mind, until he finally realized that what he really should ask himself was not if it was possible, but if he wanted their relationship to get better.

He didn't have to think long. "Alright…" "_Think! Think! Something worthwhile to say is required. Ah, I have just the thing!"_ The grin was fully in place."Alright. Just don't fall back into your habit of glomping me out of nowhere, will you?"

That was **such** an adorable disappointed look. "What, you're already imposing conditions? You're so mean…" Raonar mock-pouted and turned away, walking over to one of those tables and picking up the figurine that resembled a dwarf. He put it back down soon after and let his head hang forward, leaning against the surface of the table with both hands, as if a weariness had descended upon him all of a sudden. He even let go of a deep breath and stayed like that for a time, all the while Trian being unsure of what to ask or say.

The so-called crown prince wondered if he should ask _"Is something wrong?"_ but by the time he'd walked within five paces of him, he got the clarification he sought.

As if being weighed down by something, the younger one turned to face him and leaned against the side of the table, resting his hands back against it as well. There was a moment of uninterrupted quiet, but it didn't last, and it was broken by a question that Trian wondered when it would come out. "How did father die?"

Looking back, the eldest son of the late king wondered why it had taken him so long to finally ask that. He also didn't exactly understand just how he should answer. His brother had to have talked to Harrowmont and Gorim about it, so the circumstances should be known to him. The oldest sibling also didn't feel in the mood to describe how sickly their father looked in his final hours, and how thick with the stench of decay the room was. So what did his brother want to know?

Thinking about it, the answer to that mystery wasn't hard to find. The hard part was actually saying it out loud. "He was… glad, if you can believe it…"

"Glad…" a toneless voice echoed.

This was hard. "He was glad to be going. He said he knew he was being a coward, leaving everything, but he said he actually…" Even now the memory stung. "He said he wanted to die before you had a chance to come back because he didn't have the courage to face you after everything he'd done."

By now, his brother had brought a palm to his face, over his eyes.

"Father, he…" Even now, his throat got clogged upon remembering. "He said he wasn't going to put you through the same thing you lived through back when… when mother died."

"…"

"There's something else too." And it wasn't going to come over well. "I… I told him about you… About what Gorim told me happened in that Deep Roads expedition you and him ran off with."

The first reaction to that was bringing the other palm to rub his face. The second was a hard reprimanding answer. "Could you find anything even **more** damaging?"

"He wanted to know. And he cried so much…" _So, so much_. "You wouldn't believe how much. I thought I had reasons to be angry with him but, when I saw him like that I…"

Finally, Raonar removed his hands from his face, which now only showed… apprehension? He also crossed his arms in front of his chest as he sat back against the table's edge.

Trian couldn't wait any longer. This had to be said. "Look… About this Leandra girl-"

A hard edge of voice interrupted him. "If you're going to recite some rules about how inappropriate my relationship was with a lower castewoman like her, and about how women are just useless breeding flesh, you can stop right there!" The white-haired prince snapped and glared intensely, causing Trian to bite back the rest of what he wanted to say.

But he wasn't going to be misunderstood now. "No, that's not what I wanted to say. Look…" He breathed in. "I just want you to know that I… I'm sorry. I should have been there for you. I should have been someone you could come and talk to about it, especially with it having happened so soon after mother's death."

"You're unbelievable!" Raonar was practically annoyed beyond measure, something that flung the eldest all the way into utter confusion yet again. "Are you telling me that you're trying to be here for me… for something that happened almost five years ago and which I've been over for ages? Talk about horrible timing!"

"What? But…" _Dammit, brother, what else should I do then?_ "Blast it all, brother, why doesn't anything I try work with you?" _You're so unbelievably frustrating!_ "I don't know how to go about this, dammit! I admit it! So what am I supposed to do?"

"Oh, for the **love** of…!" Raonar actually rubbed his eyes in a futile effort to disperse tension. "Just give me a hug and let me mourn father, you fool!"

That single request rammed Trian so mightily that his mouth was half-open, his eyes wide and his brain all but shut down. Shock would have been a massive understatement at that point, topped by the look of utmost impatience that that white-bearded guy had applied.

An unmeasured amount of time passed, and Trian shivered from top to bottom and stomped his foot against the floor. It was the closest he could get to kicking himself. Had his brother just asked him that? This was beyond anything he'd ever imagined, and all his brain told him now was that he'd been a fool to not have realized it sooner. Then, his shoulders dropped. "I really am just a blind fool, aren't I?"

"…"

Finally back to his senses, the so-called heir to the throne closed the distance, until he was within reach. "I put my arm around you like this," he led it over his shoulder, "and the other one like this, right?"

"Right," the younger one at last managed a smile. "Just… don't crush me as hard as last time, will you? You left my back bruised."

"Oh… sorry about that…"

It felt different, Trian realized. Last time, he'd been given comfort, he felt like his brother would have supported him, helped him through anything. Now it was the other way around, and he sensed well that his brother actually **needed** him. He'd actually been the one to pull closer first. It was a pleasant feeling, to be needed. He hadn't realized how pleasant, how fulfilling it was when someone trusted you enough to rely on you like this. The only thing that hurt was that this whole mess should never have come to pass.

"Dammit," The voice was shaky, seething with anger and mourning. "Dammit! I sent him that letter to prevent him from dying of regret, and he just went ahead and died of shame. That **stupid** old man!"

"…"

"Dammit…"

"He cared for you, brother," _I'll stay with you brother. It's my turn to be here for you for once. _"His last thoughts really were of you, you know?"

"Pah," he clutched harder. "Don't remind me. Last thoughts were of me, even with you right there and alive. That **hypocrite!** He should have just lived and told me himself."

"I'm sorry, little brother." _I should have realized sooner. I should have known you'd be taking it hard. _"To think you were on the surface when you learned..."

"Bah, it doesn't matter," he relaxed the hold and, ever so slowly, pulled away, averting his eyes almost immediately and bringing his fingers up to rub them.

"Are you-"

"No, I'm not crying." He said flatly, looking him straight in the face for proof. He really wasn't shedding any tears. He did look like he had come a bit along the road to it though.

"-alright… was what I was going to ask…" Trian finished.

"No. I'm not alright. That fool, even at the end he…" he really was seething. "Bah!"

Of all things, seeing him so angry over this was not really among the elder prince's expectations. "Look, the letter you mentioned. He told me of it."

"What of it?"

Thinking this was as good a time as any, he produced the letter he'd pocketed earlier. "He said he realized you'd somehow written a deeper meaning into it, one that only became apparent when the truth came to light. This is what he wrote." He handed it to him. "I never got to see the original, and he said he wasn't going to reproduce it. He said I wouldn't understand."

"That's because the main idea of it was 'man up, a lot of this is your fault, deal with it'." Trian's gaping maw definitely contributed to the silence that pervaded the chamber as those near-silver irises took in the words on that slip of paper. "Hmph. He didn't see all of it. There should be another line at the end."

The prince had to shake his head. "So it's true? What this letter says?"

"Yes," was the plain reply. "Why, does it contradict anything of what I said since I came back?"

"…No."

"Where's the original? Do you know?"

"Uh… this might not be the best of news," the oldest rubbed the back of his head. "Father said he had a fight with Bhelen and basically crumpled it and threw it in his face before permanently leaving the Royal Palace…"

"… Are you serious?" He really did sound and look a bit awed. "Well, at least he did** that **much."

"Wait, so, this is not a problem? I mean, mine and Harrowmont's letters had to be burned so…"

"Nah, I was actually hoping for this," finally, that cunning smile of his reached his eyes again. "It was a long shot but this is perfect."

"I don't really understand…"

"You don't have to," the second son assured him cheerfully, and the sudden lifting of the mood was enough to make the other dwarf smile and set aside any other questions.

He was just happy to see his little brother's spirits back up and running. "Okay, have it your way." Of course, he was not prepared for the next thing he got slammed with.

Raonar began to stroke his beard. "I'm actually glad we did all this because I'm pretty sure you won't feel like hugging me after you hear what I'm about to ask."

The sheepish expression definitely did not put the firstborn at ease. "That look on your face is never a good sign. Out with it…" And somehow, he knew he was going to regret this.

"I know you're probably eager to go out and all but… you think you can stay cooped up in here for a few more weeks?"

There was an awkward lack of any and all sounds and noises.

5.

4.

3.

2.

Wait for it…

1.

"**WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?"**

"-. .-"

The assembly chamber was circular in shape, more or less, and had several levels on which the seats of the 80 lords, ladies and deshyrs were seated during meetings of the Council of Dwarves. The stone armchairs were placed at safe distances from one another, so as to avoid accidental assaults between fellow councilmen. Weapons were forbidden in the hall, but one could never be too careful.

Normally, there would be a lively (read: flaming) atmosphere there, with various men and women debating over things while the Steward was tasked with maintaining order. It was probably the most daunting task anyone in the city had to face.

Most of the time.

Not this once, however. This once, Steward Bandelor was most assuredly not having any trouble because pretty much everyone, even Bhelen and Harrowmont, who were standing on the very highest row, had been struck speechless by the boldness of Gwenith Cousland, Grey Warden representative that had asked for a meeting with the assembly, a meeting which the Steward had condoned and summoned.

"Would you agree to repeat, Warden?" Bandelor asked with the obligatory formal face, even though he was internally laughing his heart out at the looks on everyone's faces. "Just to make sure everyone here heard you perfectly."

"Very well," the heavily-armored, red velvet cape-wearing lady agreed as she stood in the center. "The Wardens are to embark on an expedition into the Deep Roads in search of Urthemiel, Archdemon of the Fifth Blight that is amassing on the surface… whether you and your Deep Roads guards like it or not." Yes, that had about the same effect on everyone as before. "As such, since we will be venturing there anyway, we may as well try to solve your political impasse for you, since we won't get our treaty honored otherwise. Thus, I called this session to ask for access to whatever knowledge you lords and ladies have on the Paragon Smith Branka and her current whereabouts. As I understand it," she looked up at the candidates for the throne, "at least two lords here have come into possession of such information."

"I'm afraid the assembly cannot dictate the actions of any one lord in regards to their and their houses' exclusive possessions," the Steward said mildly… so of **course** it sounded like a challenge.

"I will grant the Warden's request," Harrowmont spoke up suddenly, putting his arms behind him and standing tall. "As it happens, the ancestors granted me their favor and guided my men to the path Branka has taken."

Quite a few lords began to show their approval and how impressed they were at Pyral's accomplishment. This, of course, had the desired effect on Bhelen, namely making him feel alarmed for the first time in a while, at least that's what both Bandelor and Gwen thought they spotted on his face for a moment. He no doubt hadn't expected to be put on the spot like this. The Wardens had actually managed to stay completely neutral in all their time in Orzammar, openly at least. In other words, they were outside his plans, an uncontrollable force.

They were also considered honorable and heroic, especially after removing the threat of the Carta. So, basically, now that the Wardens had come out and asked to be allowed to solve their biggest problem, namely returning Branka to the city… the standing of both Bhelen and Harrowmont in their struggle for kingship depended on how head over heels they were at placing all their resources at the Order's disposal.

In short, the Grey Wardens had both candidates by the balls.

Pyral chose that, of all times, to talk more. "However, I urge you not to take too rash an action. There is no need for you and your men to carve a swath through our soldiers. They are merely doing their duty. Please stop by my estate at your earliest convenience. I will prepare an official pass for you and we can discuss the information I have acquired in more detail."

"Stop sugar-coating it," Bhelen intervened haughtily. Then, he turned to look at Gwen. He also seemed to make as much of a show as possible of his silverite heavy plate mail. "I advise you, for your own benefit, to not take any of this usurper's words at face value. Who knows what sort of dead end or stalker's next he'll send you to after hearing you actually sympathize with the plight of the small folk and are against some of our more stiff-necked traditions." He glared at Harrowmont intensely.

"This is s meeting of the lords, not a slander match," the steward reprimanded sternly, much to Bhelen's visible annoyance.

Of course, the so-called prince pushed it. "I am simply offering my well-intended advice and assistance. I can assure you, Warden, that the information I have acquired actually is trustworthy and, unlike others in this room, I have only what is best in mind."

Gwen sighed. _What you think is best for __**you**__ maybe._ "The way I see it, the solution is simple. I will have my men visit both of you over the next few days and compare the information afterwards. Is that acceptable?"

Bhelen scowled while Harrowmont just looked detached… and a bit smug.

In the end, it really just was a foregone conclusion. They had no choice but to accept or lose political standing.

"-. .-"

For some reason, Raonar had gone over to the training area. Of course, this didn't mean Trian didn't talk his ear off on the way there. And that was odd, because he didn't really need many words to sum everything up once they entered that thoroughly thrashed chamber, full of broken dummies and dented, not to mention many outright broken weapons. "You want me to just stay safely cooped up in here while you go down there to face Stone knows what? And you're saying it will probably take more than a month?"

"Pretty much yes," was the reply. The second son wasn't even looking at him anymore. Instead, he began throwing stuff around, trying to locate something, a weapon by the looks of things.

"You expect me to just go along with this?"

"Do you **seriously** want to have this argument?" He still didn't stop looking around.

"Would I have any chance to win it if I did?"

"Does anyone ever win a debate against me?" It really was more of a rhetorical question. "No one does. My logic just is just so messed up that people can't understand it enough to come up with counterarguments."

Trian Aeducan really was getting annoyed, and it wasn't because of what would normally be the cause. As opposed to what one may think, he didn't really mind overmuch the prospect of staying conveniently hidden and free of most duties for a while longer. What he did mind was the degree of insanity that his plan screamed of. "I'm going with you." A little extra insanity wasn't going to matter much, right?

Raonar abruptly stopped what he was doing and stood straight. Coincidentally, his back was turned and he'd grabbed onto the shaft of a greataxe, one of the blunted models. Then, ever so slowly, he turned around and leaned sideways against it, with his arm up and hanging off that shaft, since it was taller than he was.

That was what two-handed weapons were like. They had long shafts or, in the case of swords, handles with counterweights at the end, so that a fighter's sense of balance wasn't impaired. Granted, the size did make squad combat tricky, since soldiers had to be farther apart from each other. Fortunately, there were those things called healing potions that made up for the higher probability of injury. Such oversized weapons were used because it was always best to make sure there was as much distance between tainted darkspawn and oneself as possible. That they cleaved easily through pretty much any monster was just a bonus.

Apparently, Darkspawn corruption was the second son's concern. "No, Trian. I don't want to risk you getting infected. Unlike me, you're not immune." Of course, he did not mention that bit about him being able to neutralize taint, provided it was in its beginning stages.

"Losing sleep because of worry over your wellbeing will turn me into a zombie anyway," the elder of the two spoke bluntly. "Besides, it wasn't a request."

There was a pause.

"Tell you what," said the younger, lifting the weapon with just one arm and pointing it straight at his chest. "I'll still be in the city for a short while. If you manage to beat me even once during the next three days, I'll think about it."

"You're on!"

The insidious grin promptly whisked away all enthusiasm. "You do realize you agreed without even hearing the rules."

The prince heir finally realized he should feel wary. "What rules?"

"The reason I entered the proving was so I could fight Piotin. I wanted a close look at his special greataxe technique. So, while I won't replicate it perfectly, I'll demonstrate it for you. After that, I'll show you the counter I developed for it."

"I'm not hearing any rules," Trian noted casually.

So the grin widened, irises disappeared under brilliant magical light and his younger brother started to glow like he'd eaten a whole lyrium vein once again. "There's really just one rule. You'll have to fight me unarmed."

There was only shocked silence.

"You can't be serious! That's outrageous!"

"Don't worry," his sibling assured him, unconvincingly. "I'm not that good with two-handed things, and I definitely won't reproduce the real might of the technique. Plus I already prepared a whole case of health poultices. I brought it in while you were getting dressed earlier, after your haircut." He pointed at the far wall, where a bench was standing, with the case of red vials in question. "Don't feel bad. If you grasp the unarmed counter fast enough, you'll be able to put me down in one movement."

Of **course** there was always a catch.

Trian gulped. Then, when he realized how embarrassing that reaction was, glared. "I hate you."

"No you don't."

Of **course** he didn't. All in all, there was only one thing the heir apparent could say to that. "You're horrible."

And, naturally, that just spurned him on. "That's me. I'm a horrible person." The fact that the smile was sincere somehow failed to bring any sort of assurance and, instead, promised only prolonged pain and suffering.

"-. .-"

_Excerpt from journal of Senior Enchanter Wynne_

_10 Pluitanis, 9:31, Dragon:__ The day is here at last. We are just about ready for our trip in the Deep Roads, which we expect will take at least a month. The past few days were spent gathering supplies, finding one of these tamed brontos that won't be scared off too easily and visiting both Lord Harrowmont's and Bhelen's so-called homes._

_Well, Gwen and Alim mostly stopped by the Palace, and Faren also went over to see his sister one more time before leaving for the deeps. Duran, unsurprisingly, spent quite some time at Lord Pyral's estate, most of the past three days in fact. When told by Alistair and Alim that it might make it seem as though we are favoring him, he said that a bit of suspicion on Bhelen's part is actually what he wanted._

_As it happens, I also had to go there, on Duran's request. I was allowed… further in than I expected, so as to heal a certain someone that got injured during training. He seemed… overall likeable actually. There is more I would say, but alas, I must refrain in this instance. I also inspected someone's crippled leg but there wasn't much I could do._

_Regardless, now that we have all the spare weapons, both bladed and blunt ones, as well as backup armor sets, maintenance kits, poultices and lyrium potions and food to last us two months if rationed, all we need to do is find Oghren and get on our way._

_Now if only Duran would just come back already. He'll have to make sure to keep his full helmet on at all times, seeing as how his hair is back to its regular state now._

"-. .-"

The two Aeducan brothers were in Trian's quarters.

Trian hadn't seen anyone besides Pyral, Gorim, Baizyl, and his brother in months, and if he'd been made to guess, he would not have thought that the next new face would be that of an elderly, human female mage. And what made it even more amazing was that it was the same woman that conducted the healing following his accident, when he was ten.

Simply put, he was overcome by a resurgent awe (that he'd been left with as a child) when she so easily mended a bone fissure in his forearm just an hour earlier. Well, the arm and a whole assortment of cuts and bruises. With a single spell, like a blue mist.

The fact that the woman was so absurdly tall and he had to look up at her, like some kid would stare at a shopkeeper offering a candy bar, did not help matters.

So of **course** Raonar would tease him about how he looked positively starstrucked, the same as he himself did when he first saw her move a pencil with just the power of her mind. Of course, he was seven at the time, not 25 years old… hence the not-dead one's annoyance. "You do realize that enjoying other people's embarrassing moments can be categorized as both evil and sadistic, don't you?"

Raonar Aeducan looked on innocently. "That you see it as embarrassing is your own choice. I actually found your reaction absolutely adorable." There was a pause and a raised eyebrow on the heir's part. "Honest!"

The firstborn decided he liked his remaining sanity too much to press the issue. "Are you sure I can't make you change your mind?"

"About letting you come along? Trian, you didn't manage to win against me, remember?"

"You cheated!" _You had a sodding battle axe! And I just had my fists!_

"So what?"

"What do you mean so what?"

"Let me put it this way," he shrugged. "Even if you did win, I only said I'd think about it. Accept it Trian, I'm not letting you put yourself in harm's way."

The eldest's expression went sour and he looked aside, face twisted into a minor sneer as he rubbed his forehead.

"I talked to Harrowmont, by the way," that definitely caught his attention. "I'm taking a big risk here but… I told him to obey your decision if you suddenly decide to just reveal yourself, whether I'm here or not."

"I see…" Trian's eyes narrowed as he considered this new information. "Sorry to say this, but you're not getting out of this so easily."

"Huh?" The second son really looked mildly intrigued. Go figure.

"There is no way I am going to clean up the mess you put Orzammar in. You started all this, you fix it. So you'd damn well better come back in one piece." _It's only fair, after all. What kind of big brother would I be if I didn't drill your sense of responsibility into you?_

"Heh. Since you put it that way, I suppose I have no choice but to do my best to oblige."

Like that was fooling anyone. "Oh please. I bet you already have everything planned out." The silence was all the confirmation he needed, so he decided to at least learn something before the guy went off again. "Will you at least tell me one thing?"

"That depends…"

_ Of course he'd say that._ "Bhelen. What do you intend to do about him?"

The so-called exile looked at him for a while, but eventually answered. "I already have him where I want him." He didn't sound smug at all, not even in the least pleased, just… sad. "I always did. All we need is… a suitable stage and audience. Once there, I will destroy his confidence. He will be shocked, then he will be confused."

Trian could only watch as his brother walked off and stopped in front of the wall-sized mirror on the wall with the desk.

"He will see what it's like when someone else has his life in their hands. He will know how it feels to be a worthless pawn. He will see that he is not nearly as smart as he thinks he is. He will be shown that he is nothing special. He will see that the world will go on just fine without him. He will be… afraid." He raised both hands as if he was grabbing onto the air itself. "And then, when the moment will come and he will be backed into a corner… I will summon all of my cruelty and systematically eliminate all of his choices until there are only two left."

The crown prince distantly wondered if that guy could sound any more ominous. The rest of his brain was too busy thinking about how that had been so frustratingly vague. The worst part was that he didn't really know what he should feel about all of this.

"Ah," the white-haired one waved as he turned around, looking completely at ease. "It all depends on whether or not I actually come back alive of course. If I don't, the show will be yours."

"Don't joke about that." The words came out before he could think, and for once, Trian did not regret it.

"You know big brother… There comes a time when it's really just a choice between laughing and screaming."

"Oh please. Even if you get to that point, you'll just do what you always do."

"Oh really?' The raised eyebrow emerged. "And that is?"

"Take a third option. And if there is none, you'll make one yourself."

"Heh. True enough."

Ah, so they actually could agree about something for once.

Unfortunately, it looked like time was up. "Anyway, I should be off."

He made to leave, but there was something else that needed taking care of, so the other one grabbed him by the wrist. "Wait." Letting go, Trian turned and walked over to his desk. Then, he pulled out a drawer and began to search through it. This took about ten seconds and involved the noise of small things sliding about. Eventually, however, he found what he wanted.

Upon returning, he was holding out a small piece of jewelry. His sibling's face dawned with recognition, but he said it anyway. "This is father's signet ring. I think we both know who should have it." He didn't even wait. He took Raonar's right hand and slid the ring down his fourth finger. "After you were exiled, father forbid any more overtures into the Aeducan Thaig. Then, after he died, Bhelen couldn't afford to spare more soldiers than those he sent after Branka. You know where I'm going with this, don't you?" He gripped that hand tight, in a long handshake. "It hasn't been long since father's passing either. The Shield of Aeducan is still in there somewhere."

That was probably the softest expression the guy had ever shown. "I know."

"You were planning on going down there for it either way, weren't you?"

"Yes."

"Even without a ring?"

Again that smile. "You know, mages can throw lightning strong enough to shatter rock without having to put too much effort into it."

"Ah, I see." Some silence fell again, and they enjoyed it, until it became clear that they couldn't dally any longer. So, resigned, the eldest took his brother's hand in both of his own. "Please be careful down there."

"Hmm. I have a feeling it won't really matter even if I do but… alright. I won't make any promises but I can at least say I'll do my best." With that, he finally turned to leave. "See you later, big brother. And don't worry so much." And he was finally off to his next insanity.

"I'm afraid not worrying is beyond my capabilities at the moment," Trian spoke to the silence once he was finally alone again, letting himself fall on his bed. All in all, it was ironic he would feel so honestly concerned after having been so thoroughly, and repeatedly, battered over the past few days. "This is all your blasted fault."

_The review space is, as always, right there and waiting._


	49. The Second Chapter that Is Not a Chapter

**Chapter 47: You Are All Fools**

"**-. .-"**

Of **course** this is a half-arsed, totally unoriginal, hardly amusing April Fools prank attempt. Like I'd actually be able to churn out several thousand words overnight just like that.

Seriously.

Now, before you freak out and hire spies to find out where I live and send anonymous, life-threatening letters, and maybe have some cars try to run me over for this transgression, let me just say that I am well aware that all of you –probably- knew to expect something like this when you got the alerts, if any. Still, even so, there is one insurmountable fact you cannot just ignore.

You are reading this.

As such, while I might end up getting scolded via the conveniently-placed link below, since I am ever so detached and unaffected by unfavorable reactions, this will actually leave me nonplussed while contributing to my goals by increasing my review count. What's more, even if I do not get any reviews for this, your clicks will lead to a nice amount of hits, which is more or less the next best thing.

And even if the above fall short of my expectations, this little story will still be pushed at the top of the list for this particular fanfiction section (read: it will be moved up in terms of how recently it was updated, thus garnering more attention regardless of what you do). You do realize what this means, yes?

I win.


	50. Deep Roads Arc 1: Acquaintance in Pieces

Author's Notes: Well, here it be at long last. I took a break for a week to get back to the old schedule.Y'all have fun now (I wonder if this site even works anymore. Ah well.)

* * *

**Chapter 47: Acquaintance in Pieces**

"-. .-"

The vast underground passage echoed with the rugged voice of a certain dwarven warrior. "You did what?"

"You heard me," Gwen answered with a grin aimed straight ahead. "When I left the assembly, I 'kindly' asked the deshyrs to do their best not to murder each other over petty squabbles until we return."

Oghren didn't even try to restrain his laughter. "Ye're mad, Warden. But you know what? I like you."

Oghren Kondrat hadn't expected these people to be quite like this, not after what his life had been like over the past couple of years. After suffering through ridicule on the part of pretty much every other warrior and noble that happened to drop by Tapsters' tavern, or anywhere else, he'd already reached the point where it came across as odd for anyone to behave differently around him. Not that the usual didn't bother him, because it did. Sure, the ale helped drown out the voices and all, but it still always gnawed at him.

It shouldn't have been like that. He was the only one in the city that really cared about Branka, the sodding Paragon, and they condemned him for it. What else could he do but go to the diamond quarter and shout himself hoarse until he had to go back to the tavern and drink the soreness in his throat away? Sodding nuglickers, all of 'em. All the nobles were alike, and the warriors weren't much better. The only fighter with a head on his shoulders he really ever knew was Gorim, and he was dead. And even he's been a bit too much of a bootlicker, to the point where he'd thrown him (Oghren) out of the palace half a dozen times for making fun of the king (hey, he should have lightened up some!).

Now, with cub warriors like that whiny Loilinar Ivo, who could ever even like the nobles?

But he was thinking randomly again. Ale did that, made him lose his train of thought, that was the beauty of it. So where was he? Ah right, the Wardens and how the few people that still kept an ear out for him didn't have to let him know if they were doing anything.

He'd expected to have to make a case with them, even had a few lines prepared in case they insulted him, like everyone else did. Instead, it was they (the human woman and that elf with long, black hair, he or she... bah, it had been after several flagons, who cares about the gender?) that came to him. He was in Tapsters, at his spot in the corner, near the privy, when they were suddenly next to his table and told him they were leaving the next day, so he should get his equipment ready and whatever supplies he felt he needed.

Oghren had been so honestly shocked at that event that he just nodded dumbly and blinked in acknowledgement. He completely missed them telling him when and where he should show up and meet with them (it was after dousing several tankards of lichen ale in ten minutes, you understand). So, early the next day, he put on his best armor, a suit of silverite heavy plate mail, not really massive, but the next step down. He also brought along a nice battleaxe, also of silverite.

Well, he had, at one point, been a very honored warrior and he was also, technically, a noble, so of course he had his share of wealth left, how else could he afford to buy so much ale? Ah right, ale. He did not forget to bring along a big enough pack full of flacons of it... and a keg. It's only fair that a fighter should have a way to get some peace of mind, especially on long trips like these, right?

Right, his brain was roaming again. The dwarf, thus, decided to take another swig of ale even as he kept walking more or less in line with the others (he always had a flacon at his side, one for the ditch). Where was he? Oh right, meeting with them.

So, since he'd been so stumped by having been (politely even) called upon, thus missing the when and where, he ended up waiting for them to show up for two hours that morning, near the Deep Roads entrance. Some of the guards and miners did throw him odd looks, what with him carrying his weapon on his back and all, but they didn't say anything. Not that he did his best to pay attention, what with doing his best to ignore them actually.

He'd actually missed this, marching to battle, after months, even years of being forbidden to carry weapons, because of that proving against Randar Vollney. Well, it was to first blood and he really had stopped after he drew first blood. No one specifically said it wasn't allowed to be a lethal hit. Eh, stone smack them all. He wasn't about to give up on Branka just because they refused to do anything.

Yes, the march was a nice feeling, and he had to admit that the atmosphere wasn't that bad either, now that they were marching down that ancient underground road, vast and tall even after such a long time. It really was magnificent, with large, perfectly aligned, dark granite slabs, almost completely unworn even now, a testament to just how durable dwarven construction was and always had been.

The road was about thirty meters wide (when it was narrowest) and the top was almost impossible to see. Braziers, on top of tall, stone pillars, were on both sides, at intervals of a hundred meters, enchanted to magically create fire whenever movement was detected. Many of them had been broken down, either by time or darkspawn, but they were still close to Orzammar, so things weren't looking too gloomy yet.

Paragon statues and signposts with quotes from the Memories flanked the pathway. There were also lava flows, coursing down from above, once every five hundred meters or so, so as to grant that roadway heat and extra light. Oghren also remembered that the old empire had many sections where a lava river of sorts flowed alongside the road itself, for similar purposes, though the dwarves had made sure to build a tall and thick enough wall on that side, to prevent any accidents.

That Duran guy, still with his head totally covered in that full helmet, and wearing an even more massive silverite plate armor than him (largely similar in shape to what Oghren remembered the Legion wearing, only of a silvery hue, obviously), along with a shield and several weapons (two swords, a shield and two daggers) had taken point, along with his black dog and that duster-wearing (duster as in coat, not brand) elf mage.

The tattooed elf archer (and his wolf) and that qunari giant were right behind them, both looking surprisingly similar (height, build and hair aside), with their aloof attitudes, not that Oghren could see them very well, since he was farther in the back. Of course, he'd seen enough of them earlier, before they left, to know they probably hadn't changed their flat stares much.

The big golem with a dry sense of humor walked alongside them as well, occasionally making those crystals blow out flames for no reason. Oghren made a mental note to remember to talk to it sometime. Of course, the ale might make him forget to remember, but eh, it happens.

Third line was made up of Oghren himself and the four humans, those being Gwen, that Alistair guy, Wynne (who'd actually managed to guess the ingredients in his ale, down to the cloves, upon tasting it, Stone bless her) and Leliana, who carried a sort of oversized purse from where that nug of hers, Schmooples (what kind of woman names a walking piece of roast Schmooples?), peeked out, looking really weird with just the head popping out now and then. The dwarven fighter still felt it was a waste not to eat the thing, but what can you do? Odd that even the Warden leader woman's own brown dog didn't try to much on the critter, being right there alongside them and all.

As for the brand kid, his elven sweetheart and that Antivan assassin (who was making a point of acquiescing to Kallian's request for adventure stories in as brash and loud a manner as possible, no doubt in order to annoy Faren, and it was working from the dejected look on his face) were right at the back. The redhead dwarf was even holding onto the reins of their bronto. It was a really big and strong animal, bigger than most brontos Oghren was used to, and it was carrying a lot of stuff while also pulling a two-wheel cart with all sorts of supplies.

Even a weird, furry, black animal, a cat they'd called it, sat right at the top, apparently sleeping, though the weird ears twitched now and then, not that the fighter was paying attention or bothering to look back and check.

They'd been going like this for a couple of hours, at a pace that Oghren found he actually had to put effort into matching (just a little effort though, which was exactly how he wished it would be). He'd also spent a while examining the equipment and he really couldn't find any faults. He hadn't taken a look at most of their weapons, since they were all sheathed and equipped or packed tight in the cart, but the armors were fine and strong, and, for some of them, quite unique even, like they'd been specially-tailored. The city elf was the prime example, as was the elven mage.

The final, major thing Oghren noticed was how they all seemed to have various relationships. Some liked each other, others had friendly rivalries or even outright despised each other, but the way they carried themselves as a group spoke volumes. Regardless of their differences, these were people that would instantly fight cohesively if met with hostile conditions. It was like they'd been through a lot of bronto shit together.

Come to think of it, that was probably true.

Oghren felt a headache coming in, no doubt aided by the noise of their march, especially metal boots striking stone in less of a rhythmic fashion than soldiers could boast about. Of course, even just thinking too much tended to do that, especially when he was drinking, so he drank some more. As always, it worked and the sodding lousy feeling went away.

The next half hour he spent by keeping his mouth shut and listening to whatever antics everyone was busy with. Gwen and that shy human guy started playing the lovey nuggies, pardon, to ogle each other. Oghren didn't really try to distract himself from the awkward train of thought that first phrase had the habit of leading him into. He found it even easier than expected to fantasize because the talk between Shale and Sten somehow took a turn for the awkward too. What kind of golem complements a big ass qunari giant for how the light falls upon his muscles when he flexes them anyway?

At least that hunter elf had the sense to feel a bit uncomfortable and start rubbing his forehead, though it didn't last long. Of course, being that he was behind those three, the dwarven fighter couldn't really tell for sure what was going on in the elf's head.

It wasn't until they all reached a fork in the Deep Roads and they began to turn left instead of right that Oghren finally had a reason to speak up. "Hey," he frowned up at Gwen. Damn these humans and their long legs, making him stretch his neck like that. "Why are we going left? Shouldn't we be going the other way?" He'd been allowed to see the maps given to the Wardens by both Harrowmont and Bhelen, to confront with the ancient ones that Branka dug up, so he was pretty sure Caridin's Cross was the other way.

"We're taking a detour," the apparent commander said simply. "We're stopping by the Aeducan Thaig first."

"What business could surfacers have there?" he pressed curiously.

Oghren wasn't the most observant of people, he could give them that, but the way Gwen and Alistair exchanged glances wasn't exactly subtle. "Lord Anwer Dace should be there on an expedition but he's late in reporting in as far as I understand. We have some business with him," she said.

The dwarf just grunted in acknowledgement and kept walking. If they didn't feel like telling him the real reason, whatever. The fact they were going to look for Branka at all was already more than he could have asked for, and what those deep lords would have bothered to do.

It only took one more hour for them to near the Thaig. The Aeducan Thaig was closest to Orzammar and the last to fall to the darkspawn. Thus, it was the one in the best shape and least corrupted. The section of the Deep Roads that led to it had collapsed over the years, but there was a tunnel that circumvented the obstacle. It was probably as old as the thaig itself, since there was an actual door, carved into the stone, that allowed passage out into the thaig from it, at least that what memory served to tell.

"Bwah!" Oghren cried out in fright when the cat jumped off the bronto right next to him, just before it became a dark mist and turned into a woman. "By the tits of my ancestors! Where'd you come from, woman!" Then it struck him that this was the first time he saw her. "Who the sod're you?"

"I've always been here, dwarf," Morrigan said with an annoyed scoff, folding her arms in front of her. Her robes were just as revealing as always, though her dark red hood was drawn over her head at the moment. "I am Morrigan... Did you not even bother to ask who you were traveling with? I am amazed you got to live this long if your wits leave so much to be desired."

"Feisty one, ain't ya," he replied with a leer. "Fits with yer clothing. Bet your special skill is causing enemies to die of nosebleeds just by lookin' at ya."

"Do not **stare** at me so, dwarf," the witch demanded uncomfortably before walking off.

"Surfacers. All of'em mad cause of that sun in their heads," the fighter muttered, not noticing the amused looks some of the others were shooting him, since he didn't have the habit of looking up.

They left Theron, his wolf, Zevran and Shale behind to stay with the supplies while the others went ahead, since the Bronto and the cart couldn't really fit through the tunnel, not without being a liability anyway.

Well, there were several tunnels really. One had to pass through a reasonably spacious passage (such were they all down there, large, though it was too littered with rubble for carts to advance) and reach what must have been a market square or plaza at some point in the distant past. That area opened in several tunnels, most of them dead ends, except for two, which Oghren knew had been opened during that ill-fated expedition of King Endrin's favorite kid. The first tunnel was fairly dark, but not quite. Some phosphorescent lichen had grown, probably recently, and there were what looked like burrows and tunnels up in the top of the cavern, with sparse remnants of spider webbing formations, as if spiders had lived there at one point or another.

Duran kept walking in front, steadily and surely, looking like he knew exactly where he was going all the while, though he did seem to glance around and up from time to time, probably more than he would have liked since that full helmet must have been murdering his peripheral vision. It was his own fault for keeping it on, Oghren thought. The elf kept himself at his side, illuminating the passage with light from his staff. That staff looked like a long rod of red steel and had a blue crystal, shaped like very long, pointed pyramid, or rhomb, at the top. It was fastened to the shaft by what looked like the imitation of a drake's claw, made of obsidian, just like the half-foot long, lower end of the weapon.

"Darkspawn," Alistair muttered from where he walked, on the right, on the other side of Gwen. "We'll run into them in about five minutes if we keep with this route. They haven't sensed us yet, I think."

"Was wondering when you'd notice them," Kallian said from behind them. "They've been itching at my brain for the past half hour. Fortunately, they're few enough so we shouldn't have any trouble taking care of them." She pointed at some of the stalagmites they were passing by. "I'm surprised these things, whatever they are, haven't jumped us yet."

Oghren realized some of the stalagmites were camouflaged deep stalkers and resolved to pay more attention to his surroundings. Of course, those things weren't stupid enough to attack large groups like theirs, not unless they were a large pack themselves. although the murmurs in the walls and holes kind of suggested they were communicating and gathering. Maybe.

"Deep stalkers," Faren explained to whoever was close enough to listen, not counting Oghren himself (meaning Gwen, Alistair, Leliana, Wynne and Kallian herself). "They won't attack unless they're a lot more numerous than us. Still, wretched little buggers."

Suddenly, they all stopped. Oghren noticed Duran make a few hand signs. Next moment, Alim and Morrigan turned into giant spiders (the dwarven fighter almost gaped) and crawled up the tunnel before moving on to fading into the shadows above, where the light of the lichen didn't reach. Things were a bit darker now, what with the elf's staff light gone, but Gwen still had a yellow glowstone, though she gave it to Sten, since his height allowed the light to cast farther (the glowstone was on the tip of a steel shaft of about two meters in length, almost a staff in itself, and was quite high up now that the giant had it resting on his shoulder).

After five minutes of waiting, that Duran guy drew one of his swords and readied his silverite targe. The blade was a dwarven-looking longsword made of dragonbone, the pale white type (which was actually kind of rare), and had runes alongside the entire length of the blade, shining a sort of sapphire light. "The darkspawn should be ready for us by now," he said before they resumed their advance.

Ten minutes later, everyone was wiping the dark blood and ichor off their swords and armors, except for Wynne, who'd stayed back, and Leliana, who had managed to stay apart and just shoot things down with her bow. Oghren was a bit put off though, simply because that hadn't been exciting at all. Almost two dozen darkspawn and they'd all been entangled by spider webbing or Wynne's paralysis spell. Only four had managed to put up a fight, and those ones had fallen to Gwen and Alistair.

"You mind leaving some for me next time?" the grumpy dwarf complained as he holstered his axe. "You're taking all the fun out of it. It's better when they squirm." He actually regretted the fact that he bothered to put on his helmet.

"You'll get enough excitement," Duran spoke casually from where he'd taken point yet again, which was odd. Wasn't that woman supposed to be in charge? She had the fancy armor and everything, though she'd not been wearing her cape since they left the city. Which was sensible.

Frowning, he decided not to say anything for now, especially since no one seemed to mind being led wherever Duran was going.

Eventually, they passed through another tunnel, longer this time, and they had to fight off some spiders, but nothing they couldn't handle. Eventually, they reached the Thaig proper and saw that it was really large. Oghren hadn't actually been here before, since King Endrin had forbidden it after that whole kinslaying mess. Plus, the fighter had been more busy roaming the deep roads alone or with some others, before they grew tired of him, looking for Branka's trail (and failing).

The thaig wasn't actually in disrepair at all, understandable considering that it had only recently been overrun. There also seemed to be a strange absence of darkspawn, furthering the belief that a Blight was amassing, since that was the only time when the Deep Roads emptied, more or less. There was also none of that gooey, fleshy darkspawn corruption overgrowth here, meaning that this settlement, at least, actually might be reasonably easy to salvage.

The city (it was a city once) had a more or less linear shape, with most buildings on one side and the street on the other, at least as far as the part up to the underground lake went. There was also one of those stone bridges over it, though it was barely visible in the distance. There also seemed to be no shortage of light, as there were runes in the walls and high up, even on the large pillars, huge even, that seemed to support the ceiling. Lyrium was etched into the Stone itself and cast its teal light everywhere, in cascades, as if there were semi-natural candelabrums here and there, making the lichen on the walls obsolete but still interesting to look at.

This was a view that had to be remembered fondly, so Oghren did the sensible thing and gave a long whistle before taking a swig of his ale. After all, any fond memory had to involve ale, no exceptions.

"Whoa..." he heard Alistair breathe out as he gazed up and around, awestruck.

"For once, I find myself truly impressed," Morrigan also said, again in her woman form. "Orzammar had too much lava."

Everyone else expressed their awe in various ways, except Duran, who didn't look like there was anything new for him to see here. Instead, he'd stopped somewhere alongside one of the natural walls, not a building, and was passing his hand (he'd taken his gauntlet off) over the Stone. "Oghren, come over here for a second."

Curious, he did so, the rustle and thumps of metal as he stepped apparently incapable of breaking the revelry of the others. Of course, Oghren could see some beginnings of the darkspawn taint here and here, but there wasn't more than blackish streaks on the rock anywhere. "Aye? What?"

"How's your Stone Sense?"

There was a pause.

"Huh?"

"You know, your dwarven ability to sense lyrium and detect tremors in the earth, maybe even guess at the dangers ahead just by reaching out with your instinct."

"I know what the Stone Sense is, darn it!" He hadn't been born yesterday. Seriously, what was with that guy. "And it's fine. I could never mistake that tingle if I were to get it."

"Alright then, put your palm here and tell me what you feel."

Stifling a groan, the man did as requested and took his own gauntlet off before touching the rock. Come to think of it, he hadn't done this too many times before, but dwarves somehow knew what to look out for when doing this. He didn't even realize when he'd tuned out the outside world, after closing his eyes, but he suddenly drew back and shuddered, snapping his eyes open and feeling that his heart rate had spiked for some freaking reason. "Stone spittle! What was that?"

That seemed to draw the others' attention, since they all but ran to where they were standing.

"So it's not just me," Duran said pensively, though he was still unnerving with his face covered and all.

"Felt like something was crawling beneath my skin and across my brain," Oghren explained, warranting curious looks on the part of the others. "I never felt anything like that before. It was... unnatural." _Can we leave and look for Branka now?_

"Is something amiss?" Wynne asked.

"Can you not tell? 'Tis obvious enough something is unwell," Morrigan pointed out crisply.

"I don't really sense any more darkspawn in the vicinity, or farther off really," the city elf decided to say, with that look in her eyes that meant she as reaching out with her senses.

"It's something else," the heavily-armored dwarven warden said. "A foulness, different from darkspawn... We should go further in."

It wasn't until five minutes later that they got a reason to speed up, because they heard the noises deep stalkers made when they went after their prey, though there seemed to be a lot of frustration in their cries, not just hunger and anger. And none of it was directed at them.

Breaking into a run, which wasn't as hard as some may expect with all that armor on (although it did prevent too large leaps from being made) they turned a corner, weapons drawn, to see an immense swarm of them. Oghren was a bit surprised at seeing that they were trying to eat an claw their way through a thaig door and wall, to enter a building that had probably been a residence at some point. The screeching noises expressed annoyance as only a small number of those things seemed to manage to crawl through some holes they'd manage to make along the door's joints and the corners of the walls, plus in the ground.

"How the sod did those things eat through that?" he heard Gwen asking as she unsheathed her greatsword.

"Something tells me that lord ye're lookin for is in there!" Oghren answered, jumping off a boulder and slashing down, killing one of those things and sweeping his weapon around to knock a few others around. "Probably been there for days if those things got impatient enough to actually eat through the stone."

There were probably forty of those things, like a mix between rockworms and lizards, knee-high even to dwarves. And that number was not counting whichever monsters managed to actually get in to try their luck at whoever was still alive inside.

Oghren Kondrat finally got his excitement and he was delighted to see how pathetic those things got when they actually tried to bite onto his armor. Too bad they were fast on their feet because he would have loved to catch at least one under his boot. Apparently, that elf, or Wynne, probably guessed his thoughts, because he felt a rush of magic run past him and everyone else, slowing those things down as though time was moving at a crawl for just them.

Unfortunately, the rest got the idea quickly and the buggers realized the new threat and swarmed in, making their lives rather difficult. By the end of it all, he was winded after having gone into a berserker rage and had, apparently, injured Gwen by accident, something that Alistair was throwing him angry looks for. Meh, it was just a roughed up hip, nothing to be concerned about. The dragonbone plate had absorbed most of the hit. It was her own fault for being so close to a Battlerager. Plus, Wynne made short work of their injuries anyhow.

Either way, the field looked good, all covered in monster bits and pieces, and innards, let's not forget that. Come to think of it, he had some on his armor, so he swatted them aside with a swipe of the back of his hand, something that left Kallian and Leliana a bit bemused. "What?' he asked, flatly.

The answer came in the form of... something blasting the back of his head hard enough to send him staggering forward. "Hey! What was that!" Was it magic? Some sort of forcefield? Turning around, he saw just Duran about five paces away from him.

"You berserkers are supposed to be able to reign in your anger for maximum effect and least friendly fire," he said in a sort of no-nonsense tone that irked the fighter quite a bit. "Control yourself better next time, or at least give a forewarning. I'd like to only worry about enemies and monsters, if you'd be so kind."

"Hmph. If you know all that, you should have enough sense to keep your distance then-" he stopped speaking when he saw his flacon of ale jumping from his belt into the air and well out of his reach. And then it just... floated there. "What the nughumpers!"

Alim spoke from behind him. "If you can't rein it in, we'll assume it's because you're not sober enough and remove the problem. I always wanted to see if dwarven ale can explode."

"Alright fine! Sod, you Wardens are all a bunch of-" The look Alim gave him made him abruptly stop talking since it promised absolute ale eradiation and the rest of his supply was back with the cart... and might just end up destroyed later. So he cast a disbelieving look in Gwen's direction, who had, by now, fully recovered, though Wynne was looking slightly tired. "Aren't **you** supposed to be the leader?"

The woman showed a raised eyebrow and adjusted the Helm of Honnleath on her head. "We Wardens are battle brothers. Get used to being pestered like that if you can't help yourself."

The berserker settled for a grunt and shrugged, though he was careful in grabbing the flacon out of the air when it was levitated back within his reach. "Ale haters!"

"Perhaps we should check the building and get this over with." Sten suggested flatly, putting Asala in her baldric.

Faren was already on it and walked over to the metal door. "Anyone still alive in there?" He pumped the low side of his fist against the door several times, since it was barred somehow from inside. "Hey! Anyone in there?"

At last someone was heard answering something from within, a man by the sound if the voice. Soon enough, everyone had gathered closer and could hear things being pulled out from behind the door. Eventually, the door itself opened inwards and a dwarf stepped forward, blinking the discomfort in his eyes away, since he'd stepped into a brighter area than before. He looked in his late middle years, with a beard and moustache similar to what Endrin's firstborn (as Oghren remembered anyway) had when he was alive. Some grey hairs were mixed with the light brown. He had one braid, like Faren's, more or less, a the back of his head.

He also had a massive dwarven coat of plates like the one Piotin wore in the provings (and some guards) and looked exhausted. Sweat was in beads on his brow. He wiped them away with the back of his bracer and waited for his breathing to calm down. "You pulled us from a tight spot, friend. You have my gratitude." Meanwhile, a pair of human mercenaries also crawled out of there, one with his head bandaged.

"Lord Anwer Dace I presume?" the apparent lady commander guessed, stepping in front.

"Yes, I am the Patriarch of House Dace. How did you know?" He looked honestly surprised. "Did my daughter requisition your assistance when she saw I was delayed without known cause? Though I have no idea why she would not sent our own warriors or how you came to even be in Orzammar in these troubled times..."

"Before that," Duran broke in. "Are these all the help you have left? Is there anyone still alive in there?"

"There's Mike," one of the human mercenaries spoke up. "And Krista. The deep stalkers that managed to get in got them pretty bad. You're saying you have healing supplies?"

"Wynne, see what you can do," Gwen ordered, and the mage complied quickly, shuffling her red robes after her amazingly easily, not tripping even once as she was led in, accompanied by Faren (at Duran's subtle nod).

"Now, to answer your question," Gwen resumed the previous discussion. "We learned of your expedition here several days ago, but we came here for a different reason. Grey Warden matters, you understand, though Lord Harrowmont did tell us to look for you if we could, since he was wondering why you or your men hadn't reported in when you were supposed to."

"Then I owe Harrowmont more than I thought. I am grateful you arrived when you did, Wardens. We thought we might be able to hold out until the stalkers got bored of waiting at a dead end, but they somehow got desperate enough to dig through the ground and more weathered parts of the building."

"Just why are they so many anyway?" one of the humans asked, sounding shaken up. "We lost fifteen good lads in the ambush and we didn't even manage to kill a third of them before they forced us to barricade in there. And where are the bodies? Did they eat them all?"

"I told ya," the other one said. "It's because of that scream. I heard some miners saying that a Legionnaire told them how a loud, infernal scream a while ago scared them beasts away from the deeper parts of the Roads, so they ran here. That's why they're so many."

"Pansies," Oghren found himself muttering, though no one heard him well from where he was standing, behind and to the side of the others. "You should've brought more men, preferably dwarves instead of mercenaries." Why **did** he have mercenaries with him actually?Wait, the Daces had many friends and connections topside. Maybe they left their real warriors to defend their household, what with the chaos in Orzammar.

"You're welcome," Alistair said to cover his grumbling.

"We might actually have something more to show you," Duran spoke again. "But you'll have to agree to accompany us back to where the rest of our kith are waiting, along with our supply wagon."

"Considering our predicament, I'd welcome the company and extra steel," the nobleman said sincerely. "With the few of us left, and the state we're in, I doubt it'd be a good idea to brave the way back on our own, much as I hate to admit it."

"Well, you're not as few as you think," Faren's voice was heard as he stepped out of the dark building, followed by a very exhausted-looking Wynne and the man and woman mentioned before, now out of any danger of daying.

"Oh, thank the Maker!" the less battered mercenary gave out.

"Wait, you still have that task you need to take care of, don't you?" the human woman asked of the fully-armored dwarf Warden.

"Indeed," Duran confirmed. "Faren, Kallian and Alim are with me. The rest of you, escort his lordship back to the rendezvous point outside the Thaig and wait for us there." He paused. "Actually, set up camp and prepare some food." He then faced the lord directly. "I imagine you're also hungry and thirsty after this ordeal. You and your men can partake from our supplies as much as you wish, since we'll be stopping by Orzammar after this anyway, so we'll restock well enough. We may not have the best nug delicacies you are probably used to, but I imagine venison and hare will do, yes?"

"I am humbled by your generosity," Anwer said cordially. _Huh, he's not as stuck up as other lords_, Oghren thought. "I assure you I will not forget those to whom I owe such favor."

"Nonsense," Alistair intervened with a wave of his hand. "We'd do it for anyone after all."

"You can barter who owes what to whom on the way there," Kallian said with a wink, following after the other three who had already gone on their way.

"And do try not to accidentally injure each other, will you?"

Ah yes, Duran jabbing at him again. Oghren really was wishing he could take a look at his face and see if it was really as ugly as he imagined it to be. Then at least he'd have even less of a reason to feel sorry if he 'accidentally' punched him.

Ugh, bad thoughts to think of those that were helping him find Branka. He decided to chase his annoyance away by gulping down some more ale.

"I shall go on ahead and inform Theron that his masterful cooking will be needed once again," Morrigan uttered and, before anyone could question her intent, she morphed into a... swarm of strange, unnervingly numerous and noisy insects that promptly whisked away faster than anyone could possibly hope to follow.

Oghren looked at Anwer and saw that he was just as flabbergasted as he himself was.

"-. .-"

"You do realize what this means, don't you?" Duran uttered once they were out of earshot of the others.

"I doubt we do," Kallian responded, looking around and examining what looked like a ballista that might still be serviceable. She'd managed to get over the initial feeling of awe that the majesty of those underground roads and complexes instilled upon people, so she could actually pay more attention to other things now.

"The scream that scared the beasts into swarming away from the Dead Trenches and towards Orzammar, it was me pissing Urthemiel off. Ergo, Anwer almost dying was... probably my indirect fault." The tone he used was surprisingly impassive compared to the implication of that statement, though it might have been easier for his mood to be ascertained if he'd at least taken his helmet off.

Kallian didn't have time to reply to that before Alim did. "You sound like you know him personally."

"I do," the dwarf confirmed. "He's the leader of one of Orzammar's top houses, so of course I, the most awesome of all princes, met him, especially since he's a lot less of an ass than Ronus or his daughter is. Those two are self-serving pricks, though lady Dace at least extends that self-serving tendencies to house Dace as a whole. Either way, Anwer is one of the few house leaders with a real sense of fairness."

"Ah." Alim uttered.

Duran smirked from behind his helmet. "Weak people, including spoiled brats like Bhelen, fool themselves into believing that being strong in Orzammar is the same as being a lying cheat and backstabber, but that point kind of crumbles when you realize that House Harrowmont, House Dace and House Helmi, the ones at the very top, all hold true honor in high regard. I might even say that Anwer doesn't really have any choice besides focusing on his own house's wellbeing first and foremost. Why and how could he worry about the others when they'd have no qualms betraying him for their own ends?"

"The more you tell me about Orzammar, the more I believe it is screwed up badly," the city elf said with a sigh.

"Not as badly as some think. This is also why Bhelen can't stand Harrowmont and goes about his propaganda that he's weak and bla bla." His frown could practically be felt. "Dear little brother crawled and squirmed for so many months to try and offset the favor I had in the Assembly without even trying... and then, when things fell apart and father died, up comes Harrowmont and matches him, no, erodes his support in like what, a day? Two? And he took away the alliance of the two top houses just like that, without any illegal means. Even Trian knew that Aeducan **had** to retain Helmi's support, and was going to have a political marriage for that very purpose."

"Wow..." Faren said flatly. "Your so-called younger brother isn't very good at this, is he?"

Duran sighed. "It pisses him off that these signs point to Harrowmont being stronger than him, though he and his fanatics will never really admit that, even though only small and weak houses support him, the cheating ones as it were, and his second belongs to one at the very bottom, and is a prick to boot. It's so obvious Rolik is there just for Bhelen to entertain the idea he's so much stronger than everyone else. Hmph. I almost feel sorry for him really. Almost."

"I imagine a lot of people might feel sorry for him after you're done with him," Faren guessed, looking a bit annoyed, at least Kallian thought so.

"Fewer than you'd think. And only provided I survive this whole Deep Roads trip of course," said the disguised one, demanding outraged looks transmitting _Don't even joke about that!_ "Ah, there it is!" He quickened his pace as a sort of palace came into view. "This should be the central manor."

The door slid open with less resistance than they'd feared and allowed access to a fairly tall and wide hallway. The corridor was flanked by statues and bas-reliefs of Paragons. there were also braziers, suspended off the ceiling by chains. They all lit with fire when the four entered, the enchantment woven into them by the Shapers and smiths still strong even after all this time.

There was also much less dust than anyone would have thought to find there, so they walked forward, boldly, though still keeping an eye and ear out for anything unexpected. Eventually, they entered the central chamber, which was very large. There was a sort of cube, as big as an adult dwarf, with pure lyrium spikes protruding out of it, suspended high up, hanging from the middle of the vaulted ceiling hat, in turn, was supported by four pillars, thick and with bases carved in the shape of ancient kings. Flakes of iridescence constantly floated down, along with what looked a lot like gossamer strands. That teal light bathed the interior fully and...

"Okay, that there is just too awesome for words," Faren spoke everyone's mind.

"I would have expected something different from the resting place of a relic," Alim said. "Something more... gloomy maybe, like a mausoleum. I blame the Circle adventure books."

"I was told the Shield is beneath the central thaig chamber," Duran explained, finally taking his helmet off and letting his white hair and beard out, to shimmer under the shine of the lyrium above. "This is it. It's not like the chamber was going to inexplicably be a run-down crypt with some loose slabs on the floor that you three would have to stand on before I could use the signet ring to access whatever alcove it's hidden in. It would make no sense, plus there'd have to be a universal law dictating that I could only have no more than three aides along at all times."

"What are you going on about? We didn't say anything to push you into that rant..." Alim noted with a single arched eyebrow.

"So, how do we get the Shield?" Kallian asked.

"Faren, Kallian, you're the perceptive ones here. Look for switches, levers and whatever else, maybe hidden as parts of ornaments or suits of armor." Duran walked over to the middle, where there was a giant-sized statue of Aeducan himself. Kallian wondered why all those sculptures weren't any more lifelike, but she figured Dwarves must have had their reasons.

Alim murmured something with his eyes closed, and then, when they opened, they were glowing blue. He was using that spell that could see the auras given off by enchantments and odd spells then. Maybe it would help. Meanwhile, she and the castless rogue began to look around.

Then, Duran pressed his signet ring against the indentation at the base of Aeducan's statue, and some grinding was heard and clashing into place in several directions. "Hmm, the architects played around. We'll have to kickstart some mechanisms, but I think I can guess what sort of contraption was employed for this. If I'm right, there are three switches to press on the walls, one ahead and two on the one on the right, to confuse people that would assume each wall has one. There should also be two slabs on the floor that are now loose."

There was a pause.

And then, the dwarf peered around to watch those three staring at him. "What? You do realize I was a bookworm for the better part of my life, and I used to make traps and such for my pranks, so of course I'd know what sorts of tricks architects use. After all, I was royalty, so I wasn't forbidden from anything in the Shaperate, books on architectural secrets included, unlike common folk and even most nobles."

It took a while, but the switches were found exactly around the areas where he'd guessed they would be. Once pressed (fortunately, only the stone slabs had to stay constantly down), the exile pressed the ring against the indentation again, at which point the large, eight-pointed star slab in the very middle, the one that looked ever so inviting and practically screamed "anything of importance in this room is here"... did nothing.

Instead, the very small floor tile behind Aeducan's statue was heard grinding aside.

Kallian saw the prince disappear behind that statue and not come back, so she nodded to the others and they all walked over there. They found him sitting on the ground, with his back turned to them, using one hand to keep that round targe, apparently made of silverite, upright in front of him. It was a worn thing, scratched by the many strikes it had blocked, and the gleam of the metal's enchantment was almost faded completely. It looked... really dented, and worse than the common round shield on his back. The Aeducan crest was still distinctly visible on it, however.

"Hmmm," the prince murmured. "You were probably expecting something fancier, right?" He didn't try to look around. "This was supposed to be a symbol, something I'd retrieve and bolster the morale of Orzammar's armies." He sounded distant. "Of course, I knew what was going to happen so I gave up on looking for it, as I'd planned all along. I didn't really think father would forbid more journeys here and that this would still be here after all this time."

"It's like it was waiting for you," Alim compared.

"Anyway," 'Duran' placed his helmet back on and stood up. "You have that rope and extra cloak, right?"

"Yep," Faren confirmed and handed them over (he'd had them in that small backpack, like a bundle hanging behind his waist). "Here."

Predictably, the dwarven prince wrapped the Shield in that cloth and tied it up, then mounted it on his back, instead of his other shield, which he fastened to his left arm. It would have to do until they got back to camp. "Alright, there's just one more thing we need to do in the Thaig."

The elves and brand exchanged looks but decided not to ask.

It was only after they exited the ancient manor and Duran stopped stark in the middle of the clearing that they began to wonder just what was up. He brought his right hand to his helmet-covered head, like he was stretching out his senses or something. "Alim, you should be able to use your magic to sense any foul, demonic presence in your vicinity, right? I know demons can mask themselves and pass as normal people, but they have a sort of corruption of their own otherwise right? When they aren't concealing it. Like the one growing around all over the place in the Circle Tower."

Kallian immediately saw the mage tense as his eyes glowed blue anew. "I don't really sense anything close to us."

Without another word, Duran strode off towards a tunnel, past some poorly-built barricades. They ended up entering a run-down tunnel, and it was then that the black magician stopped in his tracks. "I... I think I'm starting to feel something."

The city elf didn't know what to make of that, but she did remember the feeling instilled by those apparitions, back at the Circle, all those months ago, especially that Shah Wyrd thing, that shade, a being of random thought, that they'd fought after finding all the notes left around by the apprentices. It was after that thing's defeat that the found Yusaris, the legendary Dragonslayer sword of the hero Dane (Gwen had been making liberal use of it ever since).

Duran did not even slow down but did suddenly stop near a pile of rubble, ancient-looking rubble, that was apparently covering a pit of some sort. He pushed some of it aside, then somehow overcharged his muscles with magical energy and moved some oversized boulders out of the way. Then, he bent low and heaved.

The scene ended with him falling on his rear in the cave dust, along with a really big... bag of something, about as big as he was. There was also a tablet, made of stone, that he held in his hand and inspected very intently, concentration visible even despite his helmet.

She walked closer. Slowly. "Should I even ask?"

He just held out the plate, so she took and read it. She handed it back. "Sorry, I can't read dwarven."

"Ah, of course," Duran realized. Then, he took a deep breath and provided the translation. "The ritual was very specific, as such things probably should be. Torso, head, and limbs spread amongst the Deep Roads to prevent the creature from returning. Looks like they died during the cutting, but we can fulfill the last part in their stead. I'm not familiar with elven ritual-why would I be-but it seems pretty straight forward." He cleared his throat. "This was written by Shaper Axus. And there's something scratched in the corner: Never even saw the thing. Bet a sword would take care of it. Sod it, and this bag of legs."

All four fell silent, taking in the fact that that bag had the legs of some creature in it. But what creature could it possibly be? And what ritual was this about? Suddenly, Kallian wished Theron was with them, because then he'd probably know how to explain things.

"Do you have any idea what this is about?" Alim asked carefully, eyes narrowed.

The not-commander pushed himself up and released a deep breath. "Possibly."

The tone made it clear he wasn't about to give any sort of explanation yet, and none of them felt like actually looking in the bag to see what limbs they were, so they just headed back to the rendezvous.

"-. .-"

_Excerpt from journal of Senior Enchanter Wynne_

_20 Pluitanis, 9:31, Dragon:__ Well, it seems we are finally getting close to Ortan Thaig. I can see Oghren practically fidgeting with anticipation, eager to see if he'll be able to pick up more of his wife's trail. He seems a good man at heart, if a bit troubled and too focused on ignoring his distress with the help of ale. He seems to have no problem acting the brash fool, but I think it's just a front meant to hide a brand of grief not usually encountered in many. The sense of failure is hard to take that way I suppose._

_ Ah, but I should probably summarize just what happened to get us this far._

_ We managed to escort Lord Anwer Dace back to Orzammar without incident, after he spent some time recuperating at the camp we had set up (Duran asked Theron about elven ritual and the elf just knew of In Uthenera, the one for eternal sleep or some such thing).Anyway, Anwer and his few remaining men were quite grateful for our assistance and sharing our food with them. They even seemed to like the meal especially much, though the dwarf seemed to actually be able to recognize what meal it was. I suppose he's one of the lords with more knowledge of the surface world and its many wonders._

_ He was also shown the forged promissory notes that Rolik Gavorn had, at one point, intended to try and deceive him with. He promised to always be careful when dealing with that house and stressed his continued support for Lord Harrowmont. He even said he'd get the shaperate to investigate House Gavorn fully._

_ Once he was safely back in Orzammar, he promised to make sure any merchants on the surface would prove especially generous when dealing with the Grey Wardens. He also invited us to visit his estate with him, but Duran and Gwen gracefully declined, saying we had to be going as soon as possible. Lord Anwer took it well and said the invitation was still open at any time._

_ Once that was done, we went to restock on food and Duran even visited the apothecary for some reason, even though we already had everything we could possible need from them, including all the poultices and balms they had on hand. After that, we left the same day and even made good distance before we camped._

_ It took us five days to reach Caridin's Cross, at which point Oghren was finally able to pick up Paragon Branka's trail. He could recognize the markings on the wall, as his wife likes to take chips of them, to test the composition when she entered new tunnels. The road cross was, indeed, massive, and suitably overloaded with darkspawn. Of course, their presence had been detected by Kallian and Duran well before we even reached the place. I must say this sense of theirs is useful indeed, though it must be troubling as well._

_ After all, having such a wide range, those two probably have trouble sleeping, since they can likely pick up the presence of even those groups wandering tunnels completely cut off from ours. I think Duran has been keeping watch as often as possible for this very reason. I spotted him meditating near where Kallian slept one time. Upon asking him, he said he was blocking her senses so she could finally get some rest._

_ I refrained from asking him how he could rest at all if his own range was just as far-reaching. I can only hope he, at least, can control it better._

_ It took some time cleaning up Caridin's Cross. Duran insisted that we explore all tunnels that weren't cut off. This led us to more battles than we probably had to fight, but we eventually found two more of those strange bags of body parts, his apparent goal. I get a bad feeling just from having those things around but our dear exile and Alim assure us it is important. As always, those two are holding their own council. We also found the hilt of what Theron believes was once a very fine, dragonbone dar'misaan, though we know not what became of the other parts or if we'll even find them._

_ The hounds did not slack off either. Damon found a helmet that imitated the design of griffon wings. It was made of silverite and is thought to have belonged to a Grey Warden that reached this far during his calling at some point in the past. Rinne, Duran's own mabari, also tracked down a cache, belonging to the Crosscut Drifters. As said in the notes in their cache, they'd been following their instincts and digging tunnels against the wishes and directions of the Assembly. They died bringing down a tunnel on top of a horde of darkspan that were digging their way up to the Orzammar highway, stopping a potentially disastrous incursion without anyone ever knowing._

_ True dwarves they were, heroes, and Duran spent a while erecting a sort of monument, a large boulder with a cloak on top to honor them. he said it was a meager memento, but we couldn't really manage anything better._

_ On the bright side, the cache had a very well crafted dagger, one of the three Thorns of the Dead Gods. They are daggers made out of the shards of the blade that slew Thoth, the _Archdemo_n of Fire of the Third Blight. Zevran was allowed to claim it, since it should cleave through any armor and is perfect for him (it was also a bit oddly balanced for Faren's style). The cache also had a ring just perfect for Gwen (boosts strength and agility according to Alim's findings) as well as a fine pair of gauntlets, sized for humans. They are safely packed in the cart at the moment and might be part of the same armor set as the helmet I mentioned above, much like those boots we bought from a smuggler, Alimar, in Dust Town._

_ All in all, the darkspawn weren't really the biggest problem. The real issue came when Alim detected the presence of blood magic in one of the tunnels. On thinking about it, we probably should have left things well enough alone, though Duran (who had also sensed the same thing) and Alim said that if we'd left that vial there, the darkspawn or some beasts may have just shattered it anyway and unleashed the thing upon the world without someone as strong as us to stop it._

_ But I should be specific. We found a black vial, a sort of phylactery in fact. It shattered on its own when Alim touched it and released a Revenant. Essentially, revenants are corpses possessed by pride or desire demons. It almost beheaded Alistair and injured quite a few of us with its liberal use of unholy magic before we were able to bring it down at last. It even managed to freeze Shale in place, despite the golem's fire crystals, and Sten was busy fighting off some walking skeletons. It did not help that we weren't exactly in our best shape after fighting through monsters and darkspawn for the better part of two hours, including a Deep Stalker Matriarch and her brood._

_ Alistair managed the finishing blow and I had to use much of my energy to heal Faren and Gwen afterwards. Duran had been somewhat hurt as well, but, as always, I could do nothing to help his condition. Fortunately, he's been getting better at healing himself, and I do believe the Lifegiver, that ring he acquired, truly has a strong enchantment because small cuts and bruises heal in minutes, even unheeded. He also said his father's signet ring bestowed some benefits in terms of fortitude and strength. I suppose it is fitting, knowing the tasks kings have to deal with, and how nobles always need extra constitution if they are to survive poisons._

_ Oghren muttered something about traveling with us being bad for his health, and I can't say I fault him. Of course, he did not really act grumpy during the times we camped. Though he was always eager to go forward to find his wife, the accommodations we were able to bring along made camping actually pleasant, dangers and darkspawn corruption aside._

_ I am especially intrigued by these enchantments that the dwarven Shapers specialize in. For one, we have a basin with a dweomer that, when one passes one's hands over it, fills with water on its own. What's more, the water also clears by itself when it gets dirty. I must say even a towel bath is a bliss after the way our days have been turning out._

_ Another nice thing to have is that disk with a fire rune. It is a sort of portable campfire. Most of us gave Duran odd looks when he produced it, to which he said that weapons weren't the only things that could bear runes of fire. Add to this the special trunks etched with runes of frost, portable freezers as Alim called them (Alim was grateful to no longer have to keep tabs on them and constantly use his magic to keep them cold) and we shouldn't have food-related problems for a long time._

_ And even with all this, Duran still insisted that, the Wardens at least, make do with deep mushrooms whenever they could, since supplies should always be preserved for as long as possible. While non-Wardens should be wary of possible corruption, they would be fine. I understand those things even restore some energy._

_ We should reach Ortan Thaig tomorrow. I pray we do not get in over our heads. As I understand it, the corruption has been growing thicker, though blobs and fleshy formations have, thankfully, been scarce so far._

"-. .-"

This was definitely not Oghren Kondrat's day. Upon finally entering the lost grounds of Ortan Thaig, he managed to pick up Branka's Trail, but it felt like fate itself wanted to screw him over in some way or another. First they ran into deep stalkers, then into darkspawn, then more darkspawn until they didn't know if there was going to be any end to them. They'd actually been detected by a really big group at one point, and three sodding ogres attacked them at once.

And then, that dwarf began to use some strange powers, as if he was using magic, which was supposed to be impossible, and started glowing through his armor like he'd been forced to eat a whole lyrium mine. Oghren was especially surprised by the fact that whatever he was doing made him feel as though he was standing in the presence of pure, raw lyrium. It unnerved the fighter even more because he still didn't know what he looked like, or anything about him besides his name and the fact that he could kick serious ass.

And that everyone seemed to listen to his orders over Gwen's. What kind of freak was he anyway?

Really, even during the days of camping, he'd kept that annoying, white headband over his head and eyes, and even a sort of scarf over the lower part of his face. From the others' banter, the warrior knew the guy had a beard and moustache, but he'd still yet to see the guy's actual face. And he never even got an explanation besides 'he prefers it concealed.' Anyway, the annoying guy was using some sort of power.

With that, and that elf using some weird blood magic to cause the enemies' blood to boil in their own veins, they were able to turn the tide and win. The sheer frustration actually pushed Oghren himself into the motherload of all berserker furies (he was careful to notify the others this time around) and, thus, he hacked and sliced quite a few things, while Wynne used that blue mist of hers to keep him going (alive as it were).

Shale seemed just as eager to crush things, though she did get chipped a little.

Thankfully, the warden sense had given them enough forewarning to actually leave the bronto in a side tunnel. By Stone's mercy, it was still there when they went to retrieve it.

And now, they were yet again having trouble, having been swarmed by corrupted spiders, of all things. They'd walked into the area of Ortan Thaig itself, since they'd been forced to take some tunnels, since the Deep Roads leading there had been collapsed over. When they did, they saw some dwarf kid up ahead, but before anyone could reason with him, he panicked and ran off into a cave. And to top it all off, a dozen spiders jumped down from wherever they had been hiding and swarmed them all at once.

Spiders were nasty things. Even after having fought some before, the wardens were still jumpy when it come to them, especially Theron. He'd had the bad luck of having been ambushed and it took both Gwen and Alistair to drag the thing off him and kill it before it could finish him off. Wynne spent the larger part of the battle pushing healing magic into him, but she was able to save his life. The poison he'd been injected with had been little, and it looked like the elf had built up tolerance to toxins over the years.

Anyway, once the fight was over (again), they were able to look around. After taking a swig of ale, Oghren noticed that a sort of hilltop extended forward, with two stone bridges, one of them having collapsed-half-way sometime in the past. The part of the Thaig on this side was expansive and had many ruins all over the place, some in better shape than the others. Either way, it was easy to see that had been a city, one even bigger than Orzammar at one point. Even the ceiling was about as high up as Orzammar's was right now, though far better lit.

The warrior actually wondered where the light came from for a while, but his eyes were drawn to what looked like a sort of dais up ahead, right next to one of the walls that weren't as rundown as the. An altar of some sort was there too. Nevertheless, his attention was brought back to his immediate surroundings when the others got back to their senses. Theron had suffered a broken arm, which meant his bow was unusable for a while, at least until Wynne managed to recover enough to try some more serious spirit healing.

"A yes, corrupted spiders," Duran noted, still annoying with his helmet on. "I should have expected this after what Duncan told me."

That instantly got Alistair's head to do a 180. "What did you just say? When did Duncan talk to you about this?"

"Oh, that," the guy shrugged. "Back when I was recruited and we stopped in Lothering for the night. He told me of an... adventure he'd had in this place, although I do seem to remember him saying there was a lot of that fleshy, darkspawn corruption around." He looked and noticed the dais as well. "Anyway, that's not important at the moment." Then he muttered something, sounding like "should've know that thing would be in this place."

"That dwarf that was out there," Gwen spoke. "Did he actually call these spiders?"

"I say we should investigate," Leliana suggested.

After the obligatory exchange of jabs and jokes, Gwen took point and headed in the direction prescribed, followed by everyone else as they went along. The passage opened up in what looked like an old campsite, lit by the light of some braziers but mostly wrecked. There, near a campfire (well, one of those disks really), there was a young dwarf, wearing a suit of dwarven chainmail. He was hunched and fidgeting, jerking his head around and looking really disturbed. Oghren didn't immediately see it, but when he got close enough, he noticed flesh much like that of darkspawn on him. Even the skin on his face had mutated.

"A campsite," Oghren breathed out. "I wonder if Branka was here."

"Go away! This is mine! Only I gets to plunder its riches!" the guy raved. Obviously some stones were loose in his head. "It's mine! I'm the one who found it. I drove out the crawlers. Now it's mine!"

"The guy's nuts," he grumbled.

Gwen took a visible gulp. "Calm down kid. I just want to talk to you."

"No! No talking! You leave my territory!"

"Look, calm down," Kallian urged, stepping forward. "We're not going to steal anything, I promise."

He seemed to believe them and calmed down. At least he didn't look as eager to die on their blades as before anyway. "You-you won't take anything from Ruck? You won't take his shiny worms? Or pretty rocks?"

"We won't touch anything," Gwen confirmed. "I just want to talk to you a little. Ask you a few things. That's okay, right?"

"Ruck not pretty name, not pretty like lady. Ruck is small and ugly and twisted," he seemed to be only half delirious. "Ruck's my name. I do not hear it much, so sometimes I like to speak it out loud. Ruck! Ruck! Ruck!" He giggled oddly a bit before looking up from his hunched position. His eyes were pale, ghoulish, for that's what he was. "I will answer your questions, pretty lady. Anything you wish."

Oghren noticed Duran slowly traipsing to the side, near the wall and just looking at the brown-haired kid as the two women began interrogating him. "Did you find anything unusual at this camp?" the human woman asked first. Good, maybe this will get them the info they needed.

"Bits of things, but only bits. The crawlers took almost everything," he rambled and scratched the blighted skin beneath his eyes. "They takes things of steel and things of paper. They takes the shinies and the words."

"Paper and words?" Oghren asked. "That sounds like someone was taking notes. Do you think Branka camped here?"

"They bring to the great nest, the nest they makes for the eggs. They puts the shinies inside, they do," Ruck followed as if he didn't hear him.

"How long have you been down here?" Faren finally deigned to ask.

"Mister wants answer questions too? Well, Ruck thinks maybe it is fine, if mister is with pretty ladies." He thought for a while, but still jerked his head around frantically. "Errr... me thinks... years. Yes, yes, five times years maybe?"

"Holy hell, that long?" Faren almost gasped. "How did you survive?"

"When the dark ones were here, I kept to the shadows," he rambled, and rubbed those blighted hands together. "They don't look in the shadows, not if you're quiet. Not if you eat their flesh. Then the dark ones think you're one of them. They leave you alone. But now they're gone. The crawlers, they used to eat the smallest dark ones, but now they go hungry."

"Ruck," Gwen began slowly. "I think I met your mother, Filda. She was praying to the Ancestors to get you back."

Thta instantly sent him panicking. "N-n-n-no. No Filda. No mother. No warm blanket and stew and pillow and soft words! Ruck doesn't deserve good memories. No-no-no-no-no-!"

"But she misses you," Kallian pressed.

"Ruck cannot, no, no. Back at the city, Ruck would be arrested and thrown into the mines. That is where I fled from. Ran away!" He was practically horrified. "Sh-she did not know, not what I did. I was very, very, very, very angry and then someone was dead. They wanted to send Ruck to the mines. If I went to the mines, sh-she would know. Everyone would know. So I came here, instead."

"So you ran away from your crime just so you'd spare your mother grief," Duran finally spoke. "And came here? You think this is freedom?"

Ruck nodded. "Here, I live free. I... collect my rocks and worms and shinies. At least... at least I am free. Once you eat... once you takes in the darkness... you not miss the light so much. You know, do you not? Ruck sees, yes. He sees the darkness inside pretty ladies..."

"We are Grey Wardens, it's not the same thing," Gwen said firmly.

A flicker of recognition. "Grey like the stone. Guardian against the darkness," he glanced in Kallian's direction. "Beautiful like waterfalls under the lichen." He then looked back at Duran and, for a long moment, actually straightened his head and stared intently. "Not you, though. Not you. Too bright." He looked at Gwen. "Pretty lady is like Mother, yes. Too good, too pretty for the darkness." He looked pleading. "T-tell the mother Ruck is dead. He's dead and his bones are rotting in the crawlers' webs and she should never look again."

For a short while, no one said anything, though Kallian eventually decided to change the subject.

"Do you know where these 'dark ones' went?" she asked gently.

Ruck grinned (it looked creepy, even to Oghren). "I thinks they went south, pretty lady. Far, far to the south. That is where the dark master calls them with his beautiful voice. So much joy when he awoke!"

"Mmmm... He's talking about the Archdemon, huh?" Oghren guessed easily enough, not that it was supposed to be hard. "Wonder where it is now. You guys are looking for it, right?"

"After the dark master awoke, he called his children and they all went. I wanted to go, too, and gaze upon his beauty..." Ruck drawled awkwardly. "He stopped calling. I wish I could go see him, but Ruck, no, no, Ruck-Ruck is a coward. Ruck too scared, especially after the dark master was angry. Oh yes, angry, gah!" He cowered for no reason, startled by his own memory. "Oh, not here. Dark master frightening. The song was broken, for a moment, a loud, screeching noise drilled through it. The master was angry, so angry that many crawlies fled, and the stalkers went away and the dark ones screamed, screamed in Ruck's head all at once." He began to whimper.

"Wow," Alim, apparently, did not restrain himself as he looked at the massively armored dwarf warden. "Your stint really shook things up."

It was then that Ruck straightened a little and walked a bit away from the campfire, looking at Duran all the while. "Yes, too bright. Ruck remembers. The thing that drilled through the song, that scared the dark ones." He hunched again and peered with narrowed eyes. "The one that made the dark master angry, that's the masked mister, isn't it?"

Well, if anything could capture the entirety of Oghren's attention, sober or not, that was it, because he stared dumbly at how the guy took off his helmet. It didn't really reveal his face, since he still had that scarf over his face, but the headband, at least, did not cover his eyes.

And then, those eyes opened, and they were shining white, enough that Ruck cowered again and took a step back, though he seemed to be excited instead of scared. "Yes-yes! Ruck was right! Masked mister is the one. The one the dark master wants. The one he can't see..."

This was probably the part where he was to stare in shock, but Oghren got another reason when Duran suddenly staggered backwards and immediately took the scarf away from his face, flinging it away as he wobbled over to the wall, to use it as support. He keeled over and gagged.

In a split second, Ruck was on his back, on the ground, with Faren on top of him, a dagger at his throat. "Stop what you're doing! NOW!"

"Gah!" The kid screamed and brought his hands to shield his face. "Ruck did nothing! Ruck not innocent of killing, but innocent of this! Ruck did nothing! Ruck doing nothing to bright, masked mister!"

The campsite was filled with the noise of Duran falling to one knee, bending over and throwing up everything in his stomach. He heaved a few times before his chest and gut settled. "Get off him, Faren. It's okay... He didn't do anything."

Oghren frowned. "You're telling me you got sick just from looking at him? You're not that squeamish, are you?" He was honestly asking because it didn't make sense after fighting darkspawn and everything else.

With Alim's help, the guy stood up again, but he was still a bit out of sorts. He was still looking more or less away so Oghren couldn't see his face just yet. "The soul... Stone's mercy, his Soul... that taint, it..." He covered his eyes, which finally stopped glowing if the way the wall was no longer lit was any indication. "Alim... use your true seeing on him... but brace yourself."

Curious, the black magician let the dwarf lean against the wall with both arms and murmured something before his eyes glowed blue. He looked at Ruck for a long minute, dead silence settling upon the area as Faren did his best to soundlessly step off him. The elf held the gaze but eventually covered his eyes with his hand and looked away, apparently having found the exact light wavelength to look at (not that Oghren could guess that much).

No doubt worried by how Alim was now also holding a hand over his stomach, Wynne decided to ask. "What did you see?"

"The... no... I can't describe it, and you probably don't want to know." Even Alim sounded outright disturbed.

"Please don't hurt Ruck. Ruck is sorry..." the poor kid whined, actually making Oghren feel a bit of pity for the poor sot.

It was the sickly guy, Duran, that answered that, however. "You're beyond hurt." His voice was soft, and he finally reached behind his head and untied his headband, letting it flutter to the ground.

And when he slowly turned around, House Kondrat's last member did a double take when he saw just what he'd been prevented from seeing of his face. "Holy... By the Paragons' nipples! You're king Endrin's kid!" No one answered, not even looked at him. "He's the sodding prince?"

Duran glanced in his direction with those pale eyes of his just for an instant before he turned his gaze upon the ghoulish young man. He stood straight, looking suddenly taller as he made a step, then another, then another. And with each step, white energy coalesced, like those same gossamer strands just flowing around him.

Ruck didn't seem alarmed at all, like he didn't even see what was going on. "T-tell the mother Ruck is dead. He's dead and his bones are rotting in the crawlers' webs and she should never look again."

Duran stopped dead in his tracks and stared. And watched the lad squirm and fidget. Then, he brought his hands together and took off his gauntlets. After that, he did the same to his bracers. Then the pauldrons followed, then the cuirass, which Alim helped him take off, even as everyone else just looked on, waiting to see what would happen. And when he was just in his greaves and boots, with just a white shirt on and bare-handed, he resumed his advance, slowly. "It's alright," his voice sounded soft, bereft of any mockery or arrogance even to Oghren's ears.

"You tell mother? Yes, that's what Ruck is. Dead. Dead like bones that turn to dust when you touch them." He still ducked back, but let the other dwarf come close. Everyone just watched as he shivered but did not shy away when the prince's hand was on his shoulder.

"I'll tell her you died bravely." He assured him gently.

Ruck seemed glad and just let the bright one draw him close in a hug. A part of Oghren's head wondered how that prince, if it really was him, could stomach such physical contact with a blighter like him, but he was still more amazed at how that had happened. The guy had just hugged Ruck's head close to his chest, and the light streaming out of him kept growing stronger and brighter.

He was too taken to notice how surprised everyone else was as well, even Sten, who'd been standing at the back all the while. Only Raonar's back was visible now, but it probably wouldn't have mattered if they could see him from any other direction. Those strands of sparse magical light floated around him like they belonged to something else entirely, and the air began to vibrate with an eerie hum.

Ruck's legs seemed to grow weaker and he brought his arms around himself as the prince drew him closer. "Mister is good friend? Makes the beautiful song go away. Silence... Silence is prettier..."

"Shhh," Raonar stroked his hair and let himself fall to his knees when Ruck couldn't stand up anymore.

"Nnn... good friend is warm," he actually pulled closer.

"Maker's breath," Alistair breathed out.

"What's he doing?" Kallian asked.

"Is he actually healing him?" Gwen asked Alim.

The elf just shook his head as everyone looked at him. "Can you cure a beheading? No, he's not healing him." When he didn't elaborate, the redheaded warrior shifted his weight and looked on, blinking as that scene stuck in his memory. It was so strange and unexpected that he forgot to drink ale entirely.

And then, Ruck seemed to tense. "Who's there? Stranger coming near," he was delirious then. "Big, bright mister coming. Says I should come along. Says I should go with him. But Ruck is scared. Ruck should stay here, where it's dark."

"No, it's okay kid." The exile's voice was strained, almost like... "It's alright, go with him." Almost like he was choking up and being careful not to hold him too tight. "He'll take good care of you and you won't have to be afraid anymore."

At that, the blighter sagged and deflated, no longer fighting whatever was happening. "Good friend is too kind. Ruck is a murderer, but the mister's friend says it's okay to go. Is it really okay for Ruck to go?"

"Yes, go with him," he was gently rubbing the kid's back now. "He'll look after you."

Oghren could only gape as the brightness slowly subsided. And though it took a while, it eventually faded altogether, along with the unnatural but oddly entrancing hum, until all that was left there was a tired-looking Grey Warden, clutching at a corpse. No one dared speak, not knowing what to say after what they'd just witnessed. Killing the poor kid and putting him out of his misery was one thing, but what the guy had just done...

At some point, Oghren realized everyone was looking at Alim for an explanation, because Raonar hadn't yet moved or let go of Ruck's body. The mage said nothing, however, nor did anyone else, until the real Warden Commander laid the kid's body on the ground, slowly and carefully. With his back still turned, he made as if to wipe something off his own face before taking a deep, shaky breath and turning to face them again. He had a very... glossed look on his face, with half-lidded eyes that seemed to not even notice everyone standing there.

"Kadan, are you well?" Sten finally asked, at last breaking the tension clearly in half.

"Yes..." he practically whispered. "Yes... I'm fine."

It was then and there that Oghren couldn't contain it any longer. "What in sodding hells did you do! Did you just suck out the guy's soul?" The question cut through everyone like an absurdly sharp blade. It was probably the first time in a long while when the warrior from Orzammar glared at someone and firmly grasped the shaft of his axe. "What are you?"

"-. .-"

_Excerpt from journal of Senior Enchanter Wynne_

_21 Pluitanis, 9:31, Dragon:__ I think yesterday was taxing for all of us, but Oghren mot of all. The shock he received was actually big enough for him to almost take arms against our Commanding Officer, but he eventually calmed down. Of course, before we got him to settle, Sten had already threatened him with bodily harm if he continued to keep his weapon raised in his kadan's direction. The fact that Oghren taunted the qunari did not help matters._

_ Fortunately, Duran, or is it Raonar again now? He told Sten to stand down and told Oghren that he was a dwarven mage... or something close enough to that. I... suppose it is a close enough approximation for the moment. The poor fighter ended up staring in shock for a while before he put his weapon away and emptied his entire flacon of ale. After that, he walked back straight to where the bronto had been left to wait and emptied another one before he let himself sit on the ground and process things._

_ We ended up making camp there while Raonar explained things in simple terms to Oghren. I don't know exactly what he told him of the source of his powers, and of his survival by being inducted into the Grey Wardens, but I do know he did not reveal the truth of things in Orzammar. We shall refrain from doing so as well. I understand the commander also managed to persuade Oghren to not reveal who he was to anyone, at least for the time being, not that we will meet many people down here._

_ Fortunately, the man doesn't seem to care enough to actually want to spill the beans. Of course, Sten glaring him down probably contribute to his cooperation, although I am unsure which of the two would win in a fight after I witnessed the dwarf's skills._

_ As for what happened... from what Alim explained, this darkspawn taint... seems to attack not just the body, but also the soul on some level. I have no idea just what they were able to see, but if it was capable of making Raonar, of all people, throw up..._

_ And then he killed the lad. Or so it seemed to us. If I understand things correctly, from what Alim explained, since he'd been using his true seeing (I really should learn that spell) Raonar somehow... severed that small part left of Ruck's soul from the tainted, blotted one and sent it into the fade. Well, Honor pulled it in, much like that sloth demon did to us all back at the Circle. Honor or another benign spirit might supposedly help him heal before letting him go on to whatever afterlife is meant for him. When asked why he didn't just kill him, our exiled prince answered that he was quite certain no afterlife would have welcomed him in that state._

_ As I understand, dwarves believe they return to the Stone when they die. Being cut off from the Fade (usually), I cannot know what happens to them, if they even go on existing after they die. Duran said he'll keep his thoughts on it to himself, but on being asked, he explained that one of the theories is that the souls of the fallen congregate somewhere in this world, where the Stone Lives, wherever that place may be. He said that lyrium is called 'the voice of the ancestors' and that their souls might be its source. After all, lyrium grew, like tree roots._

_ Either way, Ruck is in the Fade now, or what's left of him. We'll have to give his mother our best wishes when we see her._

_ In the meantime, we went through the things in Ruck's camp and we actually found some very intriguing things. The Armor of Divine Will granted by the Chantry to no lower than a knight-vigilant_ _had Alistair's eyes glittering with anticipation. I understand it has high magical protection, just perfect for a templar like him. He should now be able to start wearing it along with the effort's gloves and boots, plus that helmet Damon found. I understand their enchantments resonate well together._

_ We also found a Shield of the Legion, a black targe made of dragonbone, as well as a leather belt with lyrium inscribed into it. I was given that in fact, as it boosts one's magical power. The last thing of note was a top-tier cold iron rune. I have no idea how that unfortunate lad came about all these, as well as a huge supply of lifestones and deep mushrooms, but no one is complaining. _

_ Oghren finally fell asleep and will likely have the worst hangover ever when he stirs tomorrow. The commander and Alim are conversing again, out of our earshot. I understand something is to be done with those bags of body parts tomorrow, but I honestly do not know what. I also suspect I might not like it if I did._

"-. .-"

Alim really was wondering if he should be more against keeping everyone else in the dark about so many things that only he and Raonar knew about. Still, the guy had insisted that he be the only person to accompany him away from camp once everyone was up. Case in point, they were now at the base of that so-called hill and the elf was doing his best not to rub his eyes at what the guy was telling him.

The dwarf took out two new tablets, the ones he'd found along with the two bags of body parts in Caridin's Cross. He began to translate one aloud. "Might not be elven, maybe human. Doesn't matter, we can still follow directions. Torso, head, and limbs bagged and dispersed. Simple enough. This magic stuff doesn't seem that complicated." That was what Shaper Axus had written. And, of course, there was something scribbled on the side. "No job for a warrior! First hole gets the bag!"

"I get the feeling I won't like where this is going," Alim informed the commander with his driest of tones.

Raonar just read the third one. "The body rendered to its separate parts, spread wide such that no life is witnessed, no heartbeat detected. In this way, the beast can remain for an age, as knowledge passes and pursuers live out their lives." Then, of course, the scribbled part. "I was wrong! Not elven! Hunters didn't kill it. It allowed this? Keep the pieces apart, I guess. Away from the heart."

"The heart?" Alim caught on, bringing his fingers under his nose in that thoughtful pose of his. "So the heart was not in the torso?"

"I think I know what this all is," Duran said flatly, though his eyes betrayed some anxiousness.

"What are you planning? Do I even want to know?"

Raonar explained.

"That's crazy!" The elf almost shouted and made a flourish of refusal with his right arm. "I know your gambits always have odd stakes, but this is a bit too much. At least tell the others before you actually do this..."

"No." The answer was final. "The less they know of this, the less it has to see in them, the better. We're not all blood mages like you or indomitable people with mental defenses strong enough to withstand hostile psychic forces, like me. Faren's probably the only other person cut out for this, and he'll probably try to restrain me with chains and manacles."

"Maybe it would be a good idea," the mage shot back, frowning and folding his arms. "If this thing is really what you think..."

"It is."

The black magician sighed in defeat. "None of us want to see you dead man, and you still have to go back. Your brother is waiting for you. Why do this?"

Duran explained.

Alim stared in shock.

"Take it as a test to see if we can really match the Archdemon."

So Alim groaned. "That's crazy!"

"-. .-"

Oghren had a headache, which wasn't that new. What **was** new was that it was worse than any he'd ever had before. Sodding freaks and their not-really-being abomination states. He just wanted to find his wife and get her back home, was that so much to ask? Did he have to run into all kinds of crazies on the way there? Or spend the night camping with more than just one? Sure, the guy said he couldn't really kill anyone that way, since Ruck was a special case or something, but it's not like he was trustworthy.

Oghren was pissed. He'd been kept in the dark about all this and it really bothered him for some reason, more than it should have. Maybe it was because he didn't know if the guy really had killed his brother. Or because he was a noble and had deceived him for so long, along with the entire city. After all, he didn't say anything about his exile, just that he'd been recruited into the wardens after sealed in the deeps.

Either way, the guy was just too weird and... well, unnatural.

And now, he was putting some limbs, a head and the torso of some long-dead... thing.. on that altar on the dais at the top of the small hill, right next to that larger than usual ruin. What kind of person does that sort of thing? Oghren hadn't been allowed to go near. Everyone except that dwarf were down at the base, not exactly beyond the range of spells or arrows, but far enough.

The dais was circular and had just that stone altar in the middle. Fortunately, the hill was long, extending alongside that place for at least a half a mile. A lot of old ruined buildings, even some intact ones, were everywhere. Some eroded columns existed here and there, even an old archway on the left.

They'd already gone past the point where everyone complained about something possibly blowing up in the guy's face once he finishes whatever he's doing, but here they were doing as he said. How in Stone's name had that prince ended up as Warden Commander? Either way, everyone was just staring. Alim, Faren, Oghren and Kallian were in front, since they were shortest. Gwen and Alistair were right behind them, along with Wynne, Morrigan and Leliana. Zevran was on the left, peering curiously, while Theron flanked the bard on the other side. Sten and Shale were farthest to the back, being huge and all.

The dogs and wolf were on the left, panting and whining occasionally.

Eventually, the white-haired guy finished putting those body parts (they looked yellow, almost golden) on the altar and stepped back, stroking his beard from how he was standing, with his back turned to them all. Then, he finally said something, and Oghren (like everyone else, as he'd later learn) heard it as though it was being whispered into his mind by the altar itself.

"The limbs, mere meat. The torso, but a vessel. The head, all but unnecessary. The heart, separate, keeps life. The heart, safe from the blade, can be restored. The heart waits, in the Fade."

At once the dais cracked with energy, like lightning, blue and white began to arch and sizzle through it. The magic flared and gathered, causing the body parts to flow upward and twist, crack. Then, flesh began to grow form then, turning from that yellow into a dark violet as sinews came into existence and knitted together. A form eventually appeared, legs long and thick stomped the ground under their weight. The head was like that of a fish, only with razor-sharp teeth and three sets of eyes, and it had horns, black and gnarled. Its arms were huge, larger than even its legs.

And what was more unnerving was that bone-like... things, like scales or spikes, covered it almost completely. The head, the front, the back, the legs, it all had that natural (it it even was natural) armor, and the one on the back of the forearms grew long, until the... bones, or whatever they were, looked like spiked vines that reached as high as the beast's shoulders.

"What the sodding spit is that!" How else could he react to seeing that thing? Everyone else had their eyes wide in astonishment as well.

The 3 meter-tall beast seemed a bit confused at first, like it didn't expect to be put back together.

Raonar waved. "Down here."

There was a pause.

The dais was rocked by an explosion as the Fade Beast brought its arm down upon it, shattering it under the weight of pure kinetic force. Dust and rubble was thrown in the air, some larger rocks somehow being thrown towards everyone else, though they clashed with a force field that Alim had thoughtfully created. The cloud of smoke and gravel eventually began to settle.

The fade beast had reared and looked like it was sneering in the direction of the archway just close to where the now split platform lay. There, on top of it, the dwarf stood crouched, enveloped in that annoyingly white aura of his. He'd jumped well out of the way of the creature's attack and landed on that piece of architecture.

Then, everyone really got a reason to feel shocked. because the demon spoke, its voice loaded with recognition.

"**YOU!**"

The Warden Commander stood and looked down at the beast from where he stood up above, sneering the next words in full contempt and mockery instead of actually speaking them with any sort of politeness. "Hello **Pride**."

_The review space is right there and waiting of course._


	51. Deep Roads Arc 2: The Third Deal

Author's Notes: Right, another long one people. Sorry it took so long, but eh, what can you do?

Don't freak out about the length. 7,000 words of all this is actually an author's note at the bottom, which used to be the intermission before Chapter 49.

* * *

**Chapter 48: The Third Deal**

"-. Demonic spirits teach more than blood magic. Reavers terrorize their enemies, feast upon the souls of their slain opponents to heal their own flesh, and can unleash a blood frenzy that makes them more powerful as they come nearer to their own deaths. .-"

It had occurred, during the night, that Alim Surana had disappeared from the camp for a time, without anyone, save the Warden Commander, knowing. It had also occurred that a bunch of fire bombs, metal wire hems, metal shards and other miscellanea had disappeared, seemingly overnight (well, while they were camping, since there really was no day/night cycle deep underground). It had also occurred that those things progressively disappeared around the same times as when the Commander of the Grey left with the elven mage somewhere or another.

It also occurred that no one realized the fact that Alim had used a sleeping spell on them (minus the hounds) to prevent them from possibly catching on to their repeated disappearances. Of course, Shale was always there, but she didn't seem to be paying attention because she was busy squishing rockworms and such (and was too apathetic to actually report on these activities unless she was specifically asked about it... maybe). The dogs and wolf could easily pick up on any animal threat if need be, and the Warden sense made it clear no darkspawn were that close to their position to be any threat (and the Wardens would have been awakened by their eventual approach anyway).

As such, Oghren Kondrat didn't know about any of those things happening. Of course, even if he did, he probably would not have been thinking about them right now. He was more preoccupied gazing with wide eyes at the staredown that... that thing... and the supposed Warden Commander had engaged in. Of course, he still couldn't help pointing at the scene. "What in Stone's nipples is that?" Truth be told, the warrior was more concerned with how he felt his skin crawl the moment that thing appeared, as if some base feeling of fear had been dragged to the outside, squirming.

"Oho, a Pride Demon," Morrigan realized. "Dwarves must have been up to a great many things if such a thing is here even despite how their race has no magic of their own to speak of." The next moment, she just turned into a wolf for no reason the dwarf could guess.

Everyone went silent when the Warden Commander, still with that... nimbus of white, shining strands floating around him... jumped down from that archway and now stood, looking up at the... whatever it was that was making something inside Oghran yell 'Axe to the face, AXE TO THE FACE, **AXE TO THE FACE, DAMMIT**!"

The prince's voice rang clear in the underground expanse, ruins and all, as he began to pace, though the way he carried himself spoke of alertness. "You know, Pride, I always did wonder how you were able to escape through that breach even left drained as you were back then. To think you had a physical anchor in this world." He stopped and seemed to look straight in those multiple eye sets. "And it looks like this body of yours has been here for centuries. I suppose this explains just how you even were able to stumble upon Honor's corner of the Fade, isolated as it was, since some measure of spatial coordination exists between this and that world, at least at a symbolic level."

The demon reared farther and flexed its long, unnatural, violet fingers. "Do not be so overcome with your own arrogance just because you have restored that which was cut asunder, and revealed my hiding place, puny one."

"Says the one who's been hiding in not one but three gutters for centuries," the prince noted dryly, with some echo in his own words, something along the lines of Shale's own voice, Oghren noticed..

Oddly enough, a sinister laughter, that made the dwarven fighter wish he'd drank less ale at breakfast, was all that was heard on the thing's part. "Do not delude yourself, mortal. My deception was convenience, not cowardice."

"Strange," the exile said again. "I do seem to recall how you fled Honor's wrath quite... vigorously. I remember it vividly."

Pride laughed again. "Is that supposed to be a taunt? I am not one of my lesser kin, who are dominated by the base desire they represent. So cease your meaningless boasting and speak your intentions. Seek you vengeance or reward for restoring me?"

"Ho-Ho! So quick to barter you are," Raonar joked.

"Oh come now, mortal," it actually did a dismissing wave, swiping that odd, long, gauntlet-like, forearm bone outgrowth through the air. "If a fight is what you were looking for, you would have arrayed that pack of followers you have with you in a sort of ambush and attempted to destroy me as soon as I formed, for all the good it would have done. That is, provided you possessed any sort of intelligence in that skull of yours."

"Ah, you have seen through me completely," was the mild reply, curt nod and all. "Though you might change your casual tune once you realize just what it is I'm about to start bartering for."

Oghren's attention was drawn back to closer quarters when Wynne gasped. "What is he doing? Surely he has more wisdom than to barter with demons." She looked spooked, as did some of the others, especially Leliana and Gwen. The others all looked concerned, except for that mage elf, who just had his blank stare on.

"Just watch and listen," Alim advised, gripping his staff tight. "And brace yourselves."

The red-haired fighter didn't have much time to ponder on what the hell that meant because the demon spoke again, after a bout of infernal chuckling of course. "You think you can surprise me, tiny one? I have seen men's hearts more times than you could count, and there has yet to be anyone that truly stood apart. Do not easily think of yourself as special. So let us hear it. Speak."

The exile let whatever magic he was channeling die down, until he looked more or less normal, white hair and eyes aside. "Oh? Are you saying you've lost your edge? Shouldn't you be able to 'see' my so-called wish just by looking at me, in my mind as it were?" His words were a clear challenge.

"What?" This time, it had been the human guy that gasped. "What is he saying?"

Pride said nothing but seemed a bit... annoyed, or so Oghren thought.

"Unless, of course..." Raonar picked up, "... you **have** been trying to see it but couldn't. Annoying, isn't it? To be denied a direct dissection of your quarry's mind."

Pride sounded as unimpressed as ever. "Oh, do not sound so brazen. You aren't the first to deny my kind immediate entry into your mind, nor are your defenses the best I ever encountered. You should be glad I have not tried to more seriously assault you on a psychic level."

Oghren heard Alim mutter something that sounded suspiciously like "Oh please, you have no idea."

The two on the now crushed dais did not seem to hear them, and it was the prince that spoke again. "So try again. I'll make it easier... for a moment." He sounded... smug?

Pride straightened up, meaning that he was now even taller than before, and looked down upon the, admittedly, tiny dwarf. All seemed to go still as neither of them seemed to be doing anything. "I'm getting a bad feeling," Kallian whispered.

Pride suddenly became alert and actually stomped back, sneering, and everyone could feel a wave of anger washing over them. "You know my name!"

By now, the other one was drawing from beyond the veil again, white energy floating about. "In**deed**."

"Revealing that was a mistake!" the demon's voice thundered as a corona of magic began to gather around him. "You are a fool! You are no mage, so you have not the sort of ability needed to even dream of attempting to use the power inherent in identity. There shall be no negotiations if this is the case." The creature had already begun to gather energy in the form of flames in those huge hands of his.

Oghren didn't know when he'd drawn his axe, and he was too focused on what was ahead to see that some of the others had also armed themselves. All he felt was throbbing in his chest and temples.

Then, much to everyone's astonishment, the white-haired one spoke in a tone usually employed to speak of what to cook for dinner. "Before you flip out, you might want to take a closer look at those guys," he waved in everyone else's direction. "Especially since some of them **are** mages."

Pride abruptly stopped what he was doing.

There was a pause.

Then, the thing actually turned its head towards them and, even fairly far away as he was, seemed to bore straight into their souls, coaxing out their deepest secrets.

Its settled on Faren first, and the creature looked bemused as it continued to stare at the frowning rogue who was holding his two daggers firmly.

"Oh, you're wasting your time on him. That kid's immune to pretty much any non-elemental hostile magic, psychic assaults included," Raonar said helpfully, rubbing his fingernails against his armor. "Comes from kicking demons' behinds in their own realms and with being subject to this really annoying magical outpour that gushes out of me constantly."

Oghren could swear that thing stared at the guy in disbelief before resuming its scrutiny. He immediately wished it hadn't, because it looked at him next, and he felt like something was crawling beneath his skin and across his brain. He couldn't help but sneer and clench his teeth while gripping onto the shaft of his greataxe as tight as he could.

"Hmph, barely any self-esteem at all in that one. Pitiful." The thing's voice sounded clinical and it pissed him off. Fortunately, it went away and over to the others in turn, and the warrior saw all of them frown, glare or just become more tense when their turn came. Gwen, Kallian and Leliana got their turns before Pride went to Theron. "Ah. Strange, so much pride, stemming from things separate from himself, and indifference in the same place at once. Curious." It kept looking at the Dalish for a while before it got to Alistair. Oddly enough, Pride seemed to stoop a bit, as though he was focusing.

Alistair stood straight and abruptly released a mild blast of energy from his own eyes. "Don't even try it."

"Templar," it hissed. "Well rounded one too, and a very strong mind of his own, even without drinking lyrium compounds. I see none of the side-effects of exposure or addiction." It actually tilted its head. "I do so wonder just where you get this uncanny mastery over residual magic. It's not something a human should be able to so easily accomplish."

Alistair just frowned and stayed silent, even though Gwen did shoot him a sideway glance before the creature turned to behold the others. It got to Zevran and made a "Hmm. No pride in this one at all. Not much dignity either." When the elf just raised an eyebrow, the demon briefly looked Shale and Sten over, then finally settled on Wynne.

A moment of silence passed.

"Bah! To think any human would come to have something like that inside them," Pride snarled, even though he didn't look like he had the nose to make that noise.

"What?" Oghren found himself asking. What was that thing talking about?

Faren elbowed him. "Later."

The fighter grunted and waited as the demon reluctantly turned to look at the remaining Warden.

The moment Pride locked gazes with Alim, the latter struck his staff against the ground beside him and something akin to wind began to flow out of him, prompting everyone to step away from him on instinct. His hair (still in that long, ponytail) began to flutter behind him and the longcoat billowed restlessly.

And just like that, the demon and the blood mage stared at each other intently and began to project magic upon one another (Oghren would only learn this later, upon having things explained to him). This eye duel, colored by the sound of wind, lasted for a minute, at which point a small, white sphere of magic appeared at the spot exactly half the distance between them.

Upon expanding into a spherical forcefield that seemed to contain kinetic force just struggling to burst out, the spell exploded, noisily, and threw a small cloud of dust in the air. Nothing else happened, since no one was close enough to get blown off their feet and into debris or whatnot.

At the end of it, Alim was holding his staff guardedly between himself and that thing, which was now standing more upright and looking at him, silently. Until it hissed. "Impressive," It hissed again. "Most impressive."

Some silence fell as the others resumed looking up ahead. Oghren did so as well, and it would be a while before he realized that pride had totally missed on even thinking of studying Morrigan, she having turned into a wolf and apparently fooled him into thinking she was just another animal.

And then, the exile spoke. "You know Pride... what you just said, with hissing and all, sounded like such a cliche... and I have no idea why." He recovered from the mild confoundment soon enough, however. "Either way, you're not in the Fade anymore, so you don't have a realm you can trap us in or crush us with. So, are you so eager to try and fight us now?"

Demons of pride were known for their boasts, but they also were not stupid. As such, the thing said nothing and just looked down on the puny thing taunting him. If it was angry or nervous, or frustrated, it did not show it.

"Names," Raonar let himself get back to his usual, non-glowing self. He even started walking around, like he was giving a lecture. "Names are a curious thing. We mortals don't exactly have to worry about them being used in many ways besides tracking us or using them to smear or inflate our reputation or such. We can even change them if we want, or give them up altogether. But in **your** case, they are a lot more important, and it took me a while to understand why."

Oghren was starting to wonder what the hell was going on. He never relaxed the grip on his axe.

The prince just went on. "We dwarves may sleep like the stone, being cut off from the Fade and all. Well, usually. But for everyone else... When I first learned how spirits create peoples' dreams, I had a lot of dilemmas. Like why you all would bother to let them dream of eating cheese or such."

Pride said nothing, though it did look a bit impatient, or so Oghren thought.

"Then I learned that, at least based on lore, you don't really have any creative potential or originality, just the ability to mimic what you see in mortals' minds. You crave it, this world that you could never have, well, with few exceptions like yourself. In the Fade, nothing outlives its creator, but here, everything does, even memories become imprinted on everything a person touches."

He brought his arm around in a flourish, indicating Ortan Thaig itself. "Even here. You see it, do you not? The memory of the struggle, when this place was overrun and so many men and women fell to the darkspawn. And you can see what came afterwards as well, though bits and pieces are all that remains of the more distant past. You crave it, don't you? This reality that is not transient, and you revel in it, and this is why you creatures can go for so long in this world without doing anything too obvious to expose yourselves. There is much for you to distract yourselves with."

"Strange how you mortals like to launch into such tirades. Is there a point to your dull speech?" The question was delivered in a clipped monotone.

Raonar went on like he hadn't heard him. "When I was trapped in the Fade, months ago, I wondered why it was that, if the Fade was governed by Will, we all couldn't just will ourselves out of there. I also wondered if maybe someone might possibly be strong-willed enough to actually will a demon out of existence."

Pride actually snorted.

"It wasn't until later that it was explained to me that only a special, very rare kind of mage, unoriginally dubbed 'dreamer,' could actually exert the same control over the Fade as you things do. Normal mages and mortals can only modify themselves, as they see themselves. Dreamers can do more, but even they would be hard pressed to actually will you to stop existing, since it would imply overriding the will of whoever or whatever it was that created you in the first place, in addition to yours, provided, of course, they knew your name. Much easier to smash you to symbolic dust."

"Ah, I assume this is where you expect me to congratulate you on your findings?" the demon asked, faintly amused. "Such a curious mind you have."

He ignored him again. "Yes, that is where the name comes in. Should one see a dream or be approached by a demon, renouncing the illusion, even in a 'dreamer's' case, would not really do much to hurt you. After all, you always assume a form, an illusion, depending on the sort of emotion you feed off, and it is only that illusion that can be banished from one's sight. But the real you, **that** is encased in your name. **That** is what a name is in the Fade. Identity itself."

"..."

"Yes, the name is the only 'real' thing about you. The only thing unique. The only 'essence' in a realm of make-believe. This finally gave me the answer to another nagging question: Why is it that even the most manipulative of demons keep their promises if they make a deal with someone? They might make the terms sound a certain way, to allow them room to maneuver, but they never break their deals."

Though he hadn't understood almost anything so far, even Oghren perked up at that and he saw that some of the others were looking surprised as well.

"The answer was quite simple really. You can't NOT follow up on the deal, because, once you agreed, you BECAME the one that agreed to the deal. In other words, your nature itself modified from "Myself" into "Myself who will perform the terms of a deal". You can't lie because those are original creations in and of themselves. It's a bitch, isn't it? To not be able to actually create anything totally new. Not to mention that lying means creating falsehood, a paradox that the Fade and this inhabitants cannot emulate."

"..."

"For instance. If you were in the Fade and decided to create a palace, you would gather whatever images you picked up from dreaming mortals and decide that your assumption that a palace is right there was true. That or you would impose your will upon the Fade that it took the form inherent in mortals' deepest desires, which is why dreams dispel when those trapped realize where they are. The Fade instantly changes to reflect what you spirits decide is truth. So if you lied about anything, like when approaching a mage in a dream, a new truth would appear, that you are lying, and the Fade would make it known to whoever you are trying to con."

"By all means, do go on." Pride sounded completely blase.

"And finally, now that you are here, in this world, you must make sure that everything about yourself is true, no exceptions. Since you being here was bringing part of the Fade, yourself that is, into this world, you are still subject to those same laws that define your nature and identity. So you cannot lie in a deal, or at least can't afford to do it, because it would make that part of you who made the deal a lie in itself, meaning no deal at all."

The temperature seemed to drop by 20 degrees. "And when one knows our name, which is one part will and the rest identity, their own WILL gains a greater measure of importance." The admission was reluctant. "That is why we say names have power."

"In other words," the dwarf continued, sounding confident. "If I know your name, I can find you and call you from wherever you are. Well, I could, if I were a mage. But, as it happens, you're already here, so we can talk up front about an agreement. So, while a deal would still have to be 'fair,' and negotiated, so to speak, **I **get to actually outline the initial terms instead of **you**."

The onlookers gave each other disbelieving glances.

"Hmph," Pride sounded a lot less annoyed than some would have liked. "You are not the first to have this 'advantage.' Just let me warn you that this confidence you seem to display may be a bit misplaced. But still, go on, what is it you seek? Wealth? Knowledge? Some artefact or another?"

"We should stop this," Wynne urged, looking in Alim's direction. Oghren saw that the black-haired elf mage was really the only person not displaying any sort of emotion. His face was unreadable.

"Is that guy crazy?" Faren finally let out in apparent disbelief. He glared in Alim's direction. "How long as he been planning for this? Since the first bag of limbs we found?"

"Not exactly..."

"Why wasn't I told anything?" He sounded affronted.

Alim smiled. "He said you would probably want to restrain him with chains and manacles."

Faren groaned and made to walk up there, but Alim stopped him with a hand on the shoulder. "Don't panic yet. The deal hasn't even been outlined."

As the others voiced their disapproval and worry one after another, albeit not too loudly, Pride's voice made itself heard over everything else.

"Speak."

For his part, the prince stood straight and grinned. "I won't. You're able enough to see it in my mind if I let you. See for yourself. What do I want?"

"What is Kadan thinking?" Sten made no effort to act like he approved.

"Wait," Gwen finally asked the others, though not loud enough to actually distract those two from another mental exchange. "Why all this? Is it that he doesn't want **us** to hear?"

"Well, it isn't like he ever tells us everything, or even anything, from the get go," Alistair said with a sigh.

"But there should be a limit!" Wynne complained.

"I'm going to strangle him," Gwen stated flatly. Then, stared at Faren as he stared back, realizing that they had both spoken those exact same words in the exact same intonation at the exact same time, albeit for different reasons.

All of them fell quiet again and they could only keep looking as that huge thing and the dwarf stared into each other's eyes (whichever set of eyes Raonar was even paying attention to). It didn't take long for the stare down to end, but when it did, it made Oghren want to curse because of the shivers that went down his spine. He gripped his axe even tighter, though he didn't think he was able to.

Pride smirked, then chuckled then actually began to laugh heartily until it was shaking entirely because of his own cackling. The ground itself seemed to rumble under his amusement, and there was much of it. "Hahahahahaha!" He let himself indulge in a long, long while of laughter. "Haha! **That** is what you are after? **That** is what you want me to give you?"

"Ah, so you find me amusing then?" the prince challenged.

"Oh, far be it from me to ridicule someone with such ambition!" Pride said cheerfully (it sounded downright scary coming from a Demon). "To think you'd want that kind of power, of all things, that knowledge. You aim for dangerous heights, dwarf. I am just amazed at what a fool Honor is. I wonder what he'd say and do if he knew the kind of creature he took under his wing. I am amazed you even came so far without him learning of this so-called wish of yours."

"Well, you know." Raonar sounded vary at ease as he shrugged. "He's Honor, so he won't overstep his bounds and look into my mind and memories unless those parts that I specifically allow."

"And what of these ones," Pride motioned towards them all. "I am to understand they do not kno-"

"A! Careful what you reveal or there won't be any deal," the bearded one cautioned.

"Apologies," the Pride Demon was obviously playing along just to prolong his amusement. "So, what then are the so-called conditions and what are you prepared to offer in exchange for this power?"

"Aha! So you **can** give me what I want!"

"I do not like the way they speak," Wynne said, frowning. "Even the spirit inside me is uneasy, and this is something I have never felt before. What is that child thinking? You, Alim," she turned to him. "You know what is happening, don't you?"

"I don't know what Raonar wants from the demon," the elf answered.

"But you know other things," Alistair guessed.

"Ye're all mad," Oghren found himself growling. "We should hack that thing! To bits! I didn't sign up for this. I came to look for my wife, not... not this demon craziness."

"Quiet," Faren demanded, and that quieted everyone down well enough.

"I might agree to it, yes," Pride agreed. "Provided the so-called terms fit my mood. So let us hear them."

Raonar pulled the blade out of the scabbard on his back and threw the sheath away. The sword was a red steel, dwarven blade. He also readied his shield on his left arm and pointed his weapon straight at the beast. "While we all could just jump and probably destroy you, that would be too wasteful. So this is the deal: If you agree to grant me that boon, then I will fight you alone."

"WHAT!" Oghren's head rung, and he realized it was because the other red-haired dwarf had yelled that from right next to him. "Are you insane?" the kid shouted again, almost bolting to give him what for if not for Alim again grabbing him by the shoulder. Again.

"Stop," the mage admonished. "If you have any sort of trust for him, then trust him now."

"But this is madness," Leliana added.

"The bad part is that madness is par for the course with him," Gwen noted in a level voice.

For his part, the prince did not seem to pay any mind to the scene happening such a distance behind him, though it was Pride that spoke next. "And how do I know those ones won't interfere."

"Fine, then listen to these terms: You get to place a nice glyph of paralysis around them, along with a forcefield to keep them out of this. Should they manage to break your magic and destroy it from the inside, the paralysis explosion will immobilize them all, for a short time, giving you the window you need to escape, since the deal would be broken." He tuned out the gasps from afar. "Those two spells will last until one of us loses consciousness or dies. Also, should you manage to defeat me, that is kill me or knock me out, they will continue trapped for another hour, giving you all the time you need to leave. For your part, you will not take any sort of action against them, direct or indirect, ever, regardless of how our battle proceeds, unless they overstep their own bounds and engage you deliberately, are we clear? All you have to do is knock me out or kill me."

The creature was pondering it carefully, or so Oghren thought. "Provided that young one really is immune to unfriendly magic, he'll be unaffected by the paralysis. No matter, he is not much of a threat. I assume you'll want your so-called boon prepared in advance as well?"

"Of course. You won't be able to grant it to me if I kill you, will you?" the dwarf sounded smug. "Make it so that it will be usable once one of us loses consciousness or dies."

"You presume much to think you stand a chance, but I will acquiesce to your terms, on one condition. I will add a glyph of magical energy nullification as... insurance against your so-called followers."

"Agreed," the prince said. "But you'll make it conditional. It will activate only if they manage to break the force field somehow."

"This is too much," Wynne breathed out from where they were standing, far apart. "That will practically make us mages useless by draining us of all our energy."

"He's not really going through with this, is he?" Alistair asked hopefully.

"Just wait and see guys," Alim said crisply. "And be ready."

Pride stood a bit straighter and looked pensive, the way only a fish-faced thing could. "Very well." He then walked, well, stomped forward as the dwarf closed the distance on his side. "The pact will be sealed in blood."

"Indeed," the dwarf used the sword to slice open his own, left palm (he'd removed his gauntlet beforehand). "Your blood too." Oghren wondered why spirits had blood at all.

Pride used the nail (well, claw) on his index finger to make a cut in its right palm. "Naturally."

Faren looked at Alim, face showing that he was outright panicked. Not saying anything, he darted, only to clash, face-forward, into an unseen force field even before he made the first step. "Urk. Guh..." he rubbed at his nose and glared at the elf. "This is your force field! Turn it off."

"Too late," Gwen notified.

Indeed, those two had extended their left and right hands, respectively, at the other and already the air had begun to spin around them. Their blood began to float out and intermix, as magic gathered, filling everyone's ears with an unearthly shrill. A globe, dark red, took being just out of both their reach, about as big as the prince's head, and when it was done, the air around that dwarf and demon burst outwards with a blast not quite deafening, but close enough in intensity, throwing dust and debris away.

The sound went still.

In one instant, a circle of power appeared around those gathered far off, runes glowing green filling the space. Oghren had no idea what they said, because they didn't look dwarven. Either way, it was a nice, big circle within a circle, perfectly drawn by some unseen hand. Then, the edges of the inner circle, the one they were in, shot up and a shimmering dome grow around and over them all. And when it was complete, it faded out of sight, though the circle of power outside remained very much visible. "Sodding magic tricks," the dwarf muttered.

Faren quickly walked forward and felt for the field, and it was there, solid and unyielding. He tried to push against it, to no avail, so he slammed his fist against it, several times. He didn't manage more than a few, momentary flashed and ripples. "Dammit! I'll kill him! That crazy bastard!" He smashed his fist against it again. "Sod it! Shouldn't I be able to pass through this?"

"Well, technically, this isn't hostile magic. Attack spells are more volatile," Wynne explained. Oghren thought it may have been her way of distracting herself from being overwhelmed by the degree of insanity of it all. Hell, he himself had to drink a lot of ale just then. The situation could stand for no less.

"It is clearing," Sten uttered, looking at how the cloud of dust was settling.

A red sphere, shimmering in a very strange way had ascended at a very nice distance above those two. "There, this orb will be usable once our fight is ended. Of course, it will disappear when I inevitably defeat you," the demon boasted, cracking its neck as it prepared for battle. "Do try not to make it too easy."

The prince had, meanwhile, put his gauntlet back on, equipped his helmet (this was one that did not cover his face, so that his peripheral vision was not impaired) and taken his own position. He seemed to not be taking any chances either, what with his energies from beyond the Veil being on full throttle. "Yes yes. Now shut up and fight."

Without any further ado, Pride stomped his right foot on the ground, sending a shock through the earth and air. Rubble was thrown away as wind burst apart once more, flinging the dwarf well back, even despite how he'd set up his large, silverite targe as a wall in front of him. He stopped only when his armored back met the wall of that ruin, a flash of white filling the air for an instant, and he bent to the left, avoiding a spear of ice that shattered when it hit the granite.

The second such javelin, which Pride seemed to form in the same motion as he tossed them, the dwarf only dodged by rolling away. He did not seem to lose his head, however, because he finished that evasive move in a spin that ended with a forward leap. He used a timed magical pulse from his feet as a boost, so he was able to close the distance with that huge thing instantly, even before it could prepare a new spear.

With one fluid swing, the other hand of the demon, the left one, was sliced between the index and middle fingers by the white specter of a man. The cut didn't exactly reach the wrist, but it was close, so Pride grunted as he jerked his hand away, staring at the dark red blood as it gushed out (and with pride demons in that form having just four fingers for some unknown reason, the wound was especially troublesome).

The distraction was sufficient for the dwarf to successfully thrust his blade, gleaming white with his own power, straight down through the demon's foot.

A short howl projected through stone and air, some pain mixed with bubbling rage.

The backhand was one that the dwarf could not avoid, and he took it straight to the face. He retained hold on his sword, somehow, but was propelled backwards, until he impacted the wall again with a fairly loud bang of his plate mail. Bringing his shield in front of him saved him from the worst of a fireball, but the searing heat was distracting, as was the immediate lack of oxygen.

So he did what sane men would and dropped to the ground, covering his head with both arms (and the shield), just in time to not get his armor bashed by a hastily tossed stone missile. Of course, the rock burst apart noisily when it met the wall.

Ignoring the pain in his hand and foot, the demon leapt forward and brought a force-charged fist down upon the spot where the prince lay.

The explosion was loud, like a thunderclap, and was fitfully executed, down to the last crack in the earth.

However, the small one had predicted the attack and lunged himself forward, between the beasts' legs, and came to a halt, after rolling overhead, right behind that thing. Another spinning swing of that spectral-looking blade earned a nice cut on the back of the left leg, and a side jump got the dwarf away from an annoyed kick that only disturbed the white remnants of spirit magic.

Then, just before a hand, with outstretched, claw-like fingers, gleaming a sort of red, sharpened to go through anything, carved through him, the exile jumped as high as he could, blasting the ground with as much energy as he could push out.

Pride's fingers went through the trail of a white mist, into the ancient, granite wall, embedding themselves up to the knuckles, and the magical backlash blew it apart.

The dwarven spirit warrior landed on top of the wall adjacent to it and, before the demon could properly aim some spell at him, he jumped on the other side and made himself scarce, the remains of his corona vanishing soon after.

Pride produced a never before heard, demonic cry of frustration and didn't even hesitate before he punched that wall, intent on reducing it to dust.

So it was with great dismay that it grunted in pain as the dark crust on that fist was smashed, some of the splinters embedding themselves in his unnatural skin. Apparently, when his hits weren't complemented by some unholy magic empowerment or another, the granite was very much stronger than his 'bones.'

It was probably the first time in history that a mighty demon of pride stared in disbelief at how he'd actually inflicted a wound upon himself.

To his credit, he recovered quickly, shrugged off the pain in his other hand, the sliced left one, and made a brief wave with it. The wall froze over in a second, after which the foot that had been stabbed not long ago came against the construction, heel first.

The wall gave and crumbled, so Pride could finally stride through in search of his quarry.

There was only the noise of fading stomping.

As such, all that remained above what was once a dais with an altar was a red, shimmering orb that just hovered there, about ten meters in the air.

"That there, people, is what Uldred would have turned into if we hadn't taken him out as fast as we did," Alim pronounced, much to everyone's surprise.

Oghren looked at everyone in turn before he took a large, large swig of ale. "You Wardens are mad." Yes, he was repeating himself, but it was true.

"Shit! How are we supposed to know if things go bad now?" The castless kid was nervous, so Oghren really was starting to ask himself if there was anything... between... those two. Although he did remember him being into that elf girl. Then again, that didn't necessarily exclude... So if there were three of them... Huh...

Oghren's mind didn't get to wander far, fortunately enough, because he jumped when Morrigan gave up her wolf form and resumed being human. "Well, that was truly invigorating, though a bit foolish." She looked at the blood mage. "Unless, of course, he has something planned."

Gwen actually produced a very unladylike snort. "He always has something planned. The question is whether it's any less insane than his first plan."

"Screw that!" the brand snapped, still holding himself against the force field. "We have to bust out of here!" An explosion was heard some distance away. "Shit! What's happening! Oh, I hope he lives so I can beat the crap out of him myself!"

"He's still fine," Alim said very matter of factly, grasping his left forearm lightly. Oghren noticed something like white, shimmering threads going down his hand, though the sleeve covered it up to the knuckles. "I have a... way of keeping track." Even so, however, he grasped his staff tight and used the two, longer nails on his left middle and ring fingers to draw blood out of his own palm. "So far, everything is going as planned."

"You have some serious explaining to do," Gwen stated bluntly. "So out with it."

"Very well."

Almost everyone stared at him in shock.

"You..." Alistair most of all. "You mean you're actually going to tell us? Miracles never cease!"

"Hey, there was a good reason he kept you all out of it. He couldn't risk Pride reading into your minds deep enough to find out what he's meaning to do. Now pay attention, because this might get ugly."

So they did. The force field wasn't going to let them go anywhere any time soon anyway.

Or so they assumed.

"-. .-"

After a minute of it, a certain dwarven prince had again reached the conclusion that running in a massive coat of plates was not pleasant, even while on a dose of general magical enhancement. It did not help that Ortan Thaig was not exactly in its best shape, so he had to constantly go around fallen building pieces and over debris. It also did not help that he'd hurt his left elbow, on his shield arm, during that first exchange. Fortunately, the Lifegiver was living up to its name and healing it nicely, so it should be all fine again in about three minutes. It was probably a good thing that this state, where he called upon spiritual power, also gave him a very convenient healing rate.

Among other things, like enhanced speed, strength, hand-eye coordination and various tricks.

Of course, Pride could kill him in a single blow under the right circumstances. Best to avoid that.

The wall on the right of that alley, or what was an alley at some point in the past, burst outward in a show of demolition, right about ten paces ahead of where Raonar was running. Skidding to a halt, he blocked some stray wall parts with his shield. _"Speak of the devil."_ Literally. Demons were pretty much devils themselves after all.

"Stop running, insect!" the creature bellowed, reaching towards him with a hand, enveloped in arcane might. "Be crushed in this cage!"

On any other person, a crushing prison was not something pleasant, mostly because it involved getting one's entire body crushed into a mangled heap under the pressure of near-immaterial bars.

Slowly.

Dwarves had a natural resistance to magic, so they had a bigger chance of getting away scot free. The dwarven prince, unfortunately, had long since lost his own spell resistance, and his equipment could not make up for it. He'd discovered that any armor enchantment with spell resistance just made his wild magic effect worse and more far-reaching, without any benefits. In other words, it could cause Alim, Morrigan or Wynne trouble casting properly unless they were very far away.

Elemental resistances still worked, although their potency constantly fluctuated. The only magic that wasn't really made worse (and actually boosted) was the regenerative variety, this being the reason the Lifegiver and his father's signet ring worked so well at constantly regenerating him all the time. It didn't really make up for healing spells not working on him, but it was a notable improvement.

On the other hand, it would be a lie to say there weren't benefits to this wild magic. Arcane spells, for instance, especially those that had to last on him, or in his proximity, for extended periods of time, had a tendency of going haywire, like a glyph or paralysis exploded in Honnleath, immobilizing him and all the darkspawn alike.

In this case, it made the crushing prison burst in every direction as if it had been cast on someone protected by a personal, spherical force field. All debris moved precisely one meter away from the dwarf, some sparse parts flying off and hitting Pride straight where the nose would be if he had one. One moment of confusion was all he needed.

Taking advantage of this good fortune, the exile eyed his goal, a side-alley right behind that thing, and he propelled himself straight ahead once more, passing like a phantasm by the beast and inflicting a cut in its side in the same leap, leaving some white, misty gossamer strands in his wake for good measure. He realized he wasn't making any overly deep cuts, but it was still better than what he would have managed if he hadn't been enhancing Gorim's sword with that psychokinetic, sharpening field.

Maric's Blade would have, no doubt, been much better for all this, but its enchantment was too valuable against the darkspawn and he couldn't afford to have it lost or destroyed in this personal score he had to settle.

He was satisfied to hear a hiss of pain even before he landed in a crouch and slid for two meters. He recovered his footing properly quite soon after and cautiously turned to face that thing, backing away towards that alley. It wouldn't do for his opponents to not see where he went after all. And all the while, the dwarf only absently registered how shadow fled from him because of how bright the stream of magic was as it gushed out of him, especially his eyes (why is it always Glowing Eyes of Doom anyway?). At least now it didn't have that degenerative effect on his muscles anymore, though the Livegiver would have probably been able to make up for it quite well. Of course, in that case, there would have been no gradual healing.

Which... would have been bad.

He ducked out of the way of a fireball and dived into that side-street. It stated off in a stairway but was just a small bit lower than the previous path. It was also a bit narrower, although that huge demon could still fit and walk, or run, comfortably enough.

Needless to say, the increasingly annoyed demon was quick to resume the chase. "What kind of fight is this?" It raged as it stomped, crushing those steps under its weight. The stab wound in his foot had become smaller, but it was still there, as was the cut in the hand. "No matter!"

Raonar felt a strange tug, so he looked back over his shoulder as he kept running down that street. He recognized that Pride was trying to telekinetically pull him back. Of course, the spell, being arcane and directly supposed to affect him, went wrong. This once, it just dissipated without any side effect, except causing his brilliant corona to pulse strangely and leave behind something akin to a bunch of floating tendrils.

Well, that and the demon being outraged at the audacity of it all.

All the while, the dwarven noble was being very, **very** careful where he stepped.

3.

2.

1.

Boom.

Much satisfaction swelled within the exile when he heard an explosion rocking the alley behind him, so he slid to a stop and turned his shining eyes around, to behold the demon in its confusion as the walls themselves exploded in fire, right in his face, with every step it took.

Boom.

"What!" the demon was angry, so it slammed its palm into the wall on the left and drove enough magic to shatter it to tiny pieces. This, of course, implied that it move its legs, so of **course** it failed to notice yet another metal wire near its foot.

As such, it was not exactly prepared for yet another explosion, precisely in the space between its back and the other, still intact, dark granite wall of the ancient building. The sound faded to an area filled with smoke and stone dust, but Raonar was at a conveniently safe distance from it all, never losing his reign over the magic he was constantly drawing through the breach he was harboring.

Pride actually stumbled out of the debris cloud, but made a point of slamming an arcane burst into that remaining wall anyway. It had visible burn signs and even gashes, from how shrapnel and stone had scraped against it and gone through even that thick crust in some places. "I will destroy you!" its rage could be felt in every syllable. "You dare use such cheap tricks!"

"Hey, don't think you can impugn my honor. The terms of the deal never said anything about traps." The light on Gorim's Sword intensified with every word. "I grew up a prankster and spent my early military career as a scout that set up traps and charges to collapse tunnels and beast lairs on a regular basis. So **of course** I set up some in advance. Don't bother trying to figure them out either. You might just end up caught in some while trying to avoid others." Raonar may have fallen for that trap in the carta, since he was too focused on keeping an eye on that kid, but that didn't mean he didn't know how to make these things.

Pride brought his hands together, forming a very nasty-looking fireball. "Foolish. None of this will avail you."

Not even bothering to challenge that statement, the prince's blade came up in a diagonal, sending the cutting force hurtling though the air, white in itself, at the same moment when the demon threw that fireball in his direction. He brought his shield up and bent forward, stretching his leg back, until he was almost completely covered by that targe. He even sent some magic into it. It should have been enough to keep him on his feet against any blow.

The blast of fire smashed through his guard and the physical shock sent a sharp pain all the way to his shoulder, and he flew backwards, eventually landing on his back and rolling overhead once before he slid to a stop, the silverite metal producing a dull screech as it scraped against stone. He lost hold on his spirit aura for a moment, but he was looking for something else. Finding a flask of red liquid in the pouch tied to his belt, along his right hip, he drunk it down in one sip. Feeling the pain in his arm lessen, he used it to push himself to a stand.

The reason he even had time to do all that was because the so-called attack he'd used (sending off the cutting wave from the sword) did as required, namely cut the string of another trap, along the higher part of the column that pride just 'happened' to have ended up next to, after being ever so unfortunately led there by the other fire bombs. When the string was cut, another explosion broke the upper end of that pillar, end that fell right on Pride's head.

Unfortunately, that wasn't nearly enough to keep him immobilized for long, as the beast forced the fallen building parts off itself, settling for a force blast in all directions. That blew everything away nicely, although it was obvious that the trap had done some damage. It never stopped sputtering its outrage either.

The Pride demon looked at him, blood covering half of its head. It slowly reached out o point a finger at him. For a moment, it didn't seem to do anything else.

Only when the exile sensed magic gathering behind him did he go into full battle mode and summon all the magic he could. Too late, however, as the ball of arcane force burst behind him, smashing into his back. The armor absorbed most of it, but he was still flung through the air and his lungs escaped a cry of "OH SHIT!"

He ended up covering the whole of the distance he'd been knocked back previously, only he fell on his face first this time. He still managed to hold his blade in an iron grip, but he ended up on his back, after rolling once. He felt some blood in his mouth, probably from his nose, but he ignored it.

The sight of Pride raising a foot to crush him was a more immediate concern.

The prince was able to roll aside and avoid getting stomped on. What he did not succeed in was evade it entirely. He rolled to the left, meaning that he had to place his shield up away from him, up in front. As such, Pride caught the shield underfoot, so the dwarf was forced to wriggle his arm out and abandon the targe.

Just in time too, because the thing froze over and broke into iced shards under the weight of that thing. The silverite just broke. How cold did that have to be to work anyway? But there was no time to get back to a standing position before the ice spread, across the ground and reaching his feet. "Enough running," the Fade Beast grunted, betraying a measure of internal injury.

Feeling the ice spread and the temperature drop, there was just one thing the dwarf could do in return.

He unleashed what templars brazenly dubbed a Holy Smite, from his whole body. Some men can master the templar skills through talent, others really need the lyrium. Raonar had a virtually unlimited supply of magic at all times, unruly and troublesome though it was.

A cry of rage escaped the violet demon's lungs (if it had them) and it even brought one of those arms up to shield its face. Its spell was broken and it was stunned for just as much time as the fighter needed to take off again.

Losing the shield had been a stroke of bad luck, but Raonar put it out of his mind. He wiped the blood off his face, feeling that his nosebleed had been healed already. Good old relics, they sure were handy. Even his arm was nearly bereft of pain already, although he could feel some fatigue creeping in. Calling on the Fade did give him an extra measure of endurance, but running in that suit of armor was taxing.

His senses notified him of something dangerously magical swooping in, so he thanked the Ancestors that he'd already reached the building he sought. He dived through the door just as a ball lightning breezed past him and detonated in a million of sparks and arches, crackling madly right against the wall that was about two meters ahead.

It was then that Raonar realized that he'd lost his helmet at some point, because he hit his head against a set of stairs. Thankfully, he was supercharged and regenerating fast enough to not be too badly affected by the blow. This was one of those noble estates back when the dwarves still inhabited this place. It was tall and there were two rows of columns, such was the entry hall (the estate proper was in wings on both sides, since this chamber had exists on the other two walls).

Having admired this place enough some hours earlier, he instead took note of the Pride Demon approaching from outside, so he began to slip past the things that the beast would not be able to avoid, being so huge.

Pride didn't even bother with the door, not that it would have been able to fit through, what with that form being three times its size. The wall froze over and collapsed inwards, violently, allowing a very pissed off thing to charge in, hands already shimmering with magic overload.

Right into a wall of very thick, very recently created spider webbing. Spider threads were known to be about as strong as a steel wire of the same thickness. These ones weren't overly thick, about a centimeter at most, but they were many (many, and in layers, also many), and they were new, since Alim Surana had ever so gallantly agreed to make them, while in spider form, during those times the previous 'night' when he was absent from the camp without anyone, save the prince, knowing (and it was imperative that no one knew, otherwise Pride might have read about the traps form their minds).

The demon stared at itself, mostly trapped there, in obvious surprise, and it tried to disentangle itself, to no avail. When it saw this, it snarled at the insect. "I will enjoy tearing you apart." No sooner had it said that that flames began to envelop its form, eating through the spider threads.

The dwarf noble was about five meters away, so he gathered magic on his sword and sent the slash straight at Pride's face. The wave went easily through the spider webbing. This was the sort of attack that could leave deep cuts in wood and even smaller ones in stone.

It did absolutely nothing when it hit the Demon's skin, except break off in sparse flickers.

"Oh hell." Apparently, all he'd succeeded in was cutting the webbing a bit, making Pride's eventual release a bit less... well, eventual.

The demon grinned as flames kept consuming its bonds. "Your will is not sharp enough to cut through mine, mortal. To cut **me**." An arm was finally free, so the thing stretched it forward. It took less than an instant for the arcane bolt to be ready, and it hurtled straight at the exile.

Gripping Gorim's sword tighter, he clenched his teeth and stabbed forward.

The projectile detonated more or less harmlessly at half the distance between them.

And a stab wound appeared in the demon's left shoulder. "Guh." The gasp was otherworldly, rage being eclipsed by bewilderment for a moment.

The prince was breathing heavily, feeling sweat on his forehead and the rest of his light-enveloped body. That had taken a toll, but it worked. "I'll just have to sharpen it a bit then, now won't I?"

The fade beast exploded in a maelstrom of fire, or at least the area around it did. Understandably furious, the creature roared.

In the process, it stretched those large arms wide, so one of those horned things on its arms made contact with one of the steel wires that had been concealed among the many spider threads. Then, Pride stepped forward, blazing, almost coming between the first two pillars that held the roof up. There were six in total.

Its other arm pulled on another wire. Another trigger.

A cacophony of metallic hisses was all the warning given before a rain of metal spikes descended from the darkness above, all of them repurposed spears, portcullis parts or other things salvaged and refashioned. Some failed to penetrate the thick crust of the creature but quite a few still were sharp enough to sink well through its hide.

Even that thing couldn't suppress a howl of pain when those metallic instruments of torment came upon it. The sound was infernal, supplemented by the dull scrape and clatter of those things that missed and hit the hard floor. The head escaped, the crust around the even harder skull withstanding everything as the horns deflected the rest. The anger churned and swirled, sending flames gushing everywhere.

So the prince took this as his cue and ran off, stopping only when he cleared the six columns, so as to pull on a last piece of string. And he pulled hard.

Explosions rocked the bases of all six pillars. By themselves, they would have done little, but the prince and Alim had spent a while 'preparing' them (ergo, making a lot of cuts and chips just waiting for the last shock to blast everything apart). Like an earthquake, a tremor went up through the architecture, columns shaking and bending, beginning a lazy fall, culminating in a large crack in the ceiling when there was nothing to support it properly any longer. The entire building moaned as it began to collapse in on itself.

"You... you MAGGOT!" the demon bellowed as the building came crashing down around and upon it. It tried to break free, but it hadn't escaped the spider snare.

Raonar just stood straight, his brilliant vestment of energy looking calm even in that scene. He said nothing, but locked his eyes, irises invisible under the white torrent, with those dark ones before he whirled around and made a run for it, leaving sparse magic like falling, white leaves behind. He even cut wildly in a seemingly random direction. Needless to say, there was yet another trap trigger there, one that caused another couple of explosions to detonate just after he jumped out the door of the collapsing construction.

The entrance came down behind him, hurling dust and debris outward.

The noises of a large building falling down on top of a very, very pissed off Pride demon followed him as he dragged his feet away, back in the direction of the others. He decided to stop and rest a bit though, just a couple of streets away. The fact that there was a dull ache in his legs and left arm didn't really help with his recovery, but the artefacts were healing him as well as ever, safely hidden under his gauntlets.

Rumble.

Ah, and that was the noise of everything crashing down completely.

Pushing himself to his feet, the dwarven noble looked back and saw a large cloud of dust and ash hovering high enough to be visible even over those ruined Thaig dwellings he had passed in his retreat from that place. He probably should have felt a bit ashamed at actually contributing to the destruction of what was once the home of his people, but eh.

The wall just ten meters ahead blasted open.

The sea of debris seemed to have extended even there, coming forth like a tide, and the demon emerged from it, bloodied, one horn ripped from its skull and with some metal torture devices still sticking out of its back. Blood dripped from many gashes, but the thing was fast, and enraged, the eyes on the right side of its face smashed beyond use. It paid no mind at the blood sprouting from its many injuries and used its right arm, now bereft of that horn-like protrusion, to reach behind and pull out those rusted metal things, one by one clattering dully away. Then. it roared incoherently.

But it was no rage demon to lose its wits, even when faced with such insolence. Injury was just a temporary inconvenience for one such as him, so it was not deterred when the exile jumped away purely on instinct. Instead, it sent a wave of force straight at him, while he was still airborne, smashing him away and into a wall. His sword finally left his grasp and clattered uselessly.

Raonar was dazed. He'd hit his head against the stone a bit hard, being without a helmet now, and was holding his arms between his face and the dusty ground. Blearily, he looked around, trying to locate his weapon.

"Looking for this, are you?" Pride had a somewhat thicker voice now, having suffered some internal injury, but he still sounded smug. "Are you saying you've finally exhausted your pitiful traps?" It had the dwarven sword float to his eye level and it tapped one of those claws against its pommel a few times. "Here, have it back then. You claimed you'd fight me, so fight." Gorim's sword was thrown back at the dwarf, hissing as the red steel slid on that broken stone alley.

Not having any other options, the fighter picked it up and drew on as much magic as he could. That thing was battered badly. All the same, he noticed an alertness in his own heart rate and breathing, something that signaled anxiousness. He instantly quelled it. This was a time to be calm, his will had to be sharp. He did feel thankful for the adrenaline rush though.

Having come to be within five meters of that thing once more, the exile roared with effort and sent the strongest cut he could manage. He charged the weapon and brought it up.

Blood sprouted from a new slash across the creature's front, going from the waist up to the left shoulder, but the beast just laughed. Pride laughed as he brought it arms overhead and began giving form to ice. A shaft appeared, then grew, and grew until it took the shape of a glaive. And as the laughter continued, the glaive came down.

It was probably the first time a beast of that caliber struck so viciously and yet had its blow parried. Well, not parried, it got its weapon cut where it hit the blade really. The laughter never subsided.

Raonar finally realized why, when he saw the rune of frost on the pommel of Gorim's blade, and he lost track of things for a moment, not noticing how the part of the conjured polearm he'd just cut shattered against the ground.

He looked back at the demon too late to do anything but take a thrust of the remaining shaft straight to the chest. The armor held, bless the Ancestors, but he was still pinned against the wall, hearing something sizzle as another rune was etched, into his cuirass this time.

With one last effort, he brought his sword to bear, even as frost began to overtake it, and managed to cut another piece of what was now a staff. Freed, he released a blast from his feet and bolted in the direction where the others should be, unheeding of the white trail he left through the air. That thing was getting serious, proven by how an arcane blast broke upon a ruined column right after he dashed past it. The dwarf no longer paid attention to just how much of a white magic corona he had around himself, though it was probably more intense than ever.

That bastard was exploiting his disadvantage. It had put a frost rune, something that is usually beneficial, on his sword, knowing that it would become overcharged because of how magic poured out of him, and now the blade was frosting over and going cold and brittle, even though it was wrought of red steel. And it looked like he got landed with a similar rune on his armor, when that shaft smashed into him, as the chill spreading from his chest and into his arms could well attest.

The wall ahead burst apart.

Barely coming to a stop, the dwarf tried to jump back, but only managed a backstep before his instincts took over and he raised the sword to block a very strong, straightforward chop with that ice shaft.

Gorim's Blade shattered.

The shaft slammed into his left shoulder, breaking the shoulder guard that had also frosted over. The collar bone was rent in half with an audible crack. "Guh!" He managed to catch himself before he fell to his knees, and he blasted the ground away, jumping as far away from that thing as possible.

He didn't manage to stand a second time. He fell to one knee, holding himself up with his right arm, the hand firmly around the hilt of that broken weapon. "You broke Gorim's sword..." His voice was faint.

"Ah, too bad," the voice wasn't getting any clearer, but Pride still sounded pleased. "You want me to give you power when you can't even control the one you already have? You should learn proper respect, insect."

Raonar did hear him, but he was more concerned with something else when he glared at that creature and pushed himself to stand. "You broke Gorim's sword..."

"Indeed." With a motion of his right arm, the Pride Demon sent a stone missile straight at his injured opponent, along with a few smaller ones.

The prince brought his arm in a cross guard in front of his face, shielding it from the smaller stones, but the big one caught him square in the chest. The noise of broken metal filled his hears as the cuirass broke apart, having been so completely frozen that it failed to withstand the impact. He was sent flying, and as he rolled and stumbled, the bracers broke apart as well, as did his elbow guards and remaining pauldron. His greaves, thankfully remained in serviceable condition, as did his gauntlets. At least he didn't have to worry about freezing to death now.

Coincidentally, the blow sent him hurtling far enough that he slid out the alley, into the open, ending up lying on his face in view of where all the others were held.

"-. .-"

"Shit!" Predictably, it was the brand that snapped first, pushing both palms against the forcefield. He'd indented to try and stab his daggers into it earlier, but Alim's... explanation... left them all suitably baffled. "Where's his armor? And his sword?" He turned, glaring at Alim again. "You! You knew this would happen!"

Alim had a look that said _"Well duh!"_ but what he actually said was: "Please, of **course** he can't defeat a demon of Pride on his own, especially with all those issues he has with magic. What do you think he is? I did just explained everything, didn't I?"

Pride stomped out into view again, near the open space next to the natural, cavern-like wall that was the border of that ancient Thaig. It was... a real mess actually.

"Whoa," Alistair breathed out in awe. "That thing looks... well, great! I mean **bad**..."

"Sodding ancestors," Oghren muttered. "That thing survived a building crashing on top of it?"

"Barely," Gwen said levelly, resting her right hand on the end of the hilt of her greatsword Yusaris. The sword was being balance on its tip. "Raonar doesn't look too good though. Wynne, can you do anything from here?"

"I might be able to-"

"No." Alim cut in firmly, warranting everyone's looks. "We already talked about this. Besides, it shouldn't take long now." He gripped his staff tight. "Just about now. He should..." He trailed off when he saw the guy push himself to stand. "Wait... this isn't according to plan..."

"Wonderful!" Kallian huffed and threw her arms up in annoyance. "Now what is he doing?"

Alim said nothing, but a scowl finally made its way into that look of his that had not changed from passive contemplation since the beginning. Then, the exile was heard speaking, and the words had an immediate effect on a certain castless dwarf and the black magician himself, as they both spoke in unison.

"Oh boy."

"-. .-"

Raonar didn't pay attention to whether they were gasping in horror or not. He just pushed himself up, realizing that he'd sprained his left wrist. No matter, he didn't need that hand for what he was about to do.

Once the dwarf was finally more or less standing, though his head was bowed, Pride strode out into the open, in all its battered, bloody glory. They were about two hundred meters way form where the red orb of their deal was still floating. The exile could sense the smirk on what was left of its face, though it was probably healing, albeit slowly. Very slowly.

The dwarf exhaled and brought his right hand to his chest and held it there, feeling the familiar sensation. He hadn't originally planned to go so far, but what that bastard had done had succeeded in warranting a nice bout of retribution, even if it was to be only brief.

The rush of magic filled him as his 'special reserve' came forth. He felt his sprained wrist mending and the muscles around his broken clavicle knitting back together. The bone itself would heal soon enough. And just like that, magic flared around him again, and he straightened, brought his sword arm, now free, up to his eye level as a sphere of white light appeared above the open palm.

Things were going to get serious. After all, that thing did not grasp the enormity of the crime it had just committed, and was even about to blast him with a serious case of infernal flames in a few moments. Still, it was the exile's duty to remedy that demon's unfortunate oversight. After all...

"You. Broke. Gorim's. Sword."

The sphere of focused magical power, gathered during weeks of meditation, was crushed in his grasp the instant flames began to rain down upon him and around him, until a veritable maelstrom of heat and fire, like a tornado of sorts, took form and began to blast and burn everything.

Pride was standing just three meters outside the area of effect, delighting in the rumbling and the noise of stones as they broke because of the sudden change in temperature. The image was blurred due to how the heat messed with the light, and little could be seen in that inferno.

Then, a hole appeared in the flaming twister, for an instant, and something, looking dangerously similar to a certain Spirit of the Fade that had completely trounced him in the past, cloaked in light and gushing raw magic in all directions, emerged, right in front of it. The beast's still functional eyes failed to react in time to how that thing had just emerged, airborne, at its eye level.

Swiping kicks were out of the question, since the force the dwarf used could easily surpass what muscle and bone was made for, possibly leaving him with horridly broken and torn legs. This was also the first time he ever really used this, having never even practiced this particular form. As such, direct thrusts were all he could afford while hoping his body wouldn't break down form being so abused.

The Prince of Orzammar smashed his silverite armored, right heel straight into Pride's face, precisely where the nose would have been. The energy outpour exploded from his foot in a circle, and so did the air surge away from him with a roar, like thunder, blasting the demon violently, causing its head to jerk back, mightily enough that the thing lost its balance and barely moved its foot to prevent a fall. "Guuooh!"

Being bent backwards, the beast's chest was held almost horizontally, for a short time, perfect as a landing place for the exile. The moment he was on top of that thing, a sharp pain cut through his ankle, signaling that the might of the attack had been too much to bear, leaving it sprained, even with the armored boot to act as a buffer. With an act of will, the dwarf ignored the pain, flaring white as his aura made him look like something out of a dream, white tendrils, strands, some even a meter and a half in length, gliding harmoniously everywhere, contrasting with the raging fire storm he had jumped out from. His dwarven form was just vaguely distinguishable, but no color was in sight, nor shadow. He needed to act fast, exploit every instant, so he stretched the fingers of his right hand, force gathering, sharpening that gauntlet.

The second of shock passed, remnants of that blast fading, and Pride tried to restore its balance, but only felt something pierce through its chest, right in the middle, painfully, and it just had to choke. The dwarf had driven his hand up to the wrist, through the crust and flesh and bone. Too bad for demons that they actually had to have anatomy in order to exist in the physical world without a host.

On reflex, Pride pushed itself forward, looking down, just in time for that being of light to ram its other foot into its chin, having used the leverage, gained when he drove that hand-thrust into it, to hurl his legs forward, another burst of power doing the rest. The blast was a bit stronger, strong enough to finish what the first started and knock it out of balance completely.

The ground itself was smashed when the Fade beast collapsed on its back, still with that nearly formless specter on top of it. Its head fell a bit wrong, right on the remaining horn, which was actually moved in its socket under the thing's own weight. The cloud of dust wasn't as thick as the previous ones, but it may have been because the exile released a burst of his own when he lunged forward, stepping unceremoniously on what were good eyes before a certain estate came crashing down.

Another time, the area was rocked by a foot-projected explosion, right in Pride's face. it didn't do much damage, but it did daze it and left it grunting long enough for the exile to stoop forward and grab that horn with both hands.

His ankles still hurt, as did the collar bone, but they were healing, not very fast, but fast enough, so he gnashed his teeth and ignored the pain as he pulled on that horn with all his might, guiding some of those strands to grind through the crust and whatever flesh held it in place. His right and left feet were pushing against the demon's throat and face, respectively. This all happened in the span of seconds.

A cry of pain and exertion left his lungs and, just before the demon got enough of its bearings back to realize what was happening, the solid appendage was ripped away from its skull with a sickening crunch.

Pride screamed, more in disbelief than physical torment, and that only meant that its mouth was open when the exile raised that horn above his head, making his intentions more than clear. There was no shadow, no color, just brilliance, save for that horn, now held like a knife, ready to come down.

And it did.

It went through its mouth, and the prince felt it pierce flesh and crush bone as it went deeper, the sound of torn sinews resounding over even the humm produced by this form.

Pride bit on it, stopping the dangerous advance.

The ground on both sides of its fallen frame was pierced by fingers that extended in claws, and the beast spat its word through clenched, razor-sharp teeth. "You **WORM!"** The teeth crushed the horn under their strength and it had to but will it for a wall of force to slam the gnat head-on. Another one sent the dwarf and his damnable radiance hurtling away. "How **DARE **you!" its voice was hoarse. To think the inside of its mouth and throat would be so seriously hurt by one of its own body parts! Even before it got back to its feet and spat the horn's tip out, Pride howled and caused the ground to be overtaken by tremors.

As it happened, Raonar had been thrown in the direction of what had once been a dwelling. he landed wrong, since his sprained ankles didn't agree with him, which only made it worse when the earthquake reached him. On the flip side, since he had no armor encumbering his upper body, just a now torn shirt, he did a sort of cartwheel, landing on his knees, the metal of his greaves absorbing most of the pain he would have otherwise felt. Still, that failed to get him outside the area of the rumbling earth.

Pride noticed the gnat squirming, so it brought its battered left arm around in a semicircle, sending a wave of wind, an outright buffet, smashing into him. With the prince unbalanced by the earthquake, the blast was enough to send him flying until he smashed with a gasp into the wall of the ancient house. But it was not finished. It swiped forward, releasing a cone of cold that instantly froze the area over, even causing some ice spikes and icicles to form, accompanied that that familiar, subtle crackling sound of frostbite.

It saw that white nimbus starting to retreat and fade to a dull shimmer around the dwarf's body when the ice reached him, leaving his eyes as the only remaining light source. Spurred, Pride then brought its palms together and used all the blood sprouting from his many injuries to charge up a fireball.

The resulting explosion was most satisfying, as was the look on the mortal's face when it saw there was no avoiding it, nor the latest of many dust clouds that filled the place. The noise had been nearly deafening, and the force powerful enough to cause the wall to crumble to pieces.

Pride just looked upon the destruction for some seconds, unable to see through the haze it itself had created. Its breathing was hard, blood was gushing from almost every part in his body, especially his horn sockets and the hole in its chest wasn't helping either. Not to mention that the inside of its throat had been partially mangled. But it had made no difference in the end. No mortal could ever truly hope to face a demon of his might and win.

And the strange hissing sound coming from ahead, as well as the strange way the dust was beginning to spin obviously meant nothing at all.

Wait, what?

Before it could react properly, the dwarf had somehow already launched himself out of the dust brume. It jumped fast and high, until he was once again at eye level with it. He looked tired, sweaty. What looked like an ethereal armor, probably what had saved him, faded out of existence, and his eyes were the only part of him still shinning with inner light. His left hand was in front of him, for balance, as though he was getting ready to deliver a punch with his right one. There was just one thing wrong with that whole setup, and it wasn't the look of utter concentration on his face.

His right hand was holding onto what looked like a palm-sized ball of energy, vaguely blueish, spiraling under his intent, compressed to the limit, this somehow only accelerating the movement. The spiraling sphere hummed menacingly. Pride actually picked up on it in a single instant.

The dwarf released a guttural yell, and his strained gauntlet crumbled under the strain of that technique as he thrust that palm forward. Pride just barely brought his arms together in a cross guard, right forearm over the other, to shield his chest. The atmosphere around them shrilled as contact was made, and even the forcefield the beast tried to summon failed to hold the sphere at bay. The exiled prince smashed through it, sickly slowly, and carved, ate straight through the demon's forearm. Some of the magic leaked like torrents in every possible direction.

Pride glared and snarled at the gnat that was glaring in turn, putting everything he had left in this last move. And all the while, all the demon did was wish it had put the other arm in front, which still had that overgrowth of bone in place. It might have managed to withstand better.

A gruff, hoarse cry of pain escaped that monster's chest as it staggered backward upon the resulting explosion. It did not retain completion as it did so, however, because that right forearm crashed to the floor in a pool of blood. "Uuurgh," Pride clutched a where the rest of its arm once was, blood dripping, flowing freely like a cascade from it. "How in the...?" That had never happened before.

The beast realized it had just been partially dismembered and that it might have even died if that thing had sunk and exploded inside its torso.

This kind of pain was foreign. And with it came anger, such rage as the eyes that still worked settled on the battered, tired frame of that exile, utterly drained if the lack of all light was any indication. "Oh, now you've done it."

The prince attempted to stand, but failed under the general pain. Pride would have enjoyed his torment if its own state of health wasn't this severe. "End of the line, dwarf." It took just one step forward, meaning that it was about six meters away from that warrior, and released the hold on its severed arm. Its blood stopped falling. Instead, it flowed and floated over to the left one, gathering around the wrist. Then, without even outstretching it, it twisted its palm around, facing the man.

A sharp spike, made of Pride's own blood, grew out of the middle of that palm and shot forward, aiming to impale the prince.

And impale him it did.

Managing just a weak attempt at side-stepping, the fighter caught the blood spear in the right side. "Guoh..." It tore through his muscles and bones and came out through his back, piercing the ribs on the lower, left side of his rib cage, along with the lung and everything else. The gnat choked on his own blood. It was a wonderful sound.

The demon held the spike in place for a while, enjoying the mortal's heaving breaths, the shock strewn over his face. "I will admit that you were intriguing," it said smugly, secretly cursing its voice for sounding so mangled even now. Frustrated, it had the spike retreat instantly, causing its enemy another wave of agony.

It watched as the prince fell to his knees, still gasping, blood finally starting to pour out of his side. The demon enjoyed the scene, absently summoning some frost to insulate the place where its right forearm once was. He'd have to regrow it later, or stick it back into place. Now, he could spare some time on watching the last of that dwarf's life leak from him. So he looked at how the mortal reached a shaky hand into his pant pocket and took out a cloth of some kind.

The exile coughed out blood and heaved. He glanced tiredly at that demon one last time before he brought the cloth, in a trembling hand, to his face, over his mouth and nose as he coughed some more. Pride actually thought something new might happen, but whatever worries it had faded when the man's eyes glossed over and closed.

So it was that the mortal responsible for his downfall at the hands of that Spirit, years before, fell to the ground, motionless, in a pool of blood that was slowly spreading.

Fitting.

Perhaps some healing was in order now, Pride thought. It would be easy, just going over there and draining the life force to heal his wounds. The mortal was still alive, it could sense that much, and it would have been convenient as well. Of course, there wouldn't be enough to regrow the arm. Maybe reattach it? Deciding this was a reasonable course of action, the creature walked, slowly (it was wounded in many places after all) to where the limb had ended up. After retrieving it, it went over to where the puny one was now lying. Ah yes, just a few more steps and...

Pride gasped in surprise when an arrow embedded itself in his back, but the real shocker was that same arrow exploding on impact. "Guargh!" On alert, it looked back and spotted that red-haired woman, just as she shot another arrow, which sunk into its shoulder. "What? How!" Confused, Pride looked to where the others were supposed to be, seeing his magical safeguards gone. Then, he looked at where the altar once was.

The red orb it had prepared was still there. "Impossible!" The fade dweller didn't register when it had let its severed arm fall back to the ground.

It didn't get the chance to spot the others before a hand, brilliant blue, appeared and clawed through flesh and bone from shoulder to hip. The assault faded as soon as it struck. It left no real injury, but the pain had been and still was very real. Then, just like before, the hand appeared, on the other side, and clawed through its body again, and again.

The demon got used to it quickly, but Alim's attack had done its job. It had kept it disoriented long enough for the others to close the distance or slip out of sight, as it became painfully obvious when there were two flasks of strange liquid in the air overhead. Two arrows, sent with Dalish precision, flew and shattered them, so the liquid inside rained down upon the violet, bloody beast, at once eating through the bone and flesh on its head, back and shoulders. "Huoh! What! Guah!"

"I call it napalm," Zevran said from behind it, tossing another of those things straight at its back before smashing a smoke vial against the ground and using that cover to escape into the cloud of dust that had been created earlier.

Pride roared and caused a wall of ice spikes to sprout in the Antivan's direction, but no one was there anymore. Where were those insects? And how had they escaped unnoticed? He spotted Leliana and Theron far off, along with the three mages and those human fighters. Wait, three mages? There was another woman there, robed, with dark hair, mostly concealed under a scarlet hood. "Treachery!" It snarled. This could not have happened. It was impossible, they should not have managed to escape without triggering the spells, not to mention destroying the orb. What had happened? Did that gnat do something?

Hateful, it looked where the dwarf was. Well, used to be, since he wasn't there anymore. All that was left was the blood on the ground. "What? Where...?" Sten had long since grabbed him and bolted, along with that dwarven rogue. When had they gotten so close? Ah, the qunari was barefoot. That explained the lack of noise. Shale was in the distance, apparently waiting for them. The dogs and wolf were there as well for some reason. Fortunately, Pride's ears still worked so it heard Gwen and Alistair rushing towards him. It was able to face them in time, but Gwen had a worrisomely golden aura surrounding her.

Well, Wynne did have a variety of spells that could enhance battle prowess.

Very much.

"Irrelevant."

Lunging its remaining hand forward, Pride smashed the woman with pure force, sending her tumbling backwards. To his credit, Alistair glanced in her direction only briefly, enough to see Wynne's healing magic, like a blue mist, envelop her. Pride tried the same on him, but the spell was resisted, so the Templar wearing the armor of the Divine Will was able to get close enough to slice its knee with Duncan's Sword. Pride wanted to crush him, but an arrow hit the left shoulder and detonated again. How were they doing that anyway? What was that Dalish hunter using?

If directness didn't work, brute force would, so the demon telekinetically lifted a broken stone slab and tried to send it into the human warrior. Strangely, Morrigan, of all people, had been on to the idea and smashed that stone missile with lightning, causing it to break into pieces. Then, another lighting strike came, from Alim this time, directly into the hole that Raonar had left in the creature's chest.

Ortan Thaig witnessed a Pride Demon screaming in agony.

And Kallian Tabris had made its way just behind the creature, perfectly close to drive her sword right into the back of the demon's right knee, just as Oghren hacked at the other leg with his axe.

And just like that, Gwenith Cousland, having recovered from being blasted away, closed the distance and, using all the extra strength given by Wynne's spell, jumped high, Yusaris in hand. The greatsword went deep through where the sternum would be, and she pushed it further, deeper, all the way to the hilt before she viciously twisted it, spraying blood over herself but not taking heed of it even as the spasming monster lost balance and fell once more. The huge creature ended up sprawled across the ground, twitching. It gurgled as Gwen pulled her bloodied weapon out and hopped off the defeated fade dweller.

Pride spat, no, vomited blood to the side. "H-How? Im... Impossible..."

"Merely improbable actually." Yes, the black magician was right there, in front of his fallen shell. He had his staff in his hand and began to walk around it, towards the head. Alim stopped when he was towering over Pride's face from behind, completing the circle made by Alistair, Gwen, Oghren and Kallian. "This is probably the point where I explain your folly. But you know what? I am a sadistic demon hater. So I'll just say one thing..."

"..."

"You lose." Alim raised the staff above Pride's gaping mouth. Then, the low end of the staff, sharpened through spellpower, came down and went right through flesh and bone, coming out the other side and embedding into the earth underneath the shocked, battered visage of that creature.

Silence.

"-. .-"

What had just happened?

Demon blood was pouring out, mixing with dust and rubble and earth.

What had just happened?

"_Impossible."_

The Demon's five slayers continued to stand around it as its twitching frame lost all motion, little by little.

"_Impossible! It was impossible!"_

Anger began to overtake the creature's fading consciousness.

_"It should have been impossible for them to escape without cancelling the agreement!"_

Rage began to project through the expanding pool of blood, mixing with it, becoming one with the foundation of the earth it was now sprawled over.

"_Trickery! Deception! It was a fair deal! How dare they!"_

Identity could change. It was all a choice for beings like them. A choice was all that stood at the basis of what defined a creature of that kind, be it desire, sloth, hunger, despair, fear, pride or...

Rage.

There was only unadulterated rage.

Enough of it to push everything aside.

"-. .-"

Sten would have liked to get farther away from where the fight had taken place, after he picked Raonar up off the ground, but he couldn't afford another moment's delay. The injury was too severe. Fortunately, they weren't in any danger anymore, so he made a turn and laid his kadan down, gently, behind a ruin of a house wall, doing his best to kick most pebbles and rocks out of the way first. Faren kept up easily, always looking back, and Shale took to standing just out of the way, looking back at what the others were doing.

Once the exile was on the ground, gasping in unconscious agony, Faren ran over to the other side and knelt quickly, the cloth form Alim held tight in his grip.. "Dammit! This is worse than ever."

Sten ripped the white haired-one's shirt apart and applied pressure to the wound, using his other hand to take out a balm, the strongest they had with them. Rinne was there too, traipsing about, whining in concern for her master and likely cursing, in Mabari terms, the fact that healing spells just didn't work on him. It was that whining that prevented the qunari and redhead from hearing the faint rumbling noises.

Damon and Anor, that elf's wolf, were snarling at something from where they were, next to the golem, having been ordered by their masters to take up guard duty. Then, Shale actually said something by her own initiative, and it wasn't good news. "What in bird's name is happening there!"

"-. .-"

He should have sensed it sooner. He should have sensed it, but it came too fast, even for a blood mage of his caliber. Pride had stopped moving at last and they had all made to leave, to rush and see what they could do for the Warden Commander when the elf sensed a wave of fury breezing through everything, its origin right in that demon's corpse.

Then, the ground began shaking, powerfully, the tremors rising in intensity gradually, warranting confused looks from Alistair, Oghren, Gwen and Kallian alike. Even Wynne, who was still not near there, began to slow down and her expression changed to a wide-eyed one as her staff came in front.

Alim Surana whirled around, placing his staff between him and the new threat, or the old one, now changed into something even more formidable, though the first thing he saw was something akin to pale, red misty flames gushing out of the fallen creature. The unholy light arched and bent, sinking into the earth itself or spreading over to the debris littering that place.

So silence was bad.

"Move!" On pure instinct, the mage released a wave of force in an explosion around him, sending everyone, save Alistair, whose magic resistance kicked in, well away, in time to avoid getting struck by rocks that just burst out from underground. The templar was able to get away with a glancing hit, having stepped aside by sheer luck. Those affected fell rather painfully, having been taken totally by surprise.

The rocks continued to fly, only away from them, as if they were all gathering together, drawn close by a red specter. A vague shape coalesced there, fusing with the rocks as poor imitations of legs and arms came together as extensions of what looked like an astral, ghostly endoskeleton. Finally, a more or less rounded boulder came up on top, and it became enveloped in a red flame, as if it was a head, on fire. A burst of power even damaged it, leaving behind something akin to an eye socket, glowing malevolently. It towered about four meters in height.

It was not a real voice that bellowed, but bellow it did, at the space above and around it, one mighty shockwave cracking the air and the ground beneath its feet. Whatever dust was in the area was blown away, and as the walls came apart to add to that new being, Zevran's cover was broken and he scampered away and towards the others. "Brasca!"

"What in Maker's name is **that**?" Alistair gasped. He had the helmet Duty, a Grey Warden, Griffon helm, covering his face entirely, and still his awe, mixed with some shred of fear, was obvious.

Alim had to pass on actually saying he didn't know in favor of something more useful. "Take cover!" He actually used his magic to telekinetically push Kallian away and behind a wall patch before he dived to the side, much like Alistair himself did.

That saved them from a crack in the earth that sent the ground bursting upwards, leaving a sort of trench behind. The rock monster then disassembled by its own will and flew towards them like a cloud of solid death, coming down in a rain of boulders right where they used to be standing.

"SHALE!" Alim roared from the top of his lungs as he jumped to his feet even before Alistair did, what with his massive armor. "GET OVER HERE! **NOW**!" Once he was standing again, he noticed that Oghren was close enough. To his credit, the dwarf didn't look too terrified to fight, but he was gaping. "Wynne!" the elf called out.

"Here!" she was running towards them.

"Stay far!" Surana ordered. "Cast the strongest regeneration you have on Oghren!" Not even waiting to see if she heard him, he brandished his own staff in the dwarf's direction, murmuring a spell of his own. The fighter was enveloped in a faint, blue aura the same moment when his greataxe was enveloped by some sort of force. "Oghren! Go and chop at that thing!" Turning to Alistair, he focused and had Duncan's sword become enveloped by the same telekinetic field. "You too Alistair!"

"Sodding crazies!" the dwarf shouted back, attacking anyway. He was taking things in stride fairly well, all things considered.

"On it!" the templar followed, charging.

"Morrigan, try and wear that thing down!"

Soon after those words were spoken, something akin to man-sized, blue, shimmering hands of light began to appear and claw at the thing, here and there, again and again. By the shrill breaking through the wretched hum coming out of that monster, it seemed to have some effect, although small.

By then, the rocks had already reformed in the shape of that vaguely humanoid rock creature and its limbs were veritable twisters of stone and dust. It tried to stomp on Gwen, who was closest, but she jumped to the side and, with Wynne's heroic aura still filling her, chopped at that rock leg and managed to get Yusaris to cut clean through even stone.

A backhand, however, caught her square, and she flew back, hitting the ground hard, with her back. Then, when Alistair managed to cleave through its other leg, and when Oghren actually swung his axe in a wide enough arc that one of the large boulders that made up its chest was rent asunder, the thing burst with force. Alistair managed to keep standing, though he staggered back, but Oghren hadn't regained his footing, so he ended up tumbling back.

The demon, or whatever it was now, a being of rage and vengeance, slapped its so-called palms together and released a sort of projectile, but Alim was able to surround the dwarf in a forcefield before he was hit. The elf saw Zevran sneaking around but not approaching, realizing that his small knives would not be any use and he would just be a liability. Kallian was some way to the right, having come out from where she'd ended up.

Then, the rock beast was slammed with a loud crunch and rumble by a boulder that impacted it straight in that large, shoulder-like piece of granite. Both Shale's projectile and said rock body part crumbled, and the odd creature wavered for a moment, just when another arm-like staff blast form Morrigan came up from the ground and passed through everything solid and dealing damage at the spirit level.

The thing's integrity was finally torn down by one of Theron's last explosive arrows. They had small fire enchantments, and small pouches of lyrium sand near the heads. Alim has assisted in their making.

The arrow exploded precisely in that so-called eye socket.

"-. .-"

"That demon is not through. It became something, a creature of rock and hate. Foul magic is at work here," Sten said. He had taken to surveying the area while Faren scrambled to apply a painkilling, healing balm to that gaping hole. Still, they both knew that would do little. Their real task was different.

Apparently fighting off his panic down, the brand brought that piece of cloth, thick with rousing salts, over Raonar's face. "Come on." He held it there. "Come on man, come on." Sten noticed his voice was strained and wondered if he himself ever sounded like that. "Come on man, come out of it..."

There was a gasp.

Rinne immediately produced a yelp of happiness when her master woke up.

"Guh..." he coughed and heaved, several times, so Faren put more pressure on the wound. Sten rushed over to hold him still, but the exile immediately cringed and went solid still, eyes closed. The qunari would have thought he'd either gone back unconscious or, Qun forbid, died, of not for the fact that his entire body lit up as magic began to course through him.

Then, an arm grabbed Faren by the wrist, and two, white eyes locked on two other, staring intently. "T-The... orb... and Wynne... bring them... here..."

Exchanging a look with the giant, Faren almost leapt over him. He rushed around him, aiming to leave cover, but was stopped when Damon and Anor both pounced him at once. "Whoa!" he stumbled back and only avoided a total fall because his back hit Sten's.

Any questions he might have had were answered by a hurricane of sharp, long, blue, shining needles that filled the air above where they were hidden, the noises akin to a swarm of deep stalkers on the hunt.

"-. .-"

Alim knew it would have been too good to be true if that last arrow had brought the creature down. For once, he wished he'd been wrong. Upon being blasted by that fire, the demon, or whatever it was now, again burst apart and flew off, coming back together at half the distance between him and the spot where the archers, those being Leliana and Theron, were standing. The spot it chose placed it fairly close to Morrigan as well. This once, however, it came together in a ball that began to shake as though it were a moon rocked by tremors.

The moment it lunged in all directions, roaring inhumanly as it looked like a man raging against the heavens, a rain of blue spikes, long and sharp, began to pour out in every possible path. Alim just barely saw the Dalish and the chantry sister throw themselves to the ground, face-down, and he did all he could and willed a sphere of force around him. The shower rattled and sizzled against it, and he could feel the continuously building pressure, straining him.

He saw Morrigan out of the corner of his right eye, turning into swarm of wasps. Alistair, on his left, had slid his leg far back and was almost completely protected by Duncan's shield now, and those many spiked were breaking off of it without leaving even a dent. Either Alistair's magic resistance was working better than expected or that shield was too strong for words, or both.

The elf would have checked for everyone else, but he felt his concentration pushed. He'd really overused his telekinesis recently. He suppressed a wince and clenched his teeth when the first of those things passed though his force field and made a cut on his forearm. So he gnashed his teeth and hoped he would last long enough, shutting his eyes in exertion, barely hearing anything besides that assault.

Along with some heavy stomping.

Then, suddenly, the pressure was gone, and he actually stumbled forward because of the surprise. Catching himself, he looked up and saw the back of a Golem. Shale was there, having spread its arms around to make as large a buffer it could with its body. "Nothing we do appears to be working," she said in her monotone. "It should think of a way to kill it dead."

The rain of needles began to die down. "Alright guys, get ready to charge that thing again." Alim pushed his magic again and had a telekinetic field appear over Gwen's sword as well. "Zevran, Kallian, stay in cover. Leliana, Theron, you too, unless you have any more explosive arrows." He spotted Wynne as she used healing on herself. Meanwhile, the wasp swarm flew over and retook human form behind Shale as well.

Then, the elf almost jumped, for just as the warriors ran off to begin hacking that thing apart, he felt someone putting a hand on his shoulder.

He jerked around and almost bashed his staff against Faren's face. "Gods man, where did you come from?"

"Look, I need to be quick." The rogue went straight to business. "I need to borrow Morrigan and Shale for a minute."

"You need to **borrow** me..." Morrigan sounded confused.

Alim briefly listened to the noises of stone getting hacked apart by various, telekinetically-sharpened weapons before responding. "What for?"

Faren pointed far off, where that orb was still hovering in the air. "I need to get that. And I'll need Wynne too."

That immediately convinced him. "Alright. Make it quick then." The elf stepped out from behind the large golem and focused slightly. A wave of his hand was all it took to have the rock armor grow around him, over his clothes. "Shale, Morrigan, go." What he did next was drink a lyrium potion and decide to summon a particularly potent blizzard.

A blue mist enveloped him as he pushed his spell might as high as he could.

The air cracked and he sent it the magical charge. It raced and crashed against the rock demon's so-called chest, busting apart and giving birth to a maelstrom of ice and wind. Hopefully Gwen would take it well, since Alistair had high resistance, enhanced by his armor set, and Oghren was a dwarf. Either way, frost began to form on the many flying boulders.

Not turning around, Alim approached the spot where Kallian was taking cover. He could see she was frustrated. "Kallian." As he spoke the next words, he used the sharp nails on his middle and ring fingers to draw blood out of his right palm. And when he brought it up at chest-level, the blood gathered in a single, solid bead, in the air, looking suspiciously similar to a seed. "I need you to do something for me."

"-. .-"

It was thanks to the relentlessness of those guys hacking at the thing that they were able to reach the spot where the dais once was without drawing the monster's ire. Morrigan had grasped the idea well enough and had already turned into a spider and crawled up the walls to start her weaving. All that remained was one final step.

Faren took off his cloak and turned to behold the golem. "Toss me."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I can't jump that far so I want you to toss me," "_Though I hate the idea. A lot."_

"... As it wishes."

Faren held up a hand. "Wait... don't tell the Antivan."

Shale was probably amused by his pleading look. "Not a word."

Once he was in position, the golem grabbed him well by the back of his armor and flung him straight at the red sphere. Once airborne, the dwarf vaulted and spread the cloak wide, and when he finally did reach that thing, he was able to gather the garment like a sort of bag around the magically-created object. He didn't know what would happen if he directly touched it, and he didn't want to find out.

Still in momentum, the brand eventually reached the higher wall that was still standing, some distance away. Shale could really throw. Thankfully, Morrigan had lived up to her reputation and created a very nice set of webbing that he was able to grab onto. Thus it was that an unnaturally large webbing saved him from an uncontrolled fall. He grabbed firmly onto it with his free, left hand.

Zing.

The threads broke in his grasp.

"Wha!" the ground was coming at him fast. Like, really fast. "OH SHI-" His cry of shock was cut off when he felt something grab him by the legs. So when he looked back up, his eyes met those red ones of a giant spider, dangling upside down, as spiders are known to do. It looked.. smug. Had she done it on purpose? "Very funny..."

Before long he was back on the ground, and things would have been just fine if the rock beast would have not decided to totally shift its attention towards them. The magic from that thing swelled and it came flying with a vengeance straight at them. "Great."

"-. .-"

"It should be around here," Kallian said. Unfortunately, so much rubble had been thrown around, and big rocks, that the corpse of that Pride demon had been completely covered, with just some fingers sticking out in one spot. The battle had moved away but the rumble could still be heard, and the malice felt.

"Stand back then, my dear." Zevran Arainai produced a flask of orange liquid that seemed to glow with an inner light. "This should clear the debris for us." He went and stuck the phial deep before walking away, at a good angle for a throwing knife.

Once the knife shattered the flask, a very satisfying explosion definitely cleared the area, leaving Pride's so-called corpse right there. "So... Alim said to just... shove it in?" Zevran made a deliberate leer.

"Cut it, Zev," the city elf said quaintly as she hoped over rocks and crouched when she was standing on the body. Then, with that so-called seed between her fingers, she stuck it into the gaping, bloody hole in the chest.

"-. .-"

Shale wasn't very used to fighting things so much larger than herself. Even ogres didn't give her this impression of being tiny, or so easy to knock around. Basically, the Golem had just been knocked back powerfully enough to almost fall off her feet. "Dammit! This thing is not squishable at all!" Gathering flames around herself, she lunged forward and was able to ram the thing well enough to knock it off balance. She could feel a few of her crystals, and hear them, break apart, but she paid them no mind.

The others had been thrown about before that thing had dissembled and flown to try and crush them there. It was trying to get to Faren and the object he'd claimed, that much was clear. So, naturally, she wasn't about to let it pass.

Lighting struck the rock being in the back, testament to a certain elven mage's wrath. Taking advantage of this chance, Shale pressed her advantage and reached up to grab onto the chest piece. She then began pulling on it, as hard as she could. She also noticed Morrigan turning from a wasp swarm back into a human, right next to the elf.

Both mages unleashed their magics, and it was thus that the same spot was struck by lighting not for a second, but for the third time as well. Shale felt the electricity rattle through every inch of that abominable thing.

With a resounding power clap, half the monster's 'chest' was wrenched asunder at the golem's hand, leaving the poor imitation of an ethereal rib cage completely exposed.

By now, Faren had managed to flee back to that dying dwarf well enough, Wynne following after him. The only thing that ruined that scene was the enemy blowing itself apart into an amalgam of stone and flying dust that stubbornly pursued him.

"How rude!" Shale admonished.

"-. .-"

"What are we waiting for?" Zevran asked impatiently, obviously not liking what he was seeing of the battle.

"Alim said we should wait until it blooms," Kallian answered, just as confused.

"Blooms?" the assassin really wasn't getting this. "My dear, for a flower to bloom, it first needs roots and then a stem and leaves, and then a bud. As I see it," he gestured towards the demon's corpse. "There are none of those three things here."

Something akin to a stem at once broke through the bloody flesh and grew, like crystal, resembling lyrium veins in their sumptuous shape, only colored red. It broke off into several strains that kept growing, until it looked like a sort of bush, leaf-less, but very much still evolving. Then, the bud appeared on the end of the tallest one. It was small, then got larger, until it burst into a show of solid, glass-smooth petals that spread in the perfect image of a peony.

"... I stand corrected." Both elves looked at the scene in awe, forgetting, for a moment, all about the life-or-death situation surrounding them.

The flower opened further. It was larger than the natural one, much larger. The petals spread, and when the flower had finally bloomed completely, the final petals came apart to reveal a perfect, red sphere, about ten centimeters in diameter.

And then, against all logic, the orb took flight and ended up floating at about the same level as the elves' heads. As for the flower itself, it diminished, but did not lose any of its allure. It just... shrunk... until it was as large as any other flower. All the other stems became thinner, then they began to lose length, only in reverse, because they began to retreat into that flower.

After the peony was all that was left lying on the demon's remains, the orb still hovering above it, those two were finally snapped out of their daze by an explosion that sounded like it came from the direction where they knew Raonar had to be.

With no more delay, Kallian took the flower, Zevran the globe and they bolted in that direction.

"-. .-"

In any other situation, Sten would have been affronted at being left out of the fight and reduced to this human shield duty, but he found there was no place he'd rather be at the moment. He continued to be amazed that kadan was even still alive, not to mention consciously meditating to heal large wound that went right through him, and he as sure it was because of more than just the Lifegiver and the royal signet ring.

Rinne perked up from her silent watch over her master, picking up Faren's hasty footsteps even before Sten himself did. The dwarf slid to a halt and didn't bother with grace as he ran over to kneel across from him. Then, another set of footsteps was heard approaching.

"We should hurry with whatever you are doing," Wynne urged them, sounding a bit exhausted. "I was able to heal the others, but Alistair and Gwen are both unable to continue the fight."

"The... orb..." Raonar wheezed. Sten slipped his hand under his head.

Faren presented the bundle and removed the cloak enough for the prince to take hold of it (Sten had foresightedly removed his remaining gauntlet beforehand).

It was a strange sight. The moment his fingertips made contact with that sphere, something akin to a weak electrical discharge, only red, surged on the contact points. Then, he put his palms on it fully and focused. The red became less homogenous, as if it was all gathering as close to the hands as possible, and it was clear that whatever was in that thing was being draw into his body. Sten cringed at the pain showing on the exile's face, with eyes screwed shut and clenched teeth. Whatever he was doing was probably hell for his wound, even bandaged with healing balms as it was.

Finally, all the color was gone from the globe, so it just... dissolved... burst like a soap bubble.

The wall patch behind Sten exploded inwards and he felt his body moving on its own. He threw himself over the severely injured warden and felt not one but two solid things hitting his massive plate armor from behind. He grunted, his face contorting from the pain. He even felt some sweat forming on his brow when he looked down.

Raonar looked... shocked out of his mind. Why was he looking at him like that?

There was the sound of a massive boulder hitting a force field behind him, as well as a flash of light from the same source, and only then did the Qunari notice the prince's outstretched hand, and the look on his face, like he was barely holding onto his consciousness. Then, the same blast filled his ears as something clashed with the forcefield again, harder.

Hard enough for the dwarf to gasp in pain as the field was shattered and his arm fell to the ground again. Only then did Sten turn his head around and beheld that rock creature, with red light holding it together, as it prepared to deliver another punch.

Only to be stopped mid-way by what looked like a whip made of clear, white energy. It basically snapped and wrapped around what passed for a forearm.

The qunari tried to move, but a pain surged within him, only to disappear as he saw a blue mist enveloping him from head to toe, chasing all discomfort away. Yes, Wynne was still there, surrounded in that aura that appeared whenever she drew upon her Spirit of Faith. She was kneeling beside him and Raonar now and had even healed Faren, who had dodged the initial blast and was now circling that thing.

The exile weakly pulled on Wynne's robes. "H-Heal me..."

The woman looked at him, stunned.

"Now... it'll... work... this time..."

Sten saw her snap from her confusion and focus more intently than he'd ever seen her. She placed a hand on his kadan's forehead, and the other on the horrid injury, murmuring something all the while. The most intense healing light he'd ever seen surged within the dwarf and his expression finally softened from one of agony to one of simply fatigue.

His hand let go of the senior enchanter's robes as he drifted into unconsciousness.

"It.. it worked!" Wynne was astounded. That had never actually happened before, with one minor exception when they fought that band of over 200 darkspawn, and it had worked only barely. Eagerly, she made to go again.

Her spell burst apart in a myriad of useless sparks. "What...?" She looked positively flabbergasted.

The sound of lightning shattering one of the rocks that the monster behind them was made of served well to recapture their attention. "Mage, are you saying his life is not in danger?" Sten asked, realizing he probably sounded as eager as he felt.

"The worst of the damage is gone, yes."

"Good."

The qunari captain didn't even bother waiting. Once Asala was in his hand, he jumped straight at the beast, just briefly taking note of how Zevran and Kallian were running to the scene from some place. He also saw a telekinetic field surrounding his weapon and narrowed his eyes in recognition.

Taking advantage of the strength in his legs, he jumped high, about as high as that rock creature's head, and he plunged Asala right though the last piece of chest rock remaining. He could feel the trembling, but was not exactly prepared for the boulder shattering in his face and blowing him away. To think the demon would sacrifice its body part.

Sten had the misfortune of banging his head against something solid, but it was going to take more than that to knock his senses out of him. He felt Faren next to him, helping him back to his feet. When had he come to be there?

At least the attack had managed something. The blow had also disoriented their enemy, which staggered back and turned around half-way. This, among other things, meant it was now facing a certain elven black magician.

A mage that was looking mighty smug for some reason that, Sten reasoned, probably had to do with that strange, red flower and orb that Kallian and Zevran had brought him. The qunari also saw everyone else finally coming over to rejoin the party, though Theron and Leliana were helping Gwen and Alistair walk, respectively.

Alim's eyes flashed red and he was holding the stem of that flower between his left hand's index and middle fingers. Then, he swished his hand straight at the rock-fused Pride demon.

The stalk pierced the glow in its so-called torso, now bare, with an eerie hiss.

Alim flicked his wrist.

The flower detonated with the might and brightness of ten lighting strikes all at once, blowing all pieces of that rock demon away. Almost everyone covered their eyes or at least cringed from the discomfort in their ears.

The creature, however, would not be put down by this much, as its bits and pieces began congregating some distance away. Of course, the blood mage had seen this coming, so he waved both his staff and his free arm in such a way that it caused many stones, big and small, to take flight and come upon the spot where the enemy was reforming, mixing with its so-called body parts. The abundance of ruined and smashed buildings were good for that much at least.

Thus it was that the stone giant found itself completely immobilized by many rocks that had mixed and jammed its every movement, and this wasn't counting all the stone surrounding it. Basically, it was petrified in place, caught in a shell of the same material it was made of, so that it could only stare and project its malevolence through futile magical outpours.

The elven mage's steps were deliberately slow. After all, he had to give himself time to replace the crystal at the tip of his staff with the orb Zevran had brought him. Demon blood was one of the rarest and strongest reagents in this world, and there had always been something he wanted to do.

His words came out as barely more than a whisper, but no one had trouble understanding. "Who the hell do you think we are?"

What came next left Sten floored. The elf practically hopped on the staff and took off, straight up. He was somehow standing on it, half-crouched, one hand gripping the upper end of the shaft, guiding the ascent. Then, when he was high enough above, he removed the staff from under his feet and lifted it overhead with both arms. He seemed to hover there, his longcoat and hair, mixed with shadow, making him look like a dark ghost in his own right as they fluttered behind him.

And just before his descent began, the red globe turned shimmering blue, and that light surged out and materialized.

Into the perfect shape of a scythe, about two meters in blade length.

With the exception of a fluttering coat, there was only silence as the scythe came down, cutting straight through that demon, leaving absolutely no scratch or dent in any piece of rock but cleaving al that was red energy clearly in half.

The enemy realized it had been defeated after a delay of precisely 7.4 seconds.

So Alim did the natural thing and released a blast of kinetic force that had all the rocks fall at a safe distance away, leaving only a pale red specter behind, some of the light bearing a shape reminiscent of a skull, glaring at him.

"How the mighty have crumbled," Alim taunted, but gave no time for reaction as he just stretched his left arm forward. "I wasn't going to do this, but you ended up fitting under the terms of a certain deal I made a while ago. So, whether you like it or not," tendrils of brilliant white flowed out from under his sleeve, encircling, trapping the spirit inside what eventually became a translucent sphere. "I'm sending you back to the Fade."

Even Sten sensed that thing's shock.

The sphere instantly imploded and disappeared in a flash of light.

"-. .-"

Pride found himself on a wide, marble platform, and he instantly recognized this as the fade when he breathed in the air. He realized his form was small and weak, much like an Arcane Horror, only transparent. Bah. To think something like this could happen and that he'd end up with so little power that he couldn't even appear more solid.

"Well now, a guest!"

Pride turned in the direction of that myriad of voices in one and saw a mass of swirling light. "Honor..." It was more of a hiss than anything else. Just his luck.

"And not even the only one," the spirit noted mildly.

"Indeed," two voices spoke from behind, causing Pride to jump around.

"Small one, isn't he?" the Griffon pronounced with a whip of his tail.

"Yes. And even weaker than that last one sent to me." This third spirit had a man's shape, armored and brilliant. "And that was a demon of sloth. No matter, its transgressions are many and demand justice."

Pride cursed the day he met Raonar Aeducan.

"-. .-"

The mage finally looked back at everyone else and, after shrugging his eyebrows, promptly fell on his rear. And his staff plummeted uselessly too. "Phew."

There was a pause.

"You know," he spoke distantly, sounding suspiciously similar to a certain dwarven noble who was too random for everyone else's own good. "The ironic part of all this is not just the fact that Raonar failed to see the end of the fight... again... but the demon never really learned just what happened that allowed us out and that orb to persist."

There was much staring before anyone actually got around to remembering they still had a voice.

"-. .-"

Raonar Aeducan knew something wasn't right when he woke up to everyone sitting or standing in a semicircle in front of him, either glaring or examining him with the most unreadable expressions they could muster.

In other words, everyone was glaring at him on some level. Great. "Uh... hello?"

"You almost got yourself killed!" Faren snapped. "Again!" If Kallian wasn't holding her arms around his neck from behind, he would have probably punched him one by now.

"Screw that!" Oghren said from the other side. "He almost got **all** of us killed!"

"I agree with what Faren said and the second part of what Oghren said," Gwen said blandly.

"Right, before that," Kallian intervened. "I'm sure we'll all get our turns at you, but I want to know something. Alim wouldn't say, but what happened that freed us and preserved whatever it was that orb was?"

"Oh," Raonar was grateful for anything that could delay the deluge. "The terms were for the spells on you to last until one of us loses consciousness or dies. They would also persist if he managed to defeat me. The same was for that globe. It would become usable after one of us died or fell and would be destroyed if he won." He reached into his **other** pant pocket and took out a cloth. "Remember that apothecary I visited back in Orzammar, after we found the first bag of limbs in my Ancestors' Thaig?" Yes, some were getting it. "I went to buy the strongest sleeping agents I could find. Yeah, I had a bunch of cloths laced with it in various parts of my armor and clothes. So, basically... I knocked myself out at the end..."

There was a complete lack of all sorts of possible sounds.

"You are officially insane," Alistair said for everyone else. Well, at least Zevran was smirking and Sten was his stoic self. Awesome guy, maintaining a level of normalcy.

"You could have got us all killed!" Oghren wouldn't let up. "Couldn't you let all this craziness, and whatever other things you have planned, until **after** we find my wife? The Paragon **you** need? That rock thing almost bashed my head in, and the others, several times."

"Hey!" the prince made a placating gesture. "This will probably put a damper in my status as person that prepares for everything, but I never even suspected it could possibly turn into a Rock Wraith!"

There was another pause.

"Hold a moment..." Theron requested. "You, mean... you know what that thing was?"

If they weren't glaring before, everyone definitely was at least frowning in confusion now.

"...Oh hell."

_The review space is waiting!_

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Author's Note: I actually decided to have this two-phase demon_/_rock wraith battle waaay back months ago, when Bioware revealed the thing, even before Dragon Age 2 came out. Do say if you felt it was too long/drawn out.


	52. Deep Roads Arc 3: Archnemesis

Author's Note: Right, so for those of you who failed to realize it, that intermission was actually another social psychology experiment on my part and was actually posted on the BSN boards as well. I am pleased to say that the results of the test were thankfully, well within expectations.

What? You didn't really think I actually expected some sort of mental and spiritual evolution to start because of that rant, did you? So, naturally, it was an experiment. Why else would anyone deliberately turn himself into flame bait of that caliber?

Naturally, I don't expect you people to believe me, but it matters little anyhow. Truth remains truth regardless, and I require nothing else.

Right-o, no more experiments, at least for a while. So, enjoy the next chapter people!

BTW, I actually made a couple of polls but, turns out, only one can be visible in the Author Profile at any time. Unfortunate, yes?

* * *

**Chapter 49: Archnemesis**

"-. .-"

Wynne had never really questioned her decision to volunteer to accompany these young Grey Wardens and their allies on their quest, even though most sane people (and the Senior Enchantress was reasonably sure she definitely was sane, unlike others of that whole convoy) probably would have done so at least four times by now, and not just because one of them was a blood mage and another a templar.

Regular sane people would have reassessed their options when the so-called commander had acted the mad one by monologuing while holding Uldred's head in one hand. Normal sane people would have thought of returning to the Circle when the group decided to cause all that mayhem during New Year's day. A normal sane woman would have at least mildly freaked out on quite a few other occasions.

Wynne, however, was not that kind of sane person. She was not deranged, of course, she was sure of it, but she was not normal either, and this wasn't referring to the whole thing about having come back from the dead by fusing with a Spirit of Faith. The fact was that, after everything that had happened during the months she had travelled with these people, she had reached one conclusion.

They would be positively lost without her.

"Seriously guys, if Wynne and her awesome healing magic wasn't with us, I'd have totally done things another way!"

Or not.

Did he do it so often that he actually reached a level where he completely destroyed everyone's convictions based on instinct alone? Even when he **wasn't** aware of said convictions?

The elderly woman really was wondering if maybe Raoanr wasn't actually too confident in her abilities. What he'd just said was flattering, yes, but still. "The way you say it almost makes me feel guilty. Are you actually saying the reason you allow yourself to tak-"

"Yourself and the rest of us," Gwen put in helpfully.

Wynne paused to reformulate. "Fair enough. Are you actually saying the reason you put yourself and the rest of us into so much risk is because I happen to be accompanying this expedition?" Her voice was overflowing with stark disbelief and she didn't bother suppressing it.

The dwarf opened his mouth and raised a finger. Then paused. Then he blinked. "...Yes." He was sitting, cross-legged, and seemed to be unconsciously holding his hand over the place he'd been run through, on the right side, not completely below the rib cage. His wound hadn't completely closed and had been covered in a healing balm, held in place by a strong layer of bandages. Also, his left arm was being supported by a band that went over his right shoulder and held the forearm horizontally, in front of his chest, since the fracture in his left collarbone had yet to mend.

They were back where Ruck's campsite used to be. It was a good area, with a single entrance to defend and spacious enough for everyone and everything, including the Bronto and cart. The prince was sitting on his cot, which was close to that disk they used as a portable campfire. It was made of four concentric rings that could be manipulated individually, so as to form several different rune patterns that determined the intensity of the flames. There was also a pattern that just had the red steel superheat until it got red.

That was the setting currently used, since Theron was preparing some steak from the remaining venison they had brought along. The fiber was supposed to help the recovery from that sort of injury. That said, the Dalish hunter was sitting by the disk, not precisely opposite from Raonar, poking at the pieces of steak with an arrow, of all things. The spot right across from the exile was reserved by the other dwarven warden. The lad actually looked like he was being restrained by Kallian from his impulse to jump and start punching the so-called leader (she had her arms wrapped around him from behind).

Everyone else was filed out all over the place, sitting, squatting, standing or leaning against the cave walls. Damon and Rinne were wrestling some distance away, while Anor, the wolf, was on his belly near the so-called 'exit' of that cove, gazing silently, occasionally batting the ground with its tail.

Raonar sighed. "Right, go on. Let's hear them. Everyone must have questions or some sentence they want to shoot my way, so do it."

"You called that thing the demon became a Rock Wraith?" Gwen decided to ask. Wynne figured she may be trying to ease the pressure or postpone the real argument for a little bit.

It was Oghren that answered that from where he was sitting against an old brazier. "Never thought I'd see one. those things are supposed to be legend."

"It's not a very original name, is it?" the exile said with a smirk that didn't really reach his eyes. "Some legends say some dwarves are so corrupt that the Stone itself rejects them, so they're doomed to wander the Deep Roads in an undying half-life. They are left with just their hunger and anger. Of course, what we saw today shows clearly that it's either untrue or not the only origin of the myth."

"Hmm," Alim seemed thoughtful from where he stood, propped against rock, near Morrigan, who seemed a bit put out for some reason, well, more than usual. "Would a dwarf's soul even have that potency? That thing was immense and it had a demon of pride in it..."

"No one ever said they're all that huge," the exile answered. "It's just my theory but if these things do exist, there are probably all kinds of sizes."

"Surely they would not be so unheard of if a corrupt soul is all it took," Morrigan said with nothing in her tone except curiosity. "All I am saying is that, based on what you told us of your people, there was likely no shortage of dimwitted fools and sinners over the centuries-"

"Morrigan!" Leliana gasped in outrage.

"All I am saying, bard, is that I fail to see why there were no sightings of such creatures if that is all it takes for them to come to be," the witch elaborated with a raised eyebrow.

"It's not **all** it takes," the white-haired dwarf said in a low voice. That quieted everyone down well enough and he made to get up, though he winced at the pain he must have felt in both injuries.

Faren was quick to protest. "Hey, don't get up yet!"

Too late, Wynne noticed, because he'd already pushed himself half-way to stand, heaving a groan as he did so.

The brand jumped to his feet and made to go around the barbeque disk. "I **will** punch you if that's what it..."

The exile slowly turned his head around to look him straight in the eyes.

"... takes..." Faren finished, all his drive instantly gone. Wynne even noticed he looked perplexed at that intense look, almost a frown. It was the closest Raonar had ever gotten to glaring at him. That alone, apparently, was enough of a surprise to stop him dead in his tracks and even make him back up a step. "Tch... fine, do whatever you want." He threw his hands in the air and paced a bit but did not sit back down.

"Hrm..." Walking, apparently, wasn't very easy yet. "You guys remember Garin right?"

"That merchant in Orzammar?" Alistair asked.

"The... addled one? The one who'd gotten lyrium straight into his bloodstream?" Gwen followed.

"The lyrium. Raw blood of the earth. It's more alive than you and me, he said," the exile uttered. He'd walked away from the fire disk and had his back turned to everyone now. "You know how raw lyrium kills mages, drives normal people insane but doesn't affect us dwarves unless it goes straight in the blood or lungs." He turned on his heels to look at them and brought his right hand up, causing some white mist to envelop it for a few moments. "After that incident that made me like this, I looked into ancient history, the first Thaig, everything most people don't really bother with."

"What does that have to do with this?" Alistair broke in, just before noticing Alim's incredulous eyebrow. "Right, he was getting to that..."

"The Shapers claim that the Memories have recorded everything, ever since the founding of the first Thaig, but I had my doubts after the huge... structures... I encountered." The dwarf had placed that hand, still glistening, over his injury. "I didn't find much, but there was this thing. One of the explorers of what you surfacers would call the Exalted Age, Foruma Helmi, found something odd scrawled on a wall in the Revann Thaig. A sort of set of verses..."

"Why are you making it sound so ominous?" Leliana asked with a faint shudder. "What did they say?"

The dwarf took a breath. "We who are forgotten, remember, We clawed at the rock until our fingers bled, We cried out for justice, but were unheard, Our children wept in hunger, And so we feasted upon the gods. Here we wait, in aeons of silence. We few, we profane."

"Profane?" Leliana echoed. "This is one poem I don't feel like writing a tune for..."

"Feasted upon the gods?" Alim's eyes had gone wide.

"Yes, it implies they ate the lyrium," was the confirmation. "And they... changed into something. Something like what you guys just fought, although probably smaller. And since the plural 'we' is used..."

"Maker's breath," Wynne heard her voice say. "Those poor souls... How many... entire settlements?"

There was some silence as everyone pondered this new information, even though it had little bearing on their current quest.

"I also found an old transcript of the journal of a member of the Legion of the Dead," the prince continued. "And how their unit almost got killed by a powerful emissary before one of those rock wraiths appeared, killed it and chased them out of that deep tunnel before it collapsed it upon itself, or at least the entrance, to seal itself there forever for some unknown reason."

"Hmmm," Alim had assumed his thinker posture. "So we don't really know anything after all."

"Except that these things are made of rock, dangerous and largely immune to lightning, unless it is strong enough to shatter stone," Morrigan summed it all up.

It took a bit for them all to actually notice the prince rubbing the back of his neck. "Don't look now, but I do believe our fearless leader might know something more," Zevran surmised.

"There is more... yes," his tone was unusually serious. "This is... something of a highly-censored, city-state secret actually..." Oghren actually got to his feet, slowly, when he was looked at. "Something that I doubt even Branka has any idea about."

"What are ye' going on about?" the warrior asked gruffly.

The bearded one seemed to think on his words. "The Shaperate didn't have more information that what I summed up for you but... I was in a position that... facilitated access to a very special, very sealed and never-to-be-spoken-of throve of data-"

"Just get to the point," Oghren demanded bluntly.

"No," the elven mage intervened. "I'd prefer if he leave nothing out."

Raonar nodded. "As the prince, and being especially good at getting my way, I gained all possible clearance and went deep through the Orzammar Royal Archives. There, I was able to discover a secret report which had been written during the first half of the Blessed Age and sealed at the order of King Annalar Geldinblade. The implications of it were... massive... for our race as a whole."

"How massive?" Wynne heard the castless thief whisper.

"It was about a scavenger, one that went looking for leftover riches too far and too deep. There are parts of the Deep Roads so old that even we Dwarves forgot them long before the Blight, the first Blight, even happened, though the Shapers of Memories will rarely admit it. This guy... he was described as delirious, but he spoke of great statues, only not depicting Paragons. He even spoke of temples-"

"Temples!" Oghren butt in. "Maybe the sot really was just crazy. We don't have temples, we don't believe in any wimpy gods like them surfacers."

"The Maker is no wimp!" Wynne protested crossly.

"Oh yeah? Where's yer proof, woman?"

"We are veering off topic," Morrigan said smoothly.

"Indeed we are," the human mage couldn't suppress her annoyance fully. "Continue."

"That bit about no gods and having just the Stone as our Source is what the one writing the report, and the Shaper, said too," the exile affirmed. "And yet, the scavenger described things that could only be made through magic, and creatures unlike anything we ever encountered, some of which I am pretty sure were these so-called Forgotten Ones."

"Are you serious?" Oghren asked. He really looked a bit concerned, to Wynne's eyes at least. Well, pretty much everyone was listening carefully now.

"That this is what the report said and suggested? Yes, I am serious." Raonar was absently twisting one of his beard braids. "And there's more. The scavenger had something with him. Something of clear dwarven make, but made of an unrecognizable material."

"What was it?" Kallian finally deigned to ask.

"An... idol."

"What?" Both Faren and Oghren asked at the exact same time.

"Can you give any specifics?" Alim inquired. Wynne just then realized the elf had that odd journal of his out, the one that wrote things on its own.

"There wasn't much," the prince explained. "All it said was that it depicted no Paragon and that whoever it was had an attire never before seen. All in all... the reason that report was sealed was because it suggested that the Memories might be... well, wrong."

Oghren began to sputter a string of profanities, in dwarven, thankfully, so Wynne could be happy to not have her mind tainted too much. The fighter went over and slid his back down a wall before deflating in a dejected heap. "Ye wardens are mad. I thought I'd seen it all with Branka, but now I got to spend time with..." He eyed the commander. "Well, **you**. Do ye have to creep me out with these stories? Do they even matter? Are they even anything more than hearsay? Just because that crazy... demon thing ended up throwing one rock too many at us doesn't mean **this**!"

"True, Pride going bonkers is not enough proof of anything," the white-bearded one agreed. "As it happens, however... That is not the only shred of information I have. I actually can confirm, with fairly little doubt, that sections of the deeps, likely bereft of Paragon statues do, indeed, exist."

There was silence.

So he just went on, pacing a bit. "Theron, Alim and Faren might remember that, back in Lothering, before our first arrival to Ostagar, I bunked with Duncan for the night, when he pried the info on my state out of me, yes?"

Wynne saw the recognition in those three Wardens' eyes as they nodded slowly.

"Well, when I told him about being trapped by a sloth demon and all that happened with Pride and Honor, he ended up sharing a secret of his own with me as well, or part of it anyway."

"What secret?" Alistair's eyes were very wide as he stepped forward.

"Duncan was down to these Deep Roads as well once, with... some others, and he, too got pulled into the Fade by a demon of Sloth."

"What?" the almost Templar gasped in shock. "I... had no Idea..."

"Well, it gets better," Raonar followed. "You see, the Thaig where that happened was also their goal. And listen well at what I'm telling you: They found a passage, not any tunnel, but dwarven-built, that led deeper, much deeper, until it opened into a new sort of dwarven halls, bereft of Paragon statues. And it was old. Very, very old."

"Just like the place described in that report," Gwen breathed out.

"Were there any of those monsters?" Faren pried, completely engrossed in the telling.

The exile chuckled ominously. "Oh no, nothing like that, just darkspawn. Many, many darkspawn, darkspawn that were **digging.**"

"Are you saying..." Theron stopped mid-sentence.

"The answer might come from someone other than me," the dwarven noble replied shrewdly. Then, he locked eyes with Kallian. "After all, Kallian, the range of your Grey Warden detection ability is even greater than mine."

The city elf got to her feet from where she was sitting and walked over to stand by the wall, where she was joined by the brand soon after. "Hey Kal, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," she turned around, folding her arms. "I thought I was just tired or too tense, since it didn't make sense. But yes, I can sense them, far below and ahead of us. I've been able to sense them ever since we arrived here."

"Are you actually..." Alim really was astounded now.

"Yes, ladies and gentlemen," the Warden Commander made a vague gesture towards the ground. "**This**, Ortan Thaig is where what Duncan told me about happened. That ancient Thaig is beneath here. Beneath **here** is the proof that the Memories are either wrong or incomplete."

There was no question about it. Everyone was stunned.

"Forget that for now!" Gwen almost snapped. "I don't know how Duncan even survived through that place and even managed to get out but you... you said the darkspawn were **digging**."

"Indeed."

"Holy shit!" Faren cried out, staring at the earth.

"The lair of the Archdemon!" Alistair shouted. "You're saying it might be right beneath our feet?"

"I'm saying it might be, or at least close enough, yes." Even the prince sounded grave. "Don't worry too much, however. The darkspawn I can sense down there are relatively few now..."

"And they've been getting fewer by the hour," Kallian stated, pressing two fingers against the bridge of her nose. "Almost like they're leaving, probably because the dragon is calling them someplace."

The next few minutes were spent in silence and glance exchanges.

Oghren downed his whole flacon of ale in one go. "I really think I could have lived without knowing all this..." He tossed the flacon away and wiped his mouth and moustache with the back of his fist. "How did we even end up talking about this stuff? Can we just go back to looking for my wife now? Please?"

"Sure!" Raonar said brightly.

And he walked towards the 'cave' exit quite quickly, although he did stop a bit before disappearing. "Oh, we could also go look for that place where Duncan encountered that Demon if you want. The building shouldn't be easy to miss. Oh and Theron, that meat should... probably come off the red-hot steel now..."

And he was gone.

Only THEN did the words register with the Dalish hunter, who quickly began to snatch the sizzling roast off the disk.

It was only five minutes later, when the food was being distributed, that Alim made the connections. "Oh my... You guys do realize what Raonar just did, don't you?"

Confused silence greeted him.

So Alim laughed and stuffed his magical tome back into his pouch. "We were going to tongue-lash him into oblivion for taking such risks, and he told us an only vaguely related story that made us completely forget about it so he could take the chance to get away. Granted, it was valuable information... probably... but still..."

Had there not been miles of rock in the way, the two ravens cawing at each other on a certain branch of a pine tree on the Frostback Mountains would have probably been heard loud and clear.

Faren Brosca gaped. "That bastard!"

"-. .-"

Of all the roles Theron Mahariel had expected to have as a member of the Grey Wardens, cook was not one of them. Oddly enough, however, he found that he was actually quite amenable to the idea, especially in those Deep Roads. He did his best not to show it (and he was sure he did a fairly good job of it), but he found being underground quite a bit less than easy on his nerves. He knew that, logically, he shouldn't feel that weighed down, what with the ceiling being very high up, most of the time, and with even the narrowest tunnels being wide enough for everyone and their supply cart to file through more or less comfortably.

Air wasn't really that stale or thick either, although he did notice the faint smell of corruption becoming slightly more noticeable after they entered Ortan Thaig.

Nevertheless, he found the Deep Roads uncomfortable, as if he feared it could all come down at any moment. He supposed that the reason no one noticed this of him was because he never really spoke much to begin with. That, and he'd gotten used to always wearing an unreadable expression (Tamlen an Merril had been particularly eager to call him out on that tidbit on more than one occasion).

That was most likely the reason he seemed to be at ease around Sten, although he hadn't really reached the point where he was called Kadan, unlike that leader of theirs and Shale. The qunari was just as content with not talking overly much as he himself was. They didn't really talk much of anything actually, but it had become something of a habit for the two of them to walk in tow . It had also become common for the elf to keep a special eye on what Sten was doing during most fights and taking out the occasional darkspawn, man or beast that was about to enable others to overwhelm him.

Sten even noticed this at some point, Theron realized, and, though no words were said on the matter, the warrior became more willing to focus on those enemies he could take on at once and trust the hunter to pick off those he couldn't keep track of without impairing his performance. And sometimes, when the qunari noticed anything creeping up on the Dalish after having somehow slipped past everyone else, the giant grabbed onto whatever enemy was closest and unceremoniously tossed it through the air, ramming it straight into said threat.

The elf discussed it with Sten at one point, to which the Qunari said that it was logical for him to ensure that his ranged backup did not suddenly have to switch to melee and be no longer able to cover him. When told that Anor would have likely been able to neutralize any single, close-combat threat, the large man grunted but said nothing more.

So Theron did the natural thing and let the issue drop.

The hunter was currently chewing on some of that roast he'd been preparing. It was a bit tougher than he usually made it, since he'd ended up leaving it to fry a bit longer than he should have, but the meat was, in the end, not overcooked and still full of enough flavor. He'd moved away from the fire disk, which was now blazing, casting its chaotic light all over the place and making strange shadow shapes on the walls.

With his back against the wall, he bit on the meat held in front of his face by an arrow that he'd driven right through it. He realized someone was coming to where he was sitting but found that he did not mind. Besides, the sound of the footsteps (almost none, in fact) made him realize just who it was that was coming there.

"I see you're sitting all by yourself again," Kallian drawled as she sat down, not too far and not too near.

Theron bit on a piece of lichen bread. It had an odd taste, but was edible.

"I heard we'll be leaving as soon as we're done eating," she went on, letting the back of her head touch the rock. "I still think all that happened since we left Orzammar was beyond surreal."

Theron continued eating. He wasn't being impolite. Technically, she hadn't actually asked him anything yet.

Then, the fair-haired lass turned to look at him. "How far does **your** sense reach?"

The hunter's chewing stopped briefly. Then, he resumed and, after swallowing, tried to stretch his mind to check. "Enough to know there are none of those creatures in our vicinity. I can sense nothing below us or above, nor around, although the group mind of the darkspawn is always at the edge of my awareness, like a tune of sorts."

"Hmmm..." She looked at where Faren was helping Alistair tie his bracers on. "That group mind of theirs is really annoying, isn't it? What one of them knows, they all know, so the reason I can't sense any large groups intent on converging on us, even that far below, must be because the Archdemon really is calling them all somewhere... Some irony."

The Dalish continued to eat.

"You know, if it's really true, and this Old God, Urthemiel, really was below this place, he's probably not very far," she surmised. "We could already guess as much from the reports about the roar and what Ruck told us but... now I feel like we're bound to run into it sooner or later, while looking for this Paragon."

The Dalish didn't look at her, but the shuffling noise suggested she'd hunched over and folded her arms on top of her knees. After swallowing his latest bite, he decided to actually study her expression, although just briefly. She seemed... tense, maybe even concerned. "Are you frightened?"

"..." There was no answer for a while, but she eventually let one leg down and used a single knee as support for her left forearm. "I'm not sure. It just... feels a bit uncomfortable, like that group mind is getting louder and louder in my head, repetitive, like a hammer hitting an anvil, over and over."

Theron smirked softly, something he rarely did. "Fitting, is it not? That you would use such a comparison while we are out looking for a smith." He took the last bite of that steak and, after chewing and swallowing it, used a cloth to wipe the grease off the arrow he'd used as a stick. After that, he twirled it between his fingertips and tossed it straight into his quiver (which was precisely 6 meters and 47 centimeters away, almost invisible in the dark). "Did you speak to Faren of this?"

Kallian just shook her head. "No point in him knowing if no one can really do anything about it. He's got enough on his mind and besides, this isn't too hard to deal with. I can still rest, more or less, and I suppose it's enough that I don't wake up screaming." She was obviously trying to act all nonchalant, but the hunter could see through it, though he did not call her out on it. "I guess it comes with being the only one who couldn't get through the Joining without help." She passed her fingers through her hair.

"If you are still haunted by this idea, I am afraid I can do nothing to alleviate your situation," the hunter said simply, not looking at her. "If you choose to indulge in survivor's guilt or some shame complex, that is a decision no one can truly take away from you." He finally looked her in the eye and noticed her bemusement. "However, others can call you out on the invalidity of your convictions, when appropriate, and will keep doing so, provided you do not actively shun them."

"..."

He looked at her very intently, until he noticed how she began to fidget. "One of The People should not fall prey to such demeaning emotions. The feeling that one is inferior is a shackle we Elvhen should break and discard with all haste." With that, he pushed himself to stand and made for where his equipment was. "Besides, you forget that our so-called fearless leader needed the help of Alim **and** some fade spirit in order to survive. Stop giving yourself so little credit. After all, if the Joining has a fatality rate, it may very well be because the Grey Wardens haven't really perfected a truly safe concoction yet."

The Dalish didn't look back to see if what he said had any effect, mostly because he did not want to get the expected "that's more words than I heard you speak all at once before" line. Shemlen had all these cliches and routines that he really didn't find pleasant and he wanted to spare himself the pain of seeing one of The People behave like them, even if said behavior was justified by having been subjected to their lifestyle for so many years.

"-. .-"

Alim had used all of his mana and even tapped into the power of his own blood during that insane battle against what, apparently, had been a rock wraith. As such, he felt drained, not as seriously as after the battle of Ostagar, but enough to be sure it would take solid nourishment to recover enough to be ready for battle. Case in point, he had eaten no less than four portions of food, enough for pretty much everyone to stare at him and ask how on Thedas he could devour so much instead of being his usual, not overly famished self. So he wasn't so powerless anymore.

He was currently by himself, beside the pile of boulders than used to be their enemy. He'd come here to spend some time alone, thinking about things, especially what he and Raonar had discussed, so long ago, when they'd first been to Soldier's Peak. He did not have his staff with him, but his wand was in a holster on his forearm. He hadn't managed to get his sleeve fixed, after it had been torn slightly by one of those needle things, but that was a minor matter.

He heard footsteps behind him, so he turned around, only to barely manage to catch something that Morrigan threw straight at his chest, rather gracefully, albeit still in a fairly hostile manner. The anger seeping into her eyes hinted at less than friendly feelings, especially when she crossed her arms in front of her chest and looked at him, narrowed amber eyes almost hidden in the darkness cast by her dark purple hood.

Alim looked down at the ice-blood hibiscus that he'd caught and whose thorns had drawn blood from his right palm.

"I always wondered just what that was," Morrigan said with an edge to her tone. "And today, I got my answer."

The elven mage shrugged off the pain in his palm and just held the rose between his index and middle fingers, using blood magic to prevent blood from flowing out and dripping from the skin cuts. "And what was the answer, pray tell."

"Do not mock me!" The Witch really was glaring. "I saw it well, how you used that other, blood crystal flower you somehow procured during the battle to destroy the wraith's physical integrity."

"To blow it up, you mean."

"'Tis no matter what words you use!" The witch uncrossed her arms and shifted her weight. "That is why you offered me that, was it not? When we first met in the Korcari Wilds. It was an 'insurance' in case I turned out to have less than friendly intentions."

Alim could detect some sort of embarrassment in her anger, since she'd failed to realize for so long just what that rose was made for, initially at least. He quirked an eyebrow at her. "Are you saying I was wrong to think of my and my companions' survival first and foremost?"

"No," she admitted, rather reluctantly even. "I suppose it was my own failure that I did not figure it out myself. What I do not understand is why you allowed me to hold onto it for so long? Especially after..." She abruptly stopped.

"After what?" This was getting interesting.

"Nothing," she was quick to amend, though she looked away as she did. "So tell me, what would it have taken for you to just snap your fingers and have that thing explode, along with myself? What were you on your guard for?" She tried to sound unimpressed, but her clipped monotone betrayed something else.

So she felt hurt. Betrayed. _Finally_. "Hmm. So you think you figured it out, do you?" Before she could even react, he'd already flicked his wrist.

Morrigan almost jumped when the tip of the thorny rose's stem embedded itself into the stone right next to her feet, causing a crack to be heard as it did, so she did not notice the fresh new blood covering it.

"Boom!" Alim snapped his fingers.

"Of all the!" She took just half a step back before she realized it was a joke. Once she did, she scowled up at him, since he had the high ground. "You feel this is amusing, do you?"

The elf kept his expression perfectly unreadable. "You know, Morrigan, I don't need something like that to blow stuff up. Besides, I don't remember you ever asking me what that was." Just a little longer now, yes.

"Regardless, you can keep your insurances to yourself," the Witch sniffed, waving dismissively. "I shall make sure to keep a special eye out from now on." And she made to leave, only to find that she was unable to move her feet. "What?" She finally looked down and saw the blood-red, crystal-like vines that had grown from between the stone cracks around the rose at her feet.

By now, Alim was already walking towards her, face still perfectly calm. His expression did not change in the slightest when she glared at him. He also continued to approach calmly even as he waved in her direction and neutralized a magical charge she had intended to gather in her right hand, no doubt to destroy those things that were not allowing her to move from that spot.

The so-called vines had wrapped around her legs all the way up to knee level when he came within two meters of her. "Calm down, Morrigan, nothing fatal is going to happen." He made a vague rotary motion with his right hand and ice began to grow on the ground, in front of his feet, like a sort of pathway that became taller and taller.

Eventually, he came within arm's reach of her, and it became obvious that the ice had formed beneath and ahead of his feet so as to enable him to actually walk higher that the ground would allow, to have his eyes at a level higher than Morrigan's. After all, humans were taller than elves, so he had to somehow make up for it. "Now then," he made another step as ice dutifully hissed and took shape to support his weight. He was right there now, his face within inches of hers.

"What is the meaning of this?" She was still trying to act defiant but she was blushing furiously, so Alim pushed her hood off with his left hand before he took her lightly by the chin.

"Now then," he took her right hand in his own and guided it upward, knitting his fingers with hers as he leaned in close, until his face was just a couple of inches away from hers. "Maybe it's time I taught you something for a change." The rose on the ground abruptly shot up and was suddenly between their palms. Then, the elven mage tightened the grip instantly, causing those thorns to pierce both their skins. Morrigan was about to gasp, or cringe, but she didn't get far before he used his left hand to pull her head closer and he just kissed her.

Blood magic could do a lot of things, like using life force to power spells, draining life from the blood of others, controlling them, dreamwalking, sending visions to others through the Fade and even summon and bargain with, maybe even control demons. Or, perhaps it was better to say these were the uses malefikar focused on.

The truth was that blood magic had many more applications that those. One could control certain vessels and encourage the bloodstream so as to alleviate muscle fever or just to oxygenize one's body as though one had just had an hour's worth of physical warm up. By a skilled application of will, one could even keep the blood flowing even long after the heart stopped, whether due to failure or injury.

Another possibility was for someone to look into another's mind and control it. Then, there was something much more subtle, something that a very self-conscious blood mage like Alim Surana, who abhorred mind control and demons with a passion, could allow himself to employ.

So it was that, when he finally kissed that Witch on the lips (for the first time ever, just for the record), he had the thorns of the rose draw blood from both his and her hands. And when the blood connection was ready, he could use it to sense the charge, the intensity of her life and how it wavered depending on what he did. One could call this a sort of blood magic-aided guesswork as to how she wanted to be kissed, but that was not what Alim was focused on.

Really.

It wasn't like she wasn't enjoying it either. After all, she seemed to have completely forgotten about the pain in the cuts in her palm, and her eyes were closed, her attention obviously concentrated on somehow breathing while her mouth was occupied. And it wasn't just because he could use that same blood magic to numb her nerves and remove any and all feelings of discomfort around that flesh wound.

Probably.

The black magician upped his efforts and, in so doing, coaxed the blood from her, causing it to flow out, through and between their fingers, until bubbles and drops of red plasma were floating around their clasped hands. This continued until he had her blood gush out a bit more intensely, at which point her mind finally caught up and she pulled away, though not too fast. "Wh-" She took a deep breath, after gasping once. "What are you..." She finally seemed to notice the blood, so she tried to pull her hand away, but was not allowed to. "Unhand me." Of course, he'd already brought his left arm around and behind her waist by that point.

Not persuasive in the least, poor witch, especially since she didn't sound disgusted or outraged at all. "All in good time." He narrowed his eyes, still with his lips almost upon hers, and the blood drops hovering about began to move randomly and slowly. "Take note of the feeling," he gripped her hand a bit tighter. "Focus on it." His eye level was still higher than hers (ice podiums were useful like that) and he knew his emerald eyes could be quite intimidating under the right circumstances. "Focus well, Morrigan, like you would when trying to learn a new animal form. The same level of will is needed here, nothing else."

The Witch tilted her head and looked very confused, and she was still frowning, but eventually settled her eyes on that bloody image. She looked... entranced and eager, even as she half-closed her eyes.

Yes, power was not something she would just pass by. He knew it, so he made the blood gather around the blood-red ice flower, until it actually started to merge with it, to flow right into it. The woman's eyes widened slightly at that, but he sensed her concentration not wavering. Good. He very carefully slowed the process down, until he felt her will changing, from simply observance to control. She wanted the process to go on, so she automatically took control of it and began to command the flower to accept the new droplets, one by one. She didn't even seem to realize precisely what was happening, but instinct was something she was not lacking in, apparently.

Eventually, he withdrew his will from the blood altogether, leaving it all to her, until all the blood had entered the crystal hibiscus. The flower had grown somewhat, and its thorns were longer and sharper, though no longer hurting either of them since their palms were held out at some distance from the object, which was now just floating there.

The elf only felt Morrigan come back from wherever feeling had taken her when he had his left hand's fingers on her cheek again. "Oho, a natural talent. You did it on your first try, and I didn't even have to tell you to or walk you through it." He'd already brought his right index and middle fingers upon that stem again. "Now, half of the blood in this thing is your own, meaning that it will only blow up when both of us want it to. How's that?"

"I... that was..."

Alim just pecked her on the lips one more time and went on his merry way, leaving the flabbergasted woman standing there, staring at that thing and totally forgetting to use healing magic on her hand until the blood magic-induced anesthesia wore off and she finally remembered she had cuts and holes in it.

"-. .-"

_Excerpt from journal of Senior Enchanter Wynne_

_25 Pluitanis, 9:31, Dragon:__ Tomorrow we finally reach the Dead Trenches and I feel that is where things will truly get complicated, even without a certain someone awakening demons left dormant for ages. As Raonar and Oghren say it, the Legion of the Dead is holding the line near what was once Bownammar, this being the reason no large darkspawn forces have been plaguing Orzammar and its meager patrols while the question of the succession is resolved._

_ But I should probably summarize what went on that led us on this trail._

_ The way to the Dead Trenches was not one unknown to Orzammar or, indeed, Oghren or Raonar, but we never really expected we'd have to head there either. We ended up having to go there because Branka's journal said that's where she went. We found it in a giant spider nest. That nest was actually very thick with spider webbing and we were lucky that we didn't actually fight much in there. _

_ Raonar actually had us all tie ourselves in a row and to one another. He also had us turn off any lighting and cover our glowstone, so as to goad the spiders into attacking us then and there, instead of having to fight them all on their turf and, thus, at a greater disadvantage. He said he'd used this tactic during his day of first command, to great success._

_ That said, the spiders did try to carry us off one by one, but things went just about as our commander expected and we actually killed about three quarters of those things before we even reached the lair and engaged the corrupted Spider Queen. It was fortunate that Zevran, Oghren. Leliana, Myself, Morrigan and Sten were able to get away with minor glancing hits from the ordeal or our commander would have lost some more of his lifespan by draining the taint out of them._

_ We found Branka's Journal, as well as Caridin's own. I am amazed the ancient smith's memoirs even lasted for so long without being weathered down by age more than they are. It seems to suggest that Golems are actually dwarves merged with a stone body and then shaped on the Anvil of the Void. The process is described as incredibly painful, to say the least. Shale said she wasn't sure if she should believe this for the moment. She said she can't imagine ever having been a squishy creature of flesh. Then again, it would make sense that Golems wouldn't function without souls..._

_ Raonar was oddly silent after reading to us from the tome (It was in dwarven so it was either him, Oghren or Faren that would have to translate). He didn't feel like going off just yet, regardless of Oghren's protests, so we spent the rest of that day exploring Ortan Thaig. We found a fairly large passage that looked as though it had been collapsed rather recently, during the past few years maybe. Our so-called leader said it was probably the one Duncan had told him about, the one that led to older halls, below. _

_ I believe Alim convinced our prince to teach him the runic language, since it was different from the Tevinter he was schooled in, or the few symbols he knew for his spells and from what Tranquil used in enchanting. This is, apparently, the way their past several evenings were spent._

_ The last thing we did that day was come upon what looked like a palace of some sort. Within, we found the bodies, mostly skeletons, of both dwarves and darkspawn, having died fighting each other as the last defenders were overwhelmed. But what truly shocked us was the inner throne room. There was a single dais with an empty throne on it, while dwarf corpses were strewn over the floor, near the walls and the door. By the way they were positioned, it looked as though they'd been trying to claw their way out of there, since some had their fingers completely torn down all the way to the knuckles. And there were scratches on the wall. In stone. Granite even._

_ The Warden Commander told us this was the place where Duncan was trapped by that Sloth demon and that those dwarves had wanted to flee and die against the darkspawn when a dwarven prince of old somehow contacted that creature and made some deal with it._

_ It was a bit... disturbing to see just what would have become of us had we not managed to escape our own dreams, during the events on the Circle, last year._

_ Among other things, we also found two blade pieces of a sword that seemed to have belonged to an elf whom some legionnaires called "An Admirable Topsider" and whom they buried in their own customs, by giving him to the Stone. Oghren was quite impressed when we found the grave._

_ We departed after camping once more and have faced only some deep stalkers on our way to the Dead Trenches, along with group of darkspawn that was roaming around a crossroads for some reason. Fortunately, no larger groups came our way so we should finally reach the ancient fortress that Caridin built for the Legion of the Dead sometime tomorrow._

"-. .-"

The Dead Trenches, Bownammar, was finally in sight. Even so far away, it was easy to see just how big it was, and how majestic it must have been at one point. They'd just come out of an oversized tunnel and into a veritable expanse, high enough that stalactites were invisible in the darkness. The path was wide enough for armies to cross and there was a large ravine on the left, long, as though some river of water or lava flowed or used to flow through that canyon.

A bridge was visible some distance ahead, even with all the environmental obstacles and natural stone formations. All in all, it would have been a magnificent sight, and it was definitely something that Oghren, Zevran, Wynne, Leliana, Morrigan and Sten could enjoy.

The Grey Wardens were a very different matter.

It was already bad enough that Kallian and Raonar had been growing increasingly unnerved during the past day and a half, but now it was like all seven of those people were being constantly hammered on top of the head. As far as Zevran remembered, it was because they could sense a very large concentration of Darkspawn somewhere nearby.

As such, the Antivan was not too surprised to see them make their way over to the ravine, to peer down and watch just what was at the bottom of that cliff. Actually, everyone spread along the edge of that cliff, and what they saw was haunting, and frightening.

The darkspawn horde itself, or part of it, was right there. Down below, maybe by a mile, there were countless hurlocks, genlocks, emissaries. Even ogres, some of them armored to the teeth, were roaring and batting at their chests and the ground. Zevran really was starting to wonder if he should stop hoping for small numbers of those things. It really looked like 100 might be a bit too optimistic.

So there was no lava river, but one of Darkspawn.

The sea of enemies was lit up by many staves, emissaries having gathered flames around them. Darkspawn could see in the dark, but it looked as though they wanted that fire to be there, so that they could always be ready to torch enemies and buildings alike.

Then they heard it.

A figure swooped up from below, straight up into the shadows, its mighty wings violently striking against the air. It turned through the air and aimed low, until it broke its own fall and landed mightily on the very bridge that connected that place to the other side, where Bownammar was. The dragon was a massive thing, huge, and there was hardly anything beautiful about it to Zervan's eyes. Even at that distance, he could see well the jagged spiked that the scales on its back, and its head, had grown into, and the once violet hide was now corrupted, filthy, blighted.

Urthemiel roared and spat flames, and the horde responded in kind. Then, the Archdemon roared again, and breathed out fire while flapping its wings, commanding its army, filling it with its own bloodlust. With each screech the cavern shook and shrilled. The assassin really was wondering why his heart was racing so fast.

"Stone's crotch!" Oghren breathed out.

"The Archdemon," Alistair whispered, staring just as awestruck as the others.

Then, when it seemed to be done communicating, the Dragon looked like it was getting ready to fly off when it suddenly reared and tilted its head, as if it was looking for something.

Then, its head turned, slowly, and its eyes began to drift in their direction.

"Shit!" Raonar let out in as low a hiss he could manage. "It's seeing us! There's too many of us for him to miss! Hide!" He was frantically motioning to the others to back away and take cover.

The Archdemon bent its neck low and its snarl was heard well in their ears.

"If it detects us, we're done for," Gwen said with some tremble in her voice as she backed away quickly.

"We'll never last against those many darkspawn and, knowing our luck, they probably have some way to get up here fast enough to overwhelm us," Alistair said in a much blander voice than people would have expected.

Urthemiel raised its head and looked straight at them, and it was then that the horde below began to make more noise and look around as though it was seeing things.

"Dammit!" the prince was instantly between everyone and the dragon's sight, aura of light streaming forth from him, eyes blazing. "To think we'd run into it under these conditions." He brought his hands up until his fingers were pressing against his temples. "Guh... that bastard and his psychic pressure..."

"What are you doing?" Alim sounded more alarmed than Zevran had ever heard him. "We can run, maybe get away someho-"

"Quiet!" The moment he yelled that word, the far-off dragon sneered flames and shook its head in apparent contempt. Then, the prince recoiled like he'd just been punched in the face. "Bwah!"

Faren was instantly behind him. "What? What's happening." Then his eyes widened. "Oh no," he looked at the others "It's happening again!"

Before anyone could react, the exile heaved Faren away, right at the others. He collided with Sten, who managed not to fall. Then, the dwarf noble whirled around and brought his arm, wrapped in that cloak of white strands, in a flourish, causing what looked like a white mist to cover them all like a sort of dome. Meanwhile, the other hand was against his forehead, and even though that light they could see some blood flowing from his nose. "Stay there! I'll have it focus on me!"

"What?"

He jolted again and fell to one knee, as if he'd been hit in the back of the head. It was then that his eye sockets started to bleed, but he pushed himself to stand again and turned around to face that thing.

It had happened so fast that no one knew how to react when the third unseen blast hit him.

"-. .-"

"Dammit!"

The waters were in turmoil.

"Dammit! This is bad!"

The entirety of that place shook as though an earthquake had engulfed it.

The place where identity resides, this Fortress of Solitude, was usually a calm refuge, with tall, oblique spires and columns of crystal and marble standing parallel, reflecting in the smooth, perfect mirror on all sides which made everything seem endless and surreal. Reflection was the means to self-knowing, so every part of that realm's frontier was perfectly smooth. Raonar would usually find himself here, in this mindscape, on one of the central, slanting stanchions, gazing upon how all those rectangular towers emerged from the calm sea that filled precisely half of the world. Meditation often led him to this level of introspection.

Yet now, the waters were engulfed by raging waves and any sort of tranquility had disappeared when outside tremors began to shake the place down to its foundations.

The prince found himself in the middle of it, and there was more than just the world acting up to annoy him. Yes, that crown of thorns was still there, as always, in his left hand, and he couldn't get rid of it no matter how hard he tried. The pain had become a dull ache over time, but it was always there, a reminder and a symbol.

But he had no time for metaphors at the moment, because the sky was cracking like glass. Of all the ways to run into the Archdemon, this was among the worst.

The world felt like it had been slammed with a bat, and another crack appeared in the vault of heaven.

The lord of that place reached out and had a globe of energy appear in his hand. "Crap. My special reserve is barely 10% recharged. Blast it all."

The world shook once more, and the sound of shattering glass erupted as the mirror sky caved in, shards breaking apart as a winged figure dived, breaking several columns as it invaded the sanctity of that place a second time. It roared and brought its head low as it landed on top of the water. It didn't sink, for some twisted reason, but its contact with it caused the air and sea to burst outward before degenerating in three funnels.

The lord of that place watched as three pillars of raging, spiral waters ascended around the dragon. Already its wrath and madness was destroying the stability of that domain.

The dragon stooped and roared, its sickly green eyes finally seeing his prey. Then it grunted and shrieked as a crystal mast shot up from the water beneath it and broke against its chest. Urthemiel was left with a gash, but it was nothing close to fatal.

"Tch!" A long battle was going to be a disadvantage, since his power was low, so the prince decided to sharpen whatever energy he had to the maximum. He couldn't afford to screw up here. He had to win this duel of the minds, which would mean that he could make the Archdemon think there was nothing to fear in that part of the Deep Roads and leave them alone.

So he brought a tower down like a guillotine, momentarily restricting the monster's movements, before he took aim and decided to send that magical charge in a beam straight at its face.

Urthemiel paused.

Then, it released a blast that knocked everything aside and utterly obliterated the tornadoes and anything solid, leaving behind a crater that filled with water, but not much else. Then, when that beam really did get launched it its face, it spat out the most intense wave of fire it had.

The dragon was at least a mile, in mind terms, away, and yet the fire still slammed straight into the noble's face. By the time he regained his bearings, he realized he was lying, prone, and that his heart was racing, much like that entire realm was breaking apart. There were more cracks in the sky now, distorting the reflection into countless, broken shards that were the mark of insanity, insanity that the Archdemon had brought with it.

_"Oh fuck!" _He pushed up as fast as he could, which meant that he used both hands, so the weight actually caused the thorns of that crown to go deeper, some of them even coming out through the back of his left hand. "Ah!" He gripped at his wrist and felt his heart beating fast, and how his energy and mind were draining the closer the dragon got, and the more of that realm was lost to the dark chaos beyond it.

Urthemiel roared and jumped, flapping its wings before landing, hard, right next to where the dwarf was, on the central platform. The noble rolled aside, summoning his aura and all control he had left. As he came to a crouch and spun around, a staff, more like a pole about ten meters long materialized in his hand, mid-strike, and it ended up slamming into the side of the dragon's head, even hitting an eye and stunning it briefly before crumbling.

Taking to the air, the dwarf commanded shackles to bind the creature in place, but the dragon was not easily stopped, and it just broke them, resolving to go straight for him. And it did, jumping, flying, until it was almost within reach of him.

The lord of the fortress kicked in its direction. His foot was about ten meters away, but the air exploded in a horizontal column and the Archdemon felt like it had been rammed through the chest by five ogres at once. So it was knocked off balance and almost crashed into the sea below, but was able to regain its flight pattern, aiming to go and try to bite that gnat's head off.

"Screw this!" He intensified his cloak of light and held his place, floating in the air, and stretched his arms wide. Whatever happened, he had to make sure they survived or there was going to be no one left to kill the Archdemon. He had to win this, even if it meant he had to...

"_Dammit all!"_

The central platform below broke into pieces and took to the sky as well, coming together in a sort of rock cage around the overzealous dragon. Urthemiel began to push and kick, and breathe fire in indignation. Yes, it was just a delay.

Whatever was left of the soft hum that usually permeated that place broke apart in a cacophony when the sky was rent asunder and a large shard, long at the tip and sharpened beyond reason, came above where the brilliant lord stood in flight, one arm reaching high, willing the piece of identity in place. The shard was reflection, so it began to fill with images, images of forests, wilds, hills, marshes. It filled also with ideas, the idea of wandering, of travel, of exploration.

The idea of the hunt.

The Archdemon buffeted its wings and blew all bindings and obstacles away.

Only to be struck by a shard, sharpened beyond all possibility, straight through the torso. And the shard was large, almost as large at the dragon itself was, and long enough that it came out through its back.

For a moment, everything went still. Fire stopped as if frozen in time, debris ceased falling and the sea stopped shaking.

Then, the images in the shard began to shift and flow out, into the invader, causing it to squirm and reel as its mind was assaulted by information on places far-off, of possible goals and probable quarry. And then, a disaster.

Instead of fighting what was happening, the Archdemon began to encourage it, to hungrily devour the alien information, the absorb the shard into itself.

"What!" The exile gasped in shock at what was happening before his very eyes and he tried to will the shard out, to pull it away, but Urthemiel seemed to grin as its talons came around it and held it in place. "Fuck! No!" Concentrating, he made another attempt, but the Archdemon as stubborn and kept absorbing everything. The shard was draining of color and coherence, becoming more and more like glass.

With a last roar of effort, Raonar pushed his will to supersede everything else.

The shard in Urthemiel shattered into every direction, just as the rest of the sky came apart in a thousand pieces.

The last thing the prince saw before darkness took him was an unhinged grin on Urthemiel's expression as its frame disintegrated as if it were made of sand, fading into the dark maelstrom against which there was no longer any sort of defense. And the last thing he felt was a sharp pain as the thorns in the crown grew instantly, one of them going up through flesh and bone and bursting out through the back of his wrist.

_The review space is down there and waiting!_


	53. Deep Roads Arc 4: Mindful

**Author's Note:** Sorry about the late update ladies and gentlemen, Mount and Blade consumed some of my time.

Anyway, I know some of you all were waiting to see a certain dwarven noble actually slip up for once. As with pretty much everything else in this tale, I'd been planning on this point in the narrative for months. i hope I used enough foreshadowing for this in the previous chapters.

* * *

**Chapter 50: Mindful**

"-. .-"

The beast had seen him. The gnat that had dared defy him, that had dared cut through his divine song had exposed himself to his sight. The small insect that would be his enemy had been bold enough to psychically engage him. And now, naturally, the insect was going to die, for the Archdemon had seen it, the place where it was roaming. The beast now knew where to go to find finally destroy he that was a dull note in his song, the one who could go unheard or fill everything with a discordant tune at will.

Urthemiel breathed flames and spoke to the horde once more, and they listened, awed at this new level of sublime coherence, the new will and more encompassing mind they could now feel. They answered, they prostrated themselves in front of his beauty and the song he conveyed, as they should. But, even more, they were more eager, for their purpose was now clearer, their lives having found a new role in being spent for the sake of their master.

As one they clamored and roared in eagerness, and the horde took to march, destination clear in their minds.

And the Old God watched in satisfaction the obedience of his minions before it took to flight and left to pursue its new goal. The surface cities of the humans could wait for a while longer. The hunt was now his prime concern and desire.

"-. .-"

When she was allowed to join the Grey Wardens, Leliana knew she would have some part to play in the grand scheme of things, but this was definitely not among the possibilities she had envisioned. Of course, she wouldn't have minded a surprise or two, and she had even received them over time, like Schmooples, but what she was dealing with now…

This was bad.

"Don't fucking tell me you don't know what to do!" She heard Faren almost yell at Alim, although it wasn't in anger, she could tell that much. The poor lad sounded more desperate than anything else. "You always sodding have some idea about… weird shit…"

Leliana sighed and dumped the cloth in the water basin again, tuning out the exchange. They'd been at it for the past ten minutes, Faren freaking out while everyone else was equal parts confused and concerned about what had just happened. Even the bard had trouble wrapping her head around everything. If it had had any other outcome, she would probably be feeling awed right now, but the fact was that she was frightened, like she knew pretty much everyone else was.

They had retreated to a side cave they'd passed on the way to the Dead Trenches. It was about as big as the one back in Ortan Thaig, where Ruck was, although the passage that led to it was quite straight and long. Faren was freaking out at a tired-looking Alim (who was pressing his fingers against the bridge of his nose) right near the back of that cave. Morrigan was holding her distance but was beholding Alim with a rather confounded expression, maybe surprised at how he was capable of maintaining his composure.

Kallian had actually given up on trying to calm the guy down and had resigned herself to preparing the fire, aided by Zevran, who seemed to, oddly enough, not be leering at anyone. Oghren was sitting alone, next to the bronto, head hanging low, probably because the pressure of travelling with this group was getting to him. Shale was squatting, practically leaning against the cave wall right across from the Orlesian bard, flanked by both dogs, while Gwen and Alistair were sitting next to each other some distance from her.

Sten was standing near the so-called 'exit' with his back turned to everyone else, with Wynne on the other side of the passage. She was frustrated, understandably enough, since her magic was, once again, useless. While he'd yet to go into the details of the deal he'd made with the Pride Demon, one thing that the exiled prince had disclosed was that, among other things, he should be able to nullify his disruptive effect on magic by an act of will. This meant that Wynne would be able to use her healing spells on him.

The only problem was that, since it was an act of will, he had to be conscious for it.

Raonar Aeducan was most definitely not conscious at the moment. Leliana would know, since it was her lap that his head was resting on. He was actually on his back, on a hastily prepared cot right beside where she was kneeling. He'd been stripped of his armor and had just his pants on, and his shirt, and was barely moving. He looked like he was in pain. He wasn't cringing or anything, but Leliaa had watched him sleep before, on several occasions, and he never looked so tense and strained. Actually, he wasn't twitching at all, his head felt like dead weight even. The only thing that even showed he was still alive were the very slight movements of his chest.

She carefully wrung the excess water out of the cloth and began to wipe the last traces of blood off his face… and from his ears. He'd bled a lot more this time, although this was definitely not the only thing that had happened. This was just a side effect, just like that pillar of light.

Leliana went over the events again. After the dwarf had conjured up that dome of white mist around them (however he'd done it), he turned to face the Beast and tensed forward as the light streaming out of him became brighter and brighter, at the same rate that the Archdemon itself got more agitated. The bard remembered Alistair holding Faren back and everyone just staring at the exile, and then listening as his lungs, first low, then louder and louder gave out a cry of exertion before a shaft of bright light shot straight up and illuminated the otherwise black top of that underground expanse before suddenly dying down.

Then he just stood there, unmoving, as Urthemiel reared and roared, breathing more flames than ever, before willing its horde forward and taking flight once more, cutting through the air, right past where they all were. And they just kept staring in shock at how the beast had decided to ignore them as if they weren't even there, a shock that lasted up until the dragon was out of their sight and they heard something collapsing with a rustle to the ground. So they turned to see the dwarven noble lying on his face, no longer casting any magic around.

And when they turned him over, they saw that he'd bled enough that his moustache and beard were almost completely red from how the red had coursed down his face.

Wynne tried all she could, to no avail, compounded by the fact that no one had any idea what had happened. It was Theron that snapped them to attention by flatly noting that the release of bright energy had probably alerted whatever creatures were in that area, darkspawn or otherwise. He even said he could faintly hear something approaching from far away. As such, they resolved to retrace their steps and pull back for now, at least until the exile recovered.

Only to find that he wouldn't be waking up any time soon, not for real anyhow. They'd tried healing spells, Alim had tried even blood magic, all for nothing. Even Zevran's most potent rousing balms had proven useless. They'd actually reached the point where they were actually glad the commander had some sort of strain in his expression because, at the very least, that meant he wasn't completely brain-dead.

Leliana finished passing the damp cloth over his closed eyelids and dumped it again in the enchanted basin, no longer impressed by how the water cleared and cleaned on its own. She was too busy being again upset at how the phosphorescent lichen on the rock walls wasn't really bright enough to cast a good enough light. Then again, she'd already pretty much finished cleaning what she could, even though some dried blood was still on that hair and beard of his, so she just put the cloth on his forehead.

After that, she settled her hand on the side of his face, noticing that he had a fever, although it wasn't intense… yet. There was something else, however. She couldn't really put her finger on it, but there seemed to be something… off about him.

"Someone is approaching."

The Orlesian minstrel almost jumped and completely forgot what she was thinking about when that voice spoke from just a meter away from her. She'd completely forgotten that Theron was sitting right there, in that shadow, along with his wolf. How was he able to do that anyway?

"Two people,' the hunter spoke again. "Dwarves, judging by the rate of their footsteps. One of them is likely wearing thick metal armor."

Leliana peered at him curiously, realizing that she could, in fact, hear absolutely nothing coming from the passage that opened into that cave. Apparently, Sten and Wynne couldn't hear anything either, since they'd frowned in the Dalish's direction and were now looking intently ahead. To their credit, the dogs and wolf, at least, had perked up and gotten to their feet, growling faintly.

It was only about two minutes later that the sound of footsteps actually penetrated the path ahead (which wasn't really dark either). At that point, Sten drew Asala from her baldric with that snikt sound she always made. "Come forth and state your intentions!"

In some measure or another, everyone had turned their attention to the exit, in time to see what, indeed, was a dwarf. A female dwarf in fact, wearing a full suit of medium dwarven armor, red steel-wrought. "Eeeaaasy there!" she sing-songed. "Whoa, you're a big one…" The newcomer stopped out of Sten (and Asala's) reach. The pale illumination was strong enough to reveal the crest on the front of her chest-plate.

"You're from the Legion of the Dead," Alim realized, stepping up front.

Theron had, by now, also climbed to his feet. "Tell whoever is with you to come out as well."

The woman tilted her head, surprise transmitting through what could be seen of the lower part of her face, and her eyes. She had a helmet on, with two, ox-like horns, helmet which she removed, revealing a face that put her in her late twenties, and dark hair arranged in two short pigtails. Looking behind her, she did as requested. "Come on Varlan, I told you they were friendlies!"

Leliana saw Faren suddenly flinching from the corner of her eyes and looked at him in time to read his lips as he stared. "_That voice…"_ he seemed to say.

Not long after, a man, wearing a massive, black Legionnaire armor set came into view. Like the woman, he had a large, elaborate tattoo covering his face, especially his forehead. "Huh. What the sod are you bunch of surfacers doing down here?"

"Camping," Sten said flatly, dead serious, not that he let his grip on Asala relax any.

Then, finally, Faren squeezed through the wall of people that had formed near the entrance and stumbled out into view, locking eyes with the female that had emerged first. "Well shit… Sigrun?"

The Legionnaire scout did a double take and everyone finally saw her own brand, still visible under the Legion facial marking. Brand which that Varlan fellow lacked "Hold on… Faren? You're still alive? What are you doing here? What are any of you doing down here?"

"Well," Gwen cut in. "For the most part, searching for ancient technology, a Paragon and the Archdemon, among other things, like the last piece to a sword belonging to an honorable topsider. Well, and you guys I suppose."

Sigrun looked confused, as did that brown haired, bearded Varlan fellow.

"Although we could say that one of those things we definitely found already," Alistair added with a sigh.

"Yeah, that dragon really got us worried for a moment there," Sigrun agreed. "Which leads me to asking: you guys had something to do with that huge shaft of light we saw before that thing flew off, don't you? The spot where it happened is where I picked up your trail anyhow."

Leliana released a sigh of relief and decided to shift her attention back to the unconscious warden resting his head in her lap. She'd imagined this sort of situation involving the two of them, of course, but it usually had him conscious and smiling back, or at least sleeping, not being in a catatonic state. She only half-paid attention to the talk that started, absently registering that Sigrun was several years Faren's older fellow castles dwarf and that she'd joined the Legion years ago. She also learned that Varlan's last name was Vollney, when he finally introduced himself.

Then, her attention was suddenly snapped when she forced one of the prince's eyes open and failed to find the bright, silver irises she expected. Instead, she was met with glossed over, dark blue orbs that had just a few white sparks, steadily fading.

It was only when Theron, who was closest, ran there and knelt beside her that she realized that she'd gasped in fright and brought a hand over her mouth, eyes wide. "What is it? What's wrong?"

That captured everyone else's attention well enough and they all, minus Shale and the dogs, who just got to their feet, converged upon her, Alim and Faren, obviously, in front. "What?"

The bard opened her mouth to speak but had to clear her throat. "His eyes…. Just… Look." She forced one open again. "The color is all wrong…"

"What the fuck?" Faren cursed. The two legionnaires, meanwhile, just stared at the scene.

Alim was quick to kneel there and conjure a globe of white energy that finally dispelled all shadows and offered some real light that revealed what the pale luminance of the liken couldn't, and what the dried blood helped conceal. Namely that all of the exile's hair, beard included, was now a light shade of blond, no white left anywhere.

The mage focused blue magic and cast a healing spell.

It did absolutely nothing.

And so it was that Alim Surana, shapeshifting blood mage elementalist, caster of force fields and generally one of the most powerful people alive, started swearing in Arcanum, the language of the Tevinter Imperium. Needless to say, no one understood a thing of that ten-second long outburst, except for Wynne and Morrigan, who turned an increasingly intense shade of red the more that litany came out of his mouth. To her credit, Leliana realized this was probably the effect of having been driven to the edge of his patience by Faren's nagging.

Eventually, the elven magus slouched and pushed himself to stand, clearing his throat and telekinetically summoning his staff from afar with a wave of his hand. "We'll need some outside help for this." He then turned back and walked towards the legion members. "Being scouts I'm assuming your unit is somewhere nearby and that they probably have a base or encampment of sorts. I need a place where I know I am relatively safe in order to find a way to deal with our… problem. You will take us there. Now."

Sigrun and Varlan stood shock still before they nodded dumbly.

"-. .-"

_Excerpt from journal of Senior Enchanter Wynne_

_26 Pluitanis, 9:31, Dragon:__ I suppose this is the part where I would start asking myself whether or not there will ever be any calm moment as far as this group is concerned, but I passed the point where I held such hopes a long time ago. And yet, I find that this situation is still a bit too much on the nerves, even with the track record of these wardens and their helpers. Honestly, this dwarf is so… aggravating even when he's… well… dying I suppose._

_ Not that anyone is willing to say it out loud. We'd hoped that he would recover on his own, like he did back in Denerim, but all hope of that disappeared when his… well, when he got back to normal, if normal even applies anymore. It seems that whatever made his hair and eyes white has been drained away or, more specifically, is being drained constantly. I did hope this meant there would be no more disruptive effect on my magic and I would be able to try something, but it seems everything I tried is still very much useless._

_ I even attempted to ask the Spirit for help. Actually, I did call upon it, still to no avail. Then again, even if this wasn't an issue, I still do not know the sort of damage at work here. All we know is that whatever encounter Raonar had with the Archdemon on the mind level did something that he can't repair on his own._

_ It says a lot that Sten, even with his aversion to magic, actually stepped forward and asked Alim to send him into our commander's mind again, like he did back after we were attacked by that band of dakspawn on our way to Orzammar. They're going to try this in a few minutes._

_ Ah, but I suppose I should recount our arrival here, at the frontline encampment of the Legion of the Dead._

_ Sigrun and Varlan led us along the Deep Roads, past the place where this mess happened and onwards, until we took a couple of turns and reached what looked like an ancient outpost. It is a sort of mini-thaig, if I should even call it that, which isn't far from the bridge leading across that ravine and to Bownammar. That bridge is what these dwarves have been defending or, more to the point, using to limit the darkspawn numbers and prevent them from swarming Orzammar while it is vulnerable._

_ As I understand it, there are several companies of 80 member taking week-long shifts at holding the front lines. When not in the thick of things, the other squads handle the food supplies and maintain the equipment. Some expeditions are sent to and from Orzammar proper as well, to restock on tools and weapons, even armors when they get too worn down. Fortunately, this isn't often. These soldiers definitely have very high-quality equipment, and the skill to use it._

_ It took us about forty minutes to reach this camp of sorts. It is set up under the ever so tall top of the deep roads, on both sides of the path, to let the men and women quickly come together like a closing gate if any large pack of enemies were to try and break through. As I understand it, a series of tunnels, like those of the Carta perhaps, exist behind the lines, with all the supplies, beasts of burden and whatever else._

_ We were welcomed by the Legion Commander Kardol and one of the squad leaders under his commands, Jukka I think his name was (that Sigrun lass appeared to be familiar with him). Kardol seems a straight-up fellow, although a bit rough around the edges. Then again, I suppose spending so much time in the deeps will make one less patient and more proactive. At least he had nothing against safeguarding us for a while._

_ There aren't many tents, which makes sense knowing the lack of weather down here. There also seem to be some very convenient, 'mobile outhouses' if one were to call them such. I don't know what sort of enchantment the dwarves invented in order to keep them clean (well, mostly) but I would definitely be all for them being installed everywhere in Thedas._

_ Hmm, at least there was this much to distract us from our predicament, although we did get several odd looks when we settled near the rear of the lines, where the cots were in higher number. Just several, however, as most men and women here appear to be no strangers to the unexpected._

_ The good part in all this is that, having reverted to his original hair and eye color, no one seems to have recognized our exile._

_ Ah, I see they are getting ready to try sending Sten in our leader's mind. Leliana again took up the duty of settling his head on her lap, while Alim and the qunari are on either side of him, with Rinne sitting at his feet, looking worried as only a mabari can. Damon has been trying to comfort the she-hound, with little success. Then again, Faren is pacing about, behind Sten, looking every bit as uneasy as one might expect. Everyone else is waiting to see what happens._

_ I hope this works._

"-. .-"

Shale wasn't quite sure how she felt about all this. Concerned, perhaps? Afraid for that small, squishy creature that had granted her freedom and a place in the world? Whatever it was, it was enough for her to not care about the looks of curiosity or wonder that the myriad of unknown dwarves had sent her when she came into view, carrying that small warden like she'd seen village women carrying their babes, before and during her paralysis. It was the best way she could think of for carrying someone as comfortably, for the latter, as possible. That, and she was so huge, that she looked down on even Sten, that it came quite easy to hold the unconscious man like that, stout though he was.

Rinne had approached her, before they packed their hastily set-up camp, whining and looking at her like she was about to start begging at her feet instead of trying to make fun of her, or trick her into doing something, like it had the habit of doing. Looking less surprised than she felt, the golem informed the mabari that there would be no need for any requests, since she was going to offer to carry the warden anyway. It made sense after all, since she was the biggest and the best physically capable of doing it, since it was far less practical to just haul the commander in the cart or have Sten hoist it over a shoulder, especially knowing the trip wouldn't be of the shortest variety.

It wasn't like she felt some protective urge after all. It was only logical that she carry him, especially if they ran into any enemies and someone would have to act as a body shield for him. She **was** the only one made of stone after all.

Now, she had taken a spot to the side, not too close to be a bother but still close enough to get a good look. That, in regular terms, was actually quite a distance from where the dwarf had been laid to rest, what with her vantage point being so high above that of everyone else's and Sten having knelt next to the Warden. Shale ignored the murmurs and chatter of the legionnaires and, though she felt inwardly amused at how Kallian kept failing to calm Faren down, also wondered at this knot she felt in the pit of what would be her stomach, if she had any internal organs to speak of.

Ah, and there it was happening at last. After Sten took hold of the prince's hand, Alim took out his wand and, murmuring under his breath, began to weave something, like a white thread of light, around their grasp, also drawing some runes on their hands and foreheads.

The final rune was drawn, and the mage tapped it once, prompting magic to surge and fill both subjects. Sten's eyes instantly filled with white light, light that also coursed through their connected arms, from the wrist up, ever forwards, until it stretched up their shoulders, necks and, finally, their faces.

Then, the gossamer strands reached the dwarf's eyes.

And they snapped open.

Shale felt her crystals suddenly shimmer as a wave of… something… burst soundlessly out of the commander's body as he writhed in pain and gasped, back bending upwards and red light filtering out through his eyes, and it was in the very same moment that Sten grunted and fell back as though he'd been hit in the face. But that wasn't what really took the golem off guard. What shocked her was the fact that everyone within twenty meters of the prince recoiled and grasped at their left forearms, as though something had stabbed them all at once.

"Guah!" Alim gave out as he grabbed onto his left wrist, much like all the others did, except for Faren and, strangely enough, Alistair, who only reacted as though he'd been hit by a spell and shrugged it off. This gave him the presence of mind to bring an arm around Gwen's back as she stumbled and cringed in pain.

Even Shale sensed some sort of strange, uncomfortable feeling in her left upper limb and she idly wondered if this is what pain was and _"Why am I being affected by this in the first place?"_ Fortunately, it disappeared soon after, the same moment as when Raonar's eyes glossed over again and he went still once more.

"What the sod!" A random dwarf snapped from someplace, revealing that whatever had just happened had been felt far enough that some legionnaires got a taste of that aura of pain.

Shale glared in his direction and caused her hands to be surrounded in flames, quickly making him bite back its next words.

Sten pushed himself back to a sitting position and looked tired, and sweat was on his brow. He held an arm around his armored middle, as though trying to make sure he was still whole. "Tch…"

"What just happened?" Leliana asked, rubbing at her forearm. "I felt like I'd been stabbed in several places in my left hand and wrist."

"You should count yourself lucky then, human," Sten grunted. "I felt as though I was impaled through every inch of my body. Blasted magic tricks…" He then looked down as his kadan and Shale noticed his eyes going wide. "He is bleeding again…"

Finally recovered, Alim checked his eyes once more. At least the red light wasn't coming out anymore and the blood that had come out of his nose (again) was just a small bit. "Dammit. I don't know if his mind is shutting down or what this means…" He then paused, before his gaze drifted lower. Then, he just had something like a blade of light appear at his fingertips and cut the front of the dwarf's shirt asunder.

Everyone stared or gaped.

"Wounds…" Theron pronounced stoically, and only now did Shale realize he was sitting on top of the so-called waist-size wall bordering the deep road they were camped by.

Yes, there were a couple of fresh cuts across the noble's chest now, even though they hadn't been there before. And then, Alim turned over his palm and pushed the left sleeve up to the elbow, exposing something akin to a stigmata.

It was Faren that spoke what was on everyone's mind. "Okay, what the fuck?"

"-. .-"

_Excerpt from journal of Senior Enchanter Wynne_

_26 Pluitanis, 9:31, Dragon:__ Well, that operation turned out to not only be a failure, but it actually ended up making things worse. At least now we know just why none of my or Alim's healing spells appear to be working, including whatever he has in that left arm of his._

_ Although I never thought I'd encounter a dwarf capable of using blood magic, but there it is. Whatever he is doing, it is draining him of his life force, to the point where his body has begun exhibiting injuries, as though he were reliving past trials. I know the stories about warriors capable of affecting their enemies on a psychic level and feasting on their souls, but I never heard of anyone encountering someone like that who wasn't a part of some dragon cult or another. They were, after all, part of the reason the dragon hunters even exhibited such a zeal towards eradicating all dragons in existence._

_ But I digress. When that happened, Faren got even more agitated and, after Alim went and whispered something to Alistair, the latter approached the young dwarf when he wasn't paying attention and whacked him over the head with the pommel of Duncan's sword, knocking him out instantly._

_ Only __**after**__ that did they remember that Zevran had a full assortment of sleeping droughts they could have used on him, although, true enough, the surprise worked as well. Either way, it was necessary to get him to stop getting so agitated since Alim is going to sleep._

_ Yes, as I understand it, he is going to try and contact one of the Spirits he has come to know on a personal level. O course, this means we are down to desperate measures, the only alternative being to try and do something with that crate of lyrium we bought from the smuggler in Dust Town._

_ Hopefully it won't come to that, since we really have no idea what we'd be doing if we tried to use it for anything, ad raw lyrium is __very__ dangerous as it is._

"-. .-"

There was a reason Alim had grown so powerful in such a short time, and it had everything to do with his time in the Fade, while he dreamt, besides a certain deal. Basically, he'd managed to somehow gain a reputation as a Demon Slayer even in the Fade, to the point where his dreams were spent either fighting off demons that wanted to destroy him or those that wanted to goad him into a deal with them, or forcefully possess him. The problem was that his reputation also meant that small fires mostly stopped engaging him, so he was facing demons of hunger and desire, for the most part.

And he didn't always win, especially if they ganged up on him. Thankfully, death in the Fade meant he just woke up more times a night than usual.

This once, however, he couldn't afford any of this. He had to hurry and somehow make contact with one of those two. So, after killing his third demon (of sloth, apparently), or at least blasting its current form into nothing, he passed through another one of those symbol doors, again realizing that something had prevented him from reaching the place he wanted.

This particular dream looked like a nice big arena, and there was a small army of wisps and rage demons, with a few hunger demons mixed in between, just waiting.

It was a very hard ten minutes, and when they were over, there was still half of those things, and just one of him, fairly exhausted. The bad part was that this trap, since that is what it was, prevented him from opening another door to someplace else, even though he could see through the illusion and the dull, grey-green sky of the fade above, Black City and all.

He'd been backed against the edge of the island and he really didn't want to fall into nothing. Unfortunately, he'd shifted from exploding everything to just defending, but his forcefield was wearing thin.

So, he was going to be killed and woken up, which meant he'd have to start over, if Raonar even survived that long. The elf was absently wondering why Honor didn't include a term, in his deal, that let him make contact on his end.

Something swooped down from above.

Right on top of the desire demon that controlled that part of the fade.

And just as soon as the winged creature crushed the thing in its talons, the island broke apart into several pieces, beginning to disintegrate back into the entropy that the raw fade was… which meant that Alim Surana suddenly found himself with nothing beneath his feet.

Perfect, in the most sarcastic of ways of course.

So now, he was falling, which meant that he'd soon be waking up and…

The winged figure dived and was suddenly above him, talons of its hind legs quickly wrapping around his arms as he was taken back high up, carried by the creature that had come out of nowhere. "Hmm…" The voice was clear, as though it came out of every direction at once. "And why, might I ask, have you not assumed your griffon form yet?"

It took Alim just a moment to process the words and place the familiar voice. Apparently, that was too long, because he was suddenly falling again. "Oh hell!" And, finally, he remembered that he could, in fact, turn into a griffon at will. So he did just that.

"Hmm, took you long enough, mortal," Duty crooned as he floated through the formlessness.

For his part, the no longer elf looked annoyed. "_Rub it in my face…"_

"Such a strange choice of words."

"…_Wait, what?" _The younger griffon looked awestruck at his surface thoughts being read, or in this case heard. _"So it's telepathy!"_

"Of course. How do you think I communicate? Did you honestly not realize it before now?" The Spirit actually made himself sound disappointed.

Well, the mage did conclude that he should have put the pieces together sooner. After all, how else could someone's voice come from an unmoving, beaked face. And the 'voice' even sounded like it came from everywhere at once. He really needed to learn how to do that. "_I need help with-"_

"Yes, Honor already put me up to speed," Duty cut him off. "He asked me to find you, since he cannot afford to leave his realm at present, for reasons which, I am told, you already are acquainted with."

Alim actually sighed in relief, although it came out like an odd, bird-like screech. "_Where are we headed?"_

"Up ahead," the Spirit increased its flight speed, followed closely by the mage. Sure enough, something like a circle of blue runes was being formed there, as though someone or something was scribing those symbols, even though there was nothing and no one in sight.

Yes, those runes were familiar, as the elf had seen them once before. And then, the circle was complete, and blue light burst from it, like the foam of a waterfall, before it was drawn back in as quickly as it surged, leaving behind what looked like the surface of water, only it was standing vertically. It was that 'water' that the fade dweller dived through without a moment's hesitation, prompting the magician to do the same.

It was over before he knew it, and he touched down on the familiar marble surface, at the center of which was that mass of light, form vaguely reminiscent of a centaur before it was surrendered in favor of a more relatable, human avatar of equally bright light.

Alim resumed humanoid form. "I'm guessing you have an idea of what's happening and that you know I already tried what you two taught me last time."

"If you are here, I assume you did." The ever piercing, thousand-in-one voice replied.

"Does the tear in the veil still exist?"

"Yes."

"Then why has his appearance reverted to the one he had before he encountered you?" He did have suspicions, but he decided direct questions would serve best.

"I suspect it is because all the magic usually pouring through is being completely used up for something, so there is none left to fill his being with the light you are accustomed to."

"Dammit," Alim cursed. "But that's a boatload of magic. And it seems to not be enough because he's using some weird blood magic too, and I don't know how to stop it or exactly what it's for."

It was the griffon that answered. "We only know the consequences this had had on this plane, which weren't sizable. You must tell us what has happened."

Alim explained.

Duty narrowed his eyes. "I see."

"His mind collapsed in on itself, didn't it?" Alim guessed. "And whatever he's doing now, it's a last ditch defense mechanism, right? He's using all the magic you're pouring out, along with his life force, to shield his mind from something."

"Astute," the griffon praised, though with no cheer.

"So whatever he's doing is the reason Sten felt like he'd been impaled when I tried to send him in like last time?"

"Yes."

Alim cursed in Arcanum. He didn't sign up for this mess. "How do I fix it?"

No answer on the other end.

The elf narrowed his eyes. "Look, if there was no way for this to be fixed, you wouldn't have gone to all this trouble to retrieve me, which means that you're only hesitating because you can only give me the power or skill needed with a lot of risk, yes? At least in time to be of any use. I'll make it easy: I'll take the risk. Just tell me what I can do."

"Hmm, driven isn't he?" Duty asked the other one. "Just like before."

"You sound so paternal," Honor joked back for once.

The griffon actually coughed in his fist… however he managed it. Then, he addressed the elf again. "The spell you tried on this Sten person failed because it sends one directly into another's mind, meaning that you practically threw him straight into… shall we say, a curled up, giant porcupine."

Alim winced. "So what can I do?"

The griffon stepped forward. "I shall pass on to you the skill of telepathic communication, as well as how to cast your consciousness and spirit, and that of others, outside of your body, so that you, and whoever you have enough will to bring with you, may approach his own from afar. Whether or not this helps your predicament any is entirely up to you."

"Hopefully," Honor followed. "Once you manage to get to him, he'll somehow succeed in restoring balance. I'll be ready in this side to provide the energy he needs, as always."

"This is going to be unpleasant, isn't it?"

Which is when the roots of three wing plumes pierced him in the forehead.

"-. .-"

She really was getting dangerously close to the point where she was about to start freaking out, and Leliana was rather sure she would give the still unconscious Faren a run for his money if she did lose it. Alim had been asleep for two hours, and had been subtly writhing in pain for the past one, which was also the time it took for the suffering dwarf to somehow wind up with another gash on his bicep, which she only noticed because she'd taken the liberty of tearing every shred of that shirt off of him.

And no, it wasn't because she enjoyed the sight of him bare from the waist up.

Really.

She'd done it so that she would have an easier time of patching him up. Sten had even helped her, pulling him to a sitting position and holding him there as she wrapped the bandages around him. It was just over his chest at first, but when small, open wounds began to show up everywhere, she decided to just bandage his whole torso and abdomen, just to be safe. She ended up being glad he had a six-pack instead of that big belly surface dwarves were known for, because I would have been hell to bandage him otherwise.

Maker's breath.

And now, she had her hand on his forehead, thinking how odd it was that the one Warden who she ended up assisting and wanting to spend time with most is the one who, technically speaking, wasn't even part of the group she initially joined.

Looking around, she saw Alistair and Gwen still talking to Kardol, the legion leader, about logistics. Kallian had started to drink with some of the soldiers, as had Oghren and, strangely enough, Wynne. Morrigan was sitting next to Alim's sleeping form, nursing him with a water basin and cloth, much like she was doing to her own Warden. Her own warden, where had that come from?

Sten was still next to the two of them, sitting back, with his left forearm on his knee and with his eyes closed. He was reciting something in his own tongue, and had done so for the past two hours non stop. He was probably the reason Zevran hadn't come over to try and tease her for what he'd named an 'obvious crush' at one point. Then again, the Assassin was nowhere in sight. The bard didn't know where he'd gone.

Rinne was sitting on her belly at her master's feet, chin on the ground and sighing, looking every bit as worried as anyone could be. Damon was next to her, his own chin resting on the top of her head. Some distance from them, Shale was standing, perfectly inert, although some fire danced around her crystals.

Finally, Leliana heard the noise of someone stirring, but when she looked up she noticed that it was not, in fact, Alim, but Faren who was waking up, looking perfectly put off and rubbing the back of his head. He was mumbling something. He was actually quite amusing to watch, looking so young even with that red stubble of his.

Kallian moved over to 'intercept' him and, quite soon after, the lad was glaring in Alistair's direction, although the latter didn't see him, since he was preoccupied. Eventually though, the dwarf rogue got to his feet and approached. At least he seemed to be less agitated. "Dammit, what's with all the bandages? Is he that much worse?"

The bard lowered her gaze but said nothing, although Sten had no issue with bluntness. "Obviously."

The general unease lasted for another half an hour, when Alim, finally, opened his eyes and, quite groggily, began to chase his slumber away. Oddly enough, he was more tired now than when he'd gone to sleep, with bags under his eyes and everything. Leliana saw the hope running over Faren's face when he noticed, and also thought she could read Morrigan urging the elf mage to rest more. Heh, so she did care.

Alim wouldn't waste any time and, before long, he was kneeling next to the ailing man, across from her and Sten, while everyone else had formed a circle around them. Even some dwarves, though they hadn't approached, were staring in curiosity. Zevran was still absent though.

"Alright," he began, taking a deep breath and pressing a couple of fingers against his temple, as though he was fighting a headache. "It was… difficult… but I now have something new to try…" He didn't take out his wand but did look at Sten. "I'm going to try and approach his mind from afar, so to speak. I'm not going to ask anyone to join me though-"

"Can I do it this time?" Faren asked from behind.

The elf sighed. "Sorry Faren, but no. You're immune to this sort of thing, like you are to almost everything else that can have hostile uses."

The dwarf muttered something under his breath.

"Just cast your tricks and let us get on with it," Sten demanded in his recognizable monotone.

"How many can you take with you?" Wynne inquired, although pretty much everyone was asking that.

"I'm not sure," was the tired answer. "I'll try just me and Sten for now, sine he's been in there before. If this doesn't work, we'll try again."

_Unless you make things worse again_ Leliana thought, which was when Sten extended his arm, above where the prince was lying. Not long after, Alim grasped it.

So of course Leliana did the natural thing and placed her own palm on top of their handshake. "I'm going as well." And no, it was not negotiable.

To his credit, Alim's left eyebrow rose just a bit before he nodded. The bard noticed that some of the others were just as surprised, albeit not overly so. No matter, this was something she felt like she needed to do.

Nothing happened for a moment, but Alim's eyes soon started to glow white.

Which was when she felt a tugging sensation behind her eyes and everything blurred, all sensation replaced by a vertigo, and then the feeling of fall.

"-. .-"

The fall, turns out, did not last long, Actually, Leliana was now on a sort of plain, and she had absolutely no idea when she'd gotten there. She did, however, gag at the smell, only this made her look down, and she noticed that she was standing, ankle-deep, in blood. Yes, it was a sea of gore that stretched as far as the eye could see, with light similar to twilight, only there was no visible source. "Maker's breath…" She stumbled, her feet splashing through the red fluid, and her back hit something solid.

So, naturally, she whirled around and hastily stumbled backwards, splashing blood everywhere again, only to see that it was Sten she had collided with. For his part, the metal-clad, bronze-skinned man looked almost impassive, a slight twitch of his eyes all emotion visible on his face. "This is… strange…" was all he said.

"This isn't right." The voice had come from above. So, synchronized to the instant, the human and qunari looked up and saw that the black magician was just floating about three meters above ground, scowling as he scoured the horizon. "Hmm… an afterthought then?"

"Where are we?" Leliana asked, distantly wondering if she could somehow fly herself.

The answer was worrisome. "This, I think, is the plane where the group mind of the darkspawn manifests." He looked around and squinted, apparently trying to see farther off. "Or it would be, if that were what I was trying to synchronize with."

"Speak plainly, mage," Sten demanded gruffly.

The magician sighed and floated lower, until he was hovering just inches above the blood, his black suede longcoat fluttering smoothly without any noticeable breeze. "This place is an afterthought. Hold on. I should be able to dispel it."

He didn't seem to do anything for a moment, except close his eyes, but everything soon began to fade and shift again, until all they could see was a chaotic maelstrom of fading red and orange, and black. The darkness became thicker and thicker, until all three found themselves floating in nothingness. Everything around them was a black void, and yet they could still see each other perfectly, as if they were under direct sunlight. "There," Alim pointed up ahead, to what looked like a mass of spikes protruding out of some invisible core. It resembled a sphere, only made of jagged thorns.

"What is that?" The bard asked, though she had her suspicions.

With a subtle flick of his wrist, the mage took flight and caused the others to float after him, towards that… whatever it was. "Hmm, so that's why you, Sten, felt like you were impaled. I guess I thrust you straight into those things…"

"Hmph."

When they were finally within a few meters of that thing, all three of them were left more or less speechless. Apparently, it as a sort of crystal star, all the spikes solid, like glass, only they all seemed to have a vein or another, through which something that resembled blood dangerously well flowed. It also meant that they couldn't get to its core unless they started breaking those shards, piece by piece.

"Okay, now what?" Leliana found herself asking, slowly reaching out to touch the side of one of those shards. Then, before she could make contact, she stopped and peered in Alim's direction.

"Hey, don't look at me. If you want to be the one to test it, be my guest."

The minstrel sighed and, after a deep breath (if it was even real in this state) she gathered her courage and set the hand on that shard. It was warm to the touch, and it hummed faintly when she made contact, but there was no other response. "How are we going to go through?"

The answer was a giant fireball exploding against the… whatever it was, prompting the Orlesian to shield her face with her hands. The fire eventually cleared, only to reveal that the attack had had absolutely no effect. "Well, that was a bust," Alim noted dryly.

"Perhaps another tactic is in order then," Sten surmised, drawing Asala from… someplace. Actually, where **had** he drawn it from?

"You didn't have your sword before…" she mentioned.

"Asala is my soul. She is always close," the qunari said before he willed himself to float forward as Leliana drew back. Then, when he was close enough, he drew the blade as far back as he could, so as to strike at that thing as hard as possible. Then, he lunged it forward, vertically.

Only for it to pass through that crystal as though there was nothing there. In fact, the act surprised the man enough that, even afloat, he stumbled forward and whacked his forehead against the side of one of the larger spikes. The grunt was huffed, but quite loud. "How…?"

Which was when said spike, as thick as he was but longer than they could see, began to vibrate. Then, it produced a humming sound as it began to retract towards the center of whatever was at the core of it all. "Oho, so it recognizes you," Alim guessed, floating to his side. "It must be because you were in his mind before. Or maybe he just trusts you enough, although that still leaves the question of how he even knows it's you."

"Or how the sword did nothing," Leliana added, falling in step (well, hovering) behind the man. She didn't say it, but she was a bit sad that her own touch did not elicit the same reaction from that mass.

With nary a hesitation, Sten went closer and touched another one of those building-tall thorns, only he didn't just place his hand upon it, but also his forehead, and held it there for a time. So again did the hum make itself heard, only this time from all around them, as not one, but a whole set of those things began to retract, until there was only a sort of dark tunnel in front of them. "Let us proceed." Which was when Sten just willed himself to advance weightlessly straight towards wherever that tunnel flanked by sharp spikes, was allowing them to go.

The descent took longer than they expected, but they eventually reached what looked like the core. All those large spikes they'd first run into ended and formed a sort of wall of nails, housing a spherical inner space of about ten meters in diameter. And there, at the center, was another sphere, of smaller spikey… things… which glowed blood-red and were just as many and sharp, although smaller.

Sten didn't even wait. He floated right at it and brushed his open palm against the formation, and a magical moan was heard before all movement abruptly stopped and some of those thorns began to band away, revealing a sight that left all three of them shocked. Shocked enough that they failed to notice how the passage they'd used to get there had begun to close behind them.

"Andraste's mercy…" she breathed out.

It was, of course, Raonar, only his head was hanging low and his whole body, apparently clad in some mimicry of clothing, shredded, was suspended by all the glass-like shards embedded into his back, and his limbs. His very blood, or what passed for it in this place, was the same one flowing through every single piece of that mind, out through every stab wound and back, in some form of twisted, painful harmony that was the only thing keeping everything together, his life force maintaining all.

The only part of him not stabbed by that 'glass' was his left arm, which was hanging in front of him, a crown of horns grasped tight in his hand, some of them having grown out, through the back of his palm. There was even a large one that stuck out of the back of his wrist. It looked painful, and those were the only injuries which bled wastefully, as the blood never seemed to leave that gnarled vine, whatever it was.

So **that** was what they'd all felt when they tried to let Sten inside earlier.

"By the Qun…" even Sten sounded shocked as he made haste over to stand in front of him and, with some hesitation, reached out to lift his face by the chin. It had those same streaks of blood down from his eyes, but he seemed conscious at least.

"S-Sten?" he choked.

"I'm here kadan. We're here."

"We c-" the bard found her throat unresponsive so she had to clear it by force. "We came to get you." What was this place? What did this all mean? Were they too late?

Slowly, his eyes drifted in her direction, gaze understandably in pain. His mouth moved, but no sound came before he averted his eyes and settled on Alim, who was looking every bit as troubled as she was. "You… came for me…"

"Look, we're going to fix this," the elf tried to reassure him. "Honor says he's ready to give you all the energy you need, all you have to do is somehow…. Stabilize things in here, at least a bit."

Against their hopes, that didn't bring any assurance to him at all. "I… I can't… I'm… drained."

And impaled. "No, kadan, don't speak this wa-" A rumble filled their ears, and everything began to vibrate, and they began to look around, finally seeing that their way in had disappeared, a wall of spikes blocking them in. "What in the world?"

The dwarf's voice was faint. "I'm sorry…" The jagged walls began to shake, crystal pieces clamoring as they struck against each other. "I only had… a little energy left and… I.. used it up… letting you three in… I thought I could…" He gasped in pain as the sharp walls began to slide closer, to converge on them, passing effortlessly through the force field Alim was trying to project.

Sten took his face with both hands. "No! You can stop this, you are stronger than this!"

The answer was the qunary being hurled back by an invisible force, straight into the wall, impaling him thoroughly before his shocked frame dispersed like sand, his consciousness sent back to his physical shell. "I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…"

"What the hell are you talking about!" Alim shouted, so he could make himself heard over how noisy things were getting, as he flew where Sten used to be. "Focus man! I can give you my own life force if you need it! Just tell me how!"

Trying to avoid getting 'killed,' Leliana willed herself closer to the center as well, hoping that she could still do something. She realized her heart was beating, whether or not it was real here. She didn't want to see him gone. There had to be some way, and there probably was if the look of thought, painful to see through it was, passed over the prince's face.

But he just cringed as his will gave way. "I… don't remember how… Everything's a… blur… I'm sorry…" Which was when some of the smaller shards that made up the exile's "shell' flew out and struck the elf through the chest and forehead, causing his own projection to disintegrate. Then, finally, he beheld her. "The Archdemon, he… Tell… the others… that I'm… sorry…"

"No, there has to be something I can do!" the woman uttered, taking a hold of his face and moving close enough to stare into his eyes, seeing them white, as they should be, like his hair was as well. "You still have some power left. I can see it! Use it to remember. If life force is what you need…" She didn't know where it had come from, but something, an idea suddenly came to her, as tough it flowed into her consciousness from without, finally giving her the thought she needed.

And thus, just before everything collapsed upon them and destroyed them both, she put an arm around his neck and, with her other hand, grabbed onto the crown in his left hand, tight enough for the spikes to sink through her palm and come out through the other side. "I'll give it to you."

Time seemed to stop.

Then, it resumed instantly, and the spike wall came straight for them, only to impact against an invisible wall of force, like a globe that had come to be around them, rendering everything into diamond dust and shards that quickly began to spin like a maelstrom around them, a funnel of life, **her** life that she felt pouring out from her with each passing breath.

She knew what dying felt like now but, strangely enough, she didn't mind. She just watched everything dissolve into a mist around them and felt that it was good that it was happening.

Someone, however, had a different opinion.

All shards embedded in the dwarf's body jerked out and broke against the field that had come to exist around them like a globe, all wounds closing as she looked at them, the blood fading from his face as his now freed right hand reached for her own and forced her grip open, until he pulled the crown away from her fingers. "No. You need not die for me. **No one** will die for me." And just like that, his right arm came around her, holding her against him by the waist as she let her exhausted head rest on his shoulder and she managed to wrap her arms around his neck for support.

The entire world became a sphere, the two of them at its center, but it soon began to expand, bright and white, much like the one holding her now began to shine in tune with his creation. His gaze was calm, his eyes, bright stars looking ahead, half-closed as the wall of light became mirror and kept moving away. Power was coursing through his being, feeding his mind as the Fortress started to be rebuilt. Always he held his left hand slightly away, the crown being the one thing not shining in tandem with everything else.

It was of no consequence. The mirror showed the image of a sea, even though there was none to reflect. But no reflection could be false in that place, so the water, the raw magic itself, flowed out from the boundary, inwards, flooding and filling the sphere of the mind up to half, stability returning as spires, stanchions, towers and columns, one by one began to burst out through the surface of what looked like an ocean, reaching the vault above, all of them leaning at the same angle, seemingly endless as their image projected upon itself again and again, as only a mirror sphere could, ocean becoming its own sky and making it all but impossible to realize there even was an edge to it.

Eventually, the process of creation was over, the waters finally settling into a calm expanse, with just subtle waves glimmering with the light that looked like it came from a sun that was submerged deep beneath the surface, rays dancing harmoniously as they flowed ever upwards, yet often shifting, like upside-down pendulums.

But her attention returned to the one holding her there, suspended in the air, commanding gravity to ignore them. She rather enjoyed the closeness, and how firmly he'd brought his arm around her back, hand on her right shoulder, but gently enough that she wasn't at all uncomfortable. Light and white mist danced around him, a calm, serene look on his face, although bereft of a smile as he met her eyes, but said nothing.

She was drained, but not enough that she would forget her train of thought. "What is that thing?" She looked at the gnarled formation in his left hand, the spikes that still stuck out of it.

His look moved from her to it, and he was silent for a time, before he sighed and began his slow descent to the marble platform at the very center of the realm. "My… issues…"

Leliana would have spent more time being confused at that answer, but had none, because they finally touched down, and everything shifted, perception changed, and she was suddenly back in the Deep Roads, being held, bridal-style, by the Warden Commander, his hair and eyes back to their 'normal,' pristine state as he stood there, waiting for her to regain her bearings and realize that she felt like she'd been sucked dry by a vampire or demon.

"Please don't do that again," was all he asked.

Smirking faintly, so close to death she was, the woman secured her arms around his neck and just smiled. "No promises. That's your modus operandi, isn't it?"

"Ah, how romantic!"

Which is when the Orlesian realized that they were the center of attention for not just Zevran and everyone else in their group, all of them relieved, but about fifty dwarven legionnaires as well.

Including Kardol, who walked over and folded his arms around his chest as he locked eyes on the exiled Prince of Orzammar. "Right. Mind telling me just why you just exploded with enough force to blow away every tent on a twenty meter radius, and why your hair changed color and how in Paragons' name are you even alive when you should have died last year after you were sentenced by the assembly because you were found guilty of murdering your brother?"

Raonar settled Leliana on his former cot, which, she realized, was really comfortable for some reason, probably because she wouldn't be able to sit up even if she wanted to.

The exile's answer was not really informative, and that just meant he was back to normal, thank Andraste. "Ah, so you too think I killed Trian? Good."

If he was stupefied by that answer, the seasoned veteran didn't show it. Much. "Right. Stones loose in your head, I get it." The other soldiers, however, did exchange puzzled or disdainful looks, mumbling to each other. "Quiet you lot!" The Legion leader reprimanded them, and they quieted well enough. "So, mind explaining just what in sod's name you're doing here? And the stunts you're pulling?"

"Later Kardol," the Warden Commander said with a wave before turning to look at his own men. "We Grey Wardens need to… talk."

Kardol scowled and walked off, muttering something about how odd it was they'd survived that far.

"-. .-"

They'd moved away from the camp, into the storage tunnels and managed to find a more or less isolated room. Once there, Alim cast a force field over the entrance, along with a dozen sound-isolating spells and a sleeping glyph, plus one of paralysis, just in case.

Which was when a crate exploded with a loud boom from being hit, hard, by a very powerful, force-enhanced punch on the Warden Commander's part. Then, he made as though he lunged his arms out, half-way from his sides, and a field burst away from him, along with the air and every possible cinder and shrapnel left behind by the destroyed container. It was odd that they'd even found a wooden crate down here, where the material was so scarce, but there it was.

Once that was done, the exiled dwarven noble calmly walked over to a stool that had come out of nowhere discernible and sat on it. "Right, I needed that."

Silence on everyone else's end.

So he sighed and looked up. "My mind is still reeling from almost being destroyed… again. So I'm going to have to ask you guys to ask me what you want to know first."

"Are you going to be okay?" Faren asked first, not even bothering to mask his concern.

To that, the prince gave a sigh, got up, walked to him and pulled him into a hug before he had a chance to know what was happening. "Yes, I'm not dying anymore." That, finally, gave the lad enough peace of mind to hug him back, although the next line was less pleasant. "I understand you freaked out. Try to handle things better next time, alright? Any one of us could die every day."

Upon pulling away, the dwarven commoner began to rub the back of his head. "Sorry…"

Alim spoke next. "Is that going to happen every time we run into the Archdemon? Because if yes, then I think we have a problem. We can't have your brain shutting down like that each and every time."

The commander walked back to the stool and sat on it again. "I don't know…"

There was a pause.

Only after that did everyone actually try to process the fact that he'd actually said the words "I don't know," and it sounded like blasphemy coming from his mouth. "I… think that's bad." Alistair ventured.

"My, how astute," Morrigan quipped form aside, drawing a templar glare that did nothing.

"Okay, let me ask this then," the black magician spoke again. "What exactly did you do? Why did that shaft of light leave your body and how did you get the Archdemon to leave and ignore us."

That question was, apparently, what the dwarf dreaded, because he rested both elbows on his knees and held his face in his hands. "I intended to override its sense and have it fail to notice us but… I didn't get to meditate enough to restore my magical core after my fight with the Pride Demon, so I failed and it… saw me."

"Wait up," Gwen stopped him. "What do you mean it saw you? The Archdemon did ignore us and fly off…"

"He broke through my mental defenses," he explained. "I had to fight it off but… I couldn't succeed at what I'd set out, so I… force-fed it some of my memories and made it think I was… **that **we were somewhere else."

"Where else?" Theron inquire with narrowed eyes.

Raonar deflated. "The Korcari Wilds. I bombarded it with the memories of my… time… there."

Morrigan gaped but said nothing.

As did most of the others, for a while.

"But wait, that's good isn't it?" the almost-templar ventured. "I mean, it'll take the horde weeks, if not months, to get to whatever deep road exit leads south of Ostagar, and if the dragon really is pissed enough at you that it wants you dead, it'll take another few months for it to scour the wilds for you. Isn't this a **good** thing? I mean, you sent it on a wild goose chase."

"Except for the fact that this makes me personally responsible for what will likely be Ferelden's personal patch of blightlands, plus the deaths of whatever Chasind and other people live at the far south and whatever chaos erupts if dear old Urthemiel happens to run into dear old Flemeth." The reply was in a clipped monotone.

Anothr period of silence.

"I doubt It meting my mother is likely," Morrigan uttered.

"Also," Theron spoke again, even though he didn't usually say much. "The horde was amassing and pouring out of that region anyway, was it not? This means that you actually gave it a reason to stay there longer than it would otherwise have, since the darkspawn have already reached Lothering and to the north. If we're lucky, the darkspawn may even pull back down south for a time."

The commander let his head hang lower. "If only this was the only problem…"

That instantly caused them all to shut up, except for Alim. "Now what?"

"I told you I had to bombard it with memories?" He didn't look up. "I actually… well… ran it through with a shard of my mind. It was **supposed** to go all the way through, but it ended up lodged in its chest. The bastard… absorbed more of it that I wanted, and the reason my mind collapsed was because I shattered it all by accident when I overexerted myself trying to pull it out. And either way… I… screwed up…"

"…"

Raonar sighed again and looked up at them. "I have just given the Archdemon some coherence to counteract its insanity."

Faren opened his mouth, then closed it. "What does that even mean?"

Another sigh. "Ladies and gentlemen… I have just made the Archdemon smarter, and if it was not self-aware before, it definitely is now."

There was shocked silence.

Then, there was more.

And only afterwards did the Grey Wardens, and their helpers, realize that their normally jovial commander was not, in fact, smiling, which meant that yes, he was serious, which led them all to the exact same train of thought once they realized that the Archdemon was, in fact, and Old God, and intelligence could mean, among other things, that it could… start to use blood magic… which left one major impression in their minds…

…which Gwen spoke out loud, rubbing her forehead and putting as much frustration as she could in her voice. "Oh Maker, we are so fucked."

"Yes," the prince agreed tiredly. "If one were to not count whatever caused the darkspawn to appear In the first place, this is the biggest **fuck up** in the history of Thedas" He held his head in his hands again. "And only because I decided to let loose against Pride and exhausted my magical core. Blast it."

For a while, no one dared say anything, probably because they were still hoping the white-haired guy would just smile and say he was just kidding. Unfortunately, that did not come to pass, so it was Faren, of all people, who had to voice their common thoughts for once.

"Well **shit**."

* * *

Author's note: Yeah, Raonar doesn't make mistakes often, but when he does, even small ones.. oh boy.

* * *

_That review space is waiting, as always!_


	54. Deep Roads Arc 5: Barriers

Author's Note: Wow, so I finally managed to write this. Took a while, didn't it? Sorry about the wait.

In the meantime, I put up another poll in my author profile. 3 choices as to who should get more development the soonest.

As always, I don't own the setting or most of the characters. Bioware/EA does.

* * *

**Chapter 51: Barriers**

"-. .-"

_Excerpt from journal of Senior Enchanter Wynne_

_27 Pluitanis, 9:31, Dragon:__ We ended up spending more time that we expected at the Legion's encampment, waiting for Leliana to recover from her 'life force expenditure,' as Alim called it. These Legionnaires really don't seem to mind our presence. I actually think they find it refreshing to have some visitors for once. Kardol seems a bit gruff, but I suppose he must be if he is to keep a firm grip on his troops so far from Orzammar. He hasn't really complained about us being here beyond telling us that he'll not have us disrupting the army's activities._

_ Faren's been spending a bit of time with that Sigrun lass, catching up if I am correct, although I think it's more of an attempt to distract himself from the news that Raonar slammed us with. We actually asked him how he could be so sure about the Archdemon having evolved, some of us even tried to persuade him that he might be wrong. Surprisingly enough, even Gwen tried to reason for that. I think the main reason for this reaction was the unusually defeated expression that our dear prince has been wearing ever since yesterday. It is only now, I think, that the others are realizing just how much we'd all come to rely on his steadfastness, especially that look he had like he always had something prepared in case anything were to happen, so that look he'd never worn before probably had more of an alarming effect on us that it otherwise would have._

_ Oghren, of course, has been spending most of his time emptying the Legion's ale reserves and making crass passes at those of the fair sex. Fortunately, he usually passes out as soon as he hits on someone, so nothing too outrageous has happened yet. Sten has mostly been carrying out sentry duty, scouring the deep roads from his high vantage point at the edge of this encampment. Tomorrow is when the army is due to change shifts, so to speak, meaning that this 80-man and woman division will proceed to take the place of the one holding the front lines near the Dead Trenches right now._

_ Speaking of which, a scouting party is about to be dispatched. Theron, as I understand, offered to go along with Sigrun, Varlan, Kallian and Faren to see how things were beyond the bridge that leads over the chasm where we encountered the Archdemon. The rest of us will wait here._

_ Leliana is out and about now. She seems a bit out of sorts but, overall, her mood is actually quite bright. Verily, it is our commander that I really am worried about right now. There seemed to be more troubling him that just this recent development, if that is even possible at this point. These soldiers now know who he is, although they took it in stride and don't seem to care that much about him either way. Some expressed slight curiosity regarding his hair and eye color, and how they changed, but Kardol ordered them to stop thinking about pointless things and get ready for their job. Oddly enough, just a few of the soldiers reacted with wariness at realizing just who the commander was._

_ Raonar made himself scarce a while ago. He looked like he just wanted some time alone but I felt like I noticed something else on that face of his. Physical discomfort perhaps? I refrained from asking him for now. It is not like he didn't come to speak to me before when he needed some question answered._

_ I didn't use to feel this way at first, when he so bluntly outlined how I was not allowed to lecture anyone on what being a Grey Warden implies. Now, however, I can't help but worry for him, as I'm sure everyone else is to some extent. Morrigan might be the only one unaffected by this, but even she probably feels some unease at being so far below the surface and away from the Wilds she is used to._

_ I have no real idea what will happen next._

"-. .-"

Shale wasn't certain of what to think. She'd grown very used to not caring about anything and just going with the flow. During her time immobilized in Honnleath she was just… there… so she'd had a lot of forced-upon practice in just observing and not interfering, although there'd been countless times when she so dearly wished she could break loose and crush those pigeons that soiled her or those fool humans that would, likewise, do indecent things. Two of them had even turned her into an unwilling… spectator… when they… but that was one memory she didn't want to dig up.

Basically, the Golem was used to being passive and had come to a point where the only times when she would have done anything of her own initiative was when she had the opportunity of fulfilling another small part of her righteous cause of obliterating all birds in existence.

And then, that… small thing found and released her, after which he proceeded to totally and completely shatter her every conviction and habit, steadily and methodically. He succeeded so well at it, in fact, that Shale found herself unable to remember when it started and just how it came to pass that her behavior had changed so drastically. And he even managed to be so subtle at it that the golem was no longer sure he was doing it on purpose.

Her old self, for instance, wouldn't have offered to carry anyone when they got injured, but she had done so for the Warden, even without that horrible dog's prodding. Also, she would not have bothered to think on her feet and deliberately put herself in harm's way by shielding Alim and Morrigan from that barrage of stone spikes during their fight against the rock wraith, unless she were to have been specifically instructed to do it, and even then she'd have done it with a tired sigh.

But that was just a marginal concern for her at this point. What worried her was that she no longer thought everything was doomed, and it was all that dwarf's fault. She'd had many years at her disposal to form that belief, the idea that squishy creatures of flesh were inferior and hopeless, so it wasn't right that the dwarf had managed to crack those beliefs in such a short time and without even trying. Even this most recent development wasn't enough to make her revert to what she thought before meeting him. And it wasn't just him, it was everyone else as well.

Even more than Wynne, Alim, for instance, refused to act like Shale was sure mages were supposed to, not imposing on her but, among other things, still succeeding in arranging her crystals even more effectively than she and Raonar had done previously, boosting their effectiveness by almost half. And he'd never once asked to perform any experiments on her (the golem was still not willing to believe that he wasn't pulling off an act).

That young lad, Faren, was a walking contradiction, bouncing from fearless monster slayer to youthful exuberance just as abruptly as Alim could change shapes. Kallian Tabris was more constant in her feelings, but just as jovial, for the most part, to the point where she seemed to carry the least emotional baggage, so Shale could see why those two would get involved. That was another thing that bothered her, she was starting to see 'human' behavior that she didn't actually find repulsive. Was there something different about these people, or were the villagers all afflicted with some disease that made all of them insufferable pigs? Or is it that she didn't get to see much of the 'good' things?

That woman, Gwen, seemed to wear her smile like a mask, but Shale could sense a smoldering anger from her every once in a while, when it was her turn to stand guard. She hadn't asked about it, mostly because the golem was busy being shocked at having such an acute grasp of human body language and facial expressions. Time as a statue had definitely left a mark. Anyway, Gwen actually had taken time to try and talk to her, and she'd even found an amethyst large enough to stand out. Shale had immediately been smitten by the shiny jewel and gleefully allowed the woman to set it in the back of her huge, right hand, with Sandal's help (Shale normally steered clear of the terrifying creature, but this was a shiny jewel so an exception could be made).

Alistair seemed to be rather weak willed, at first anyway. But then, as time went by and the commander kept teaching him… whatever it was, he seemed to grow out of it. That veil of jocularity of his never really went away though. The golem had asked him once why he so easily followed others, even though he should have been in charge, and he just asked her if she'd ever been in a position where she was responsible for the lives of other people. He also said, at one point, that he'd gladly follow the orders of some Duncan fellow. It boggled the mind.

The fact that, later, Alistair made her sick (which, with her being made of stone, was an extraordinary accomplishment) by describing the process by which humans got around to eating those flying vermin called birds made her decide not to let her guard down around the human again. He even said he liked the skin. Disgusting.

But even that much wasn't nearly enough to allow her to revert to her blissful fixation that flesh creatures were hopeless. No, her life would never have the sense it had back then. Raonar had explained Alistair's words to her one night, during watch. Shale found that attachment to be a bit strange and pointless, however, not to mention detrimental, this being part of the reason her current state of 'heart' was so unnerving to her. She no longer had that opinion.

Leliana's decision to believe in so many things that are just wishful thinking was something Shale couldn't really feel anything about, except a slight sigh of hopelessness. On the flip side, the bard seemed quite knowledgeable in footwear and had even suggested a viable solution for her, some thick sandals with leather strappings that could make her granite ankles seem thinner than they apparently were (Shale had been a bit dejected to find out she had thick ankles). After all, her golem mass was considerable, so some cushioning on her feet would be ideal.

Sigh.

The painted elf, that Zevran assassin, seemed to have a single fixation, namely leering/ogling/making double entendres. It would have been something akin to a relief for her if he did not turn out to have any sort of depth… but then he actually asked Shale if she'd ever want to become flesh again. Needless to say, the stone giant immediately stated her preference for immortality, painlessness and sturdiness. The fact that she'd spent a day wondering about it, and then periodically kept going back to that thought as things kept happening, was definitely not a consequence of the painted elf's words. Really.

It couldn't have been. Creatures of flesh couldn't elicit such a strong and long-lasting reaction.

Or so she tried to convince herself.

It was the other facet of all their behavior that sealed the deal on her continued shift in perspective, namely their tendency to acquire deep emotional, even protective tendencies towards one or more of the others. And this was more than just the commander's obvious, well-meaning supervision. Alistair had them towards Gwen, Zevran had some for Kallian, Kallian had some for Faren and the latter not only watched his lover's back, but he seemed to behave similarly whenever something or someone threatened that commander of theirs. Come to think of it, he wasn't the only one, as Alim also seemed to always be the one who saved his hide when it came to it.

The only creature of flesh that even got close to not being like the others was that Dalish elf, Theron, but even he'd grown less reclusive since Shale had first seen him in Redcliffe, and he never badgered her with any questions when keeping watch at night.

Case in point, Shale had become so irritated by his apparent refusal to act in any stereotypical way that she bluntly asked him why he bothered sticking around and risking his life when it was clear it wasn't his original plan. All he said was "Why do you?"

Shale had yet to find an answer to that, beyond not knowing of anything better to do than following them all around into situations that always seemed to be unhealthy at best.

But she was getting close.

One reason for that was Sten. At first, he seemed to be just as convinced of the hopelessness of the situation as she was. Compounded with the fact that he only barely fitted the squishy creature category, to the point where Shale was sure he'd pull his weight even without metal clothing, the Qunari had no problem killing everything hostile in sight. She'd asked him once why he didn't just crush the others under his heel, so small and frail as they were, and he said he wondered the same thing. He only joined this party because his quest is more or less the same as theirs.

Sten even shared her initial opinion that the odds of the wardens succeeding in this so-called endeavor were slim to none. Al in all, they seemed to be kindred spirits, even though he lacked her flair for irony.

And then he changed too.

The golem supposed she should have paid more attention, but Sten actually started to develop the same sort of protective behavior towards the small Warden at some point or another. Upon being asked, he said that the so-called leader was one who knew his place and filled his position with utmost devotion and never shrinking from duty. He used a strange wording afterwards: "Age by age have men stood up and said to the world, 'From what has come before me, I was forged, but I am new and greater than my forebears.' And so each man walks the world in ruin, abandoned and untried. Less than the whole of his being."

Shale asked if it was a riddle. Sten sighed and said that, apparently, it was, but that when she found the answer, she should know that the small Warden was not one who fit it.

It was only later that the golem realized that the Qunari had never actually answered her question as to why he'd gained such fervor in acting the protector. Being the proud creature that she was, she never brought it up again, even though she sorely felt the urge, especially now, after the man actually volunteered (!) for a magical ritual, just so he could save his kadan's life.

She used to think that wanting to help protect someone only ensured that someone failed to grow strong him/herself. Needless to say, these wardens had proven her wrong.

The final thing that was steadily leading her to the answer to the question of whether or not she would want to become flesh again was herself.

Shale was angry.

Not at her general state of mind. After being forced to just observe for decades, it was a nice relief to actually have something to occupy her mind with, even if it was this conflicting, logical mess. No, what she was really angry was the fact that she had no idea why she was so angry.

The first time it happened was after they were all attacked by that large band of darkspawn on their way to Orzammar. More precisely, it was when she saw the small Warden fall. She brushed it off as the aftereffects of whatever spells those emissaries had hurtled at her, but then, sometime later, it happened again.

Yesterday in fact.

Shale felt really, **really** angry after the Archdemon left and they were landed with a near-dead commander again. The Golem tried to convince herself it was because she'd expected him to be stronger, or at least not go catatonic. She thought her anger was just the effects of having witnessed so many things happening without any visible progress in their quest to gather armies so many months after gaining the support of the Circle of Magi.

But if that were the case, she would be angry at the Warden.

Shale was not angry at the Warden, and it wasn't just because of the realization that whether he was made of flesh or stone didn't even have any bearing on his almost dropping dead. No, Shale's state of mind could easily be summarized as a cold, but at the same times boiling, smoldering, intense need to get her hands on the Archdemon and slowly rip it apart limb from limb.

Repeatedly.

She'd gone out on a limb and made an off-hand mention of this to Sten. His answer was "I feel precisely as you do, kadan."

Surprises never cease.

The stone construct supposed she could try and rationalize it, thinking that she didn't want to see the holder of her control rod dead, since she didn't know what would happen if he died, maybe she would go into paralysis again. Of course, any one of the others could take the rod and speak the command word and free her. And there was also the likelihood that she was now past the point where she'd be immobilized in such a way again.

She decided to stop beating around the rocks and just admit that she'd come to care about him, and some of the others… okay, ALL of the others… except the swamp witch, she still radiated deception. And Zevran. He was a crow after all, or used to be.

At least she had some consolation in the fact that not everything had become unrecognizable from what she used to see the world as.

Like Oghren.

"You know, I've seen a golem or two in my time. We have them in Orzammar." For once, the dwarf wasn't drinking.

Not that it made him seem any less worthy of a sigh from Shale. Her deadpan response came easily. "It is indeed wise in the ways of the golem. It deserves a medal."

"Thing is, I don't remember anyone ever mentioning about them having memory problems." He was looking at her now, from where he was sitting on a bench.

"Perhaps they're not the ones with the memory problems." Shale was wondering what he was getting at.

"I talked to a golem once. Didn't have anything interesting to say, but his memory? Sharp. He could tell you what you were wearing at the Barnack Festival ten years ago."

What was that in his eyes? Suspicion? "Probably vomit and flies and little else, if I were to guess." These squishy creatures really liked to talk without saying anything relevant. That much, at least, still held true, somewhat.

Oghren narrowed his eyes. "Course, if someone simply **claimed** they've lost their memory, that would avoid some really awkward questions."

"Is it still talking? It is not drinking, so it must be..."

"Fine fine!" he threw up his hands. "Don't answer me, you'll screw up sooner or later."

The golem really was inclined to just let things rest as they were, but she had the feeling the discussion would arise later anyway, and the dwarf might even stretch his brain trying to come up with some smart mouthed way of annoying her, so she decided to just get it over with then and there. "Screw up? I fail to understand what I might screw up at. Perhaps at listening to it speak nonsense?"

The dwarf looked at her again, barefaced. "You're saying you remember your old master's name, right? And everything about him?"

"So it will go on about my memory. Such focus must be incredibly difficult for it to maintain."

"But you don't remember killing him, or how you got all free-willed or anything, but you do remember the next thirty years?" He was looking quite directly at her now.

Shale shrugged. "More or less. My old master did something to me which I do not remember. What is its point?"

"A-ah! How do you know he did something to you… unless you remember it?"

After spending time around an even more unnerving dwarf, Shale had experience in debating. "Let us, for the sake of argument, assume it is correct. I murdered the fool on purpose, and remember it. Why would I lie?"

"Because you… uhh…" Oghren seemed to think and blinked a few time. "Could do it again!"

The golem scoffed, eerie magical voice and all. "Yeesss, I waited thirty years, biding my time until I could strike. Soon my betrayal shall be complete!"

"Exactly!" Oghren all but pumped his fist in the air. "I knew it! Ha!"

"Well, do not tell anyone. I want it to be a surprise when it happens."

"Surprise?"

Shale turned around, making just a slight stomping sound as she did, since it was Leliana that asked that.

"What surprise?"

The golem saw Oghren shrugging both shoulders so she answered. "If it likes them, then it will just have to wait until it comes. I am not telling. After all, the shock might not be too good for it. The sister is still recovering, yes?"

The Orlesian tilted her head. "Anyway, we're getting ready for dinner and we should all probably get some re… should get back together since we'll be up early tomorrow. Do you have any idea where Alim and Raonar are? They're the only ones that haven't returned… Well, except Theron, but I have no idea where he disappears off to half the time."

"Guy left that way," Oghren answered, not looking at her but waving in some direction. "The creepy elf went after him a while ago."

"It still remembers that? Truly, its mind must be the stuff of legend."

"What can I say? Ol' Oghren's full of surprises."

Shale stood silent and watched as Leliana chuckled and took the indicated path.

"-. .-"

Leliana was hiding.

And she did not know why.

She wasn't really trying her best to be silent and inconspicuous as she walked down that corridor, but she'd managed not to be noticed by those two, or so she thought. Currently, she was on the other side of the door. Her original intention was to finally go over to Raonar and tell him all about who she was in the past and how she'd come to be in the Lothering Chantry. She knew that he likely already had guessed most of the origins of her skills, but she knew it was high time she actually got rid of all the lies, especially now that so many months had passed since her joining this party.

Unfortunately, her plans were derailed when she saw that the dwarf and the elf weren't really carrying out a casual conversation. She couldn't exactly get a full view of what they were doing in that somewhat large warehouse, but she had enough cover to peek.

The prince was sitting in a vaguely meditative pose, with his back turned to her, while Alim was several paces behind him, also not looking in her direction. After a moment, she realized that the mage was probably staring at the same thing she was, and it wasn't that white, misty aura that surrounded the commander.

It was the small-sized crate floating about half a meter in front of him, surrounded in what looked like a field of some sort. The object was about a foot above ground and began to float away from him, until it got about two meters away, at which point the energies around it faded and the container crashed to the floor, loudly.

The dwarf sagged forward and made as if to swipe some sweat off his forehead before Alim spoke. "You're branching out I see."

Raonar actually jumped around, almost stumbling, wide-eyed. He managed to calm himself, but his aura died down instantly, revealing a tired look that Leliana half-registered, being more surprised at how he'd actually been startled. "Alim… when did… how long have you been standing there?"

"I don't remember anyone getting the drop on you before…" the elf said carefully. "Especially us Grey Wardens. You're saying you didn't sense me? I've been here for ten minutes."

The prince sat down on a crate, exhausted. "I hoped I'd be able to get over this without people noticing."

"Noticing what?" Alim sounded more level now, focused. "Are you saying that whole episode did something to handicap your senses?"

"More like push them into overdrive," he answered, letting his arms rest on his thighs. "It's not that I can't sense you, it's that I can sense you too well… and everyone else."

Leliana's heart jumped in her throat. Did he know she was there?

"I'm detecting an ability leap here," Alim joked, but went serious again when he finally saw just how rundown the guy was. "Does everyone else mean us other Wardens or…"

"I can sense everyone in this damn camp." Leliana's mouth dropped open and a distant part of her mind figured Alim's shift in weight probably meant worry or something of the sort. "Only it's all so new and intense that I have no idea where every… life sign… or whatever, is. And it's given me the motherload of all headaches." He clutched at his head, but at least it meant he didn't know she was there. "It's like I have one of those swarms of wasps inside my skull. Stone, it never gets any easier does it? And now I'm whining. Why am I whining? And why are you even listening to me?'

"Well, good to know you're still yourself," the elf deadpanned. The next moment, Leliana thought she noticed his face light up, so she realized he must have activated that true seeing ability of his. "Whoa," he shielded his eyes with one hand but kept at it. "Your magical flow is even more chaotic than usual, colored all kinds, and there's a big bright spot on your forehead."

The dwarf chuckled bitterly. "I'm growing soul pimples now."

"Don't joke about this, this is serious," the mage admonished. "I don't remember seeing anything like this before, and I doubt just this psychic fight you had with the Archdemon could have caused this, or it would have happened that other time, when we fought that band and the Omega." He canceled his true seeing. "And now you can even move things just by looking at them. Why are you able to do that?"

The prince laughed faintly and looked up at him. "I can only do it as long as it's within the reach of this veil tear I have, about two meters from me as it were. And I can barely focus well enough to get a localized effect, so it's useless anyhow. But I'll get better, eventually…" He paused. "…I hope."

"This is from that deal with the Pride Demon isn't it?" There was some measure of suspicion in Alim's voice at those words. "It's some kind of side effect. What did you ask for?"

"Are you asking me so you'll be able to give some preach about how it was a mistake?" He was standing now, looking every bit the Warden Commander he was.

"Then let me put this another way," the mage continued. "You never do anything without reason, so there must have been something you wanted to achieve by that. What will whatever you got help you gain? What are you after?"

"Power."

There was a long and heavy silence.

"That's bullshit," ALim snapped.

"No it isn't," the prince shrugged. "I already talked to you about this Blight and how it's different from the others." _Wait, what?_ Leliana managed not to gasp out loud. "Plus, the civil war topside might end up leaving us with too few troops, if we even succeed in gathering all of the elves and dwarves."

"So what, one deal with a Spirit wasn't enough for you? What was so unique about this one?" Alim sounded even more serious now. "What did Pride mean when he said Honor was a fool for taking you under his wing?"

"I allowed him to see what I wanted and did nothing to prevent him from drawing the wrong conclusion as to why." Leliana was starting to wonder if all their discussions were so cryptic. "Of course, you could always assume I'm playing all of you for my own ends, Fade Spirits included."

"You can be really infuriating sometimes," Alim said somewhat crossly. "Can't you answer a straight question."

"Do you expect me to?"

"Figures. But I'm not letting you go with just that. This is deeper than just needing more power to stop the Archdemon and the Blight."

"Can you please give it a rest?" The prince actually turned around and began to stalk off towards the other end of the room.

"You knew that fight could probably kill you, even with all the traps. Even though you still have to put your kingdom back together and have so many people counting on you, you still took that risk." The mage paced a bit himself. "I'm not going to let this go. Faren might not be the type to question you, and the others may still be trying to figure out what to make of all this upgraded Archdemon business but I'm not letting this slide past."

"Why do you even care so much?" The question came without the exile turning around. "Or is it that this is just some other experiment?"

"Believe what you want!" Alim said harshly, making the other turn around. "But you know damn well how people would normally react to this! Seeing you do something like that, deliberately setting things up so we won't intervene. This is the point where me or some of the others would snap at you and call you out on your apparent disregard for our feelings, but we both know that's not what happened. You're not the type that would forget how everyone's relying on you, or how Faren would probably have a nervous breakdown if something serious happened to you. You didn't do it to show off or to settle a score."

"Well if you're so sure you know what and why I did it, why are you asking about it?" The voice was deathly cold, and silent.

"Because I **don't** know! I know **that** couldn't be the reason, but I don't understand! You were already powerful beyond most people even dream so why? Why did you almost get yourself killed just to gain more power?"

"Because I'm a liability!"

It was like all sound and movement was immediately snuffed out of the whole area, to the point where Leliana could hear her own heartbeat.

Alim said it all. A flat "What."

Raonar had a really sour look on his face but he didn't hold off on the stare match. "Don't tell me none of you thought about it. How this so-called power I have is more annoying than helpful, and how I always end up injured and holding everyone and everything back because Wynne's healing magic doesn't work on me. "

"Oh come on!"

The exile was really glaring now. "Oh please! Maybe we should make a recap of this little group of ours." He began to count things on his fingers. "Alistair and Gwen are great warriors. Faren's the most agile person I've ever seen and he's almost completely immune to magic. Kallian's the most graceful, she can practically read darkspawn attack patterns and her blood is poison to them. Theron's a sure shot and he has something that can only be qualified as superhearing. And you, you're practically a one-man army. But me? Even if you're all too nice or distracted by my scheming to say it, we both know I've caused at least as many problems as I actually solved, if not more. I pissed off the Archdemon and it almost got us all killed. And let's not forget about how I broke your arm and then 'exploded,' hurting the others. I almost died in the Carta, because of yet another rotten side effect of all this magic, again scaring half of you to death. If there's any concept I embody it's got to be collateral damage!"

Alim looked stunned. "Now wait a minute, that's seeing things bleaker than they are…"

There was a bitter chuckle. "Is that your way of trying to not say that I only made things worse? I seem to have a talent for it, don't I? Go on, say it. It is true, after all. Maybe not the deal per se, but the fact that I gave **everything** I had and still **failed **to beat that thing, not to mention caused **this** new clustefuck**.**"

The bard really hadn't expected this, but Alim phrased things better. "I suppose this is the part where I say you're being too hard on yourself, but you're not finished yet are you?"

"No indeed," he said, an edge to his voice as he began to slide his hand over a bronze crate, leaving deep scrapes into the metal as energy became claws over his fingertips, screaking noises filling the area. "No matter what I plan for, some disaster always happens right after the ploy is completed. That bastard became a rock wraith and even after going through everything in my mind, again and again, I still don't see how I could have predicted the possibility." He slammed his fist down on the crate, denting it. "Every time I think I finally gain an edge, every time I feel things are finally in our favor, I just end up making things even more complicated." A kick and a blast of light sent the empty container smashing into the wall, noisily. "I just **had** to exhaust my reserves because of such a stupid reason."

"Look man, I get that the sword was important to you…"

"But that's not it, dammit!" He whirled around. "I didn't lose my temper! That's the point! This power I have, I can't use it properly unless I'm calm. I **didn't** lose it, I just decided on a whim to go all out, even though I knew my chances to win were slim. You'd think it wouldn't be that big a deal, but look what happened! I may as well have signed the doom of the world because I decided to play around!"

Alim tried to open his mouth, but didn't get the chance.

"And even then, while you were all fighting that monster, all I could do was lay there helpless, needing protection like some invalid!" His anger seemed to waver. "Most everyone almost got crushed, you almost got skewered to death and if I hadn't managed to raise that forcefield in time Sten would have ended up like Tri-" He bit his tongue and actually covered his mouth before just sitting on a bench. "Sten almost ended up with his back smashed. Even Wynne can't heal that…"

"…"

The exile released a deep breath and looked down. "But the biggest issue is you guys and your infuriating loyalty."

Leliana just knew Alim raised an eyebrow at that.

The prince shook his head. "Or maybe I should rephrase that as this uncanny ability of mine to instill such terrible loyalty." He looked up. "Do you have any idea how scary it is for me?" Leliana was at a good enough angle now, so she could see him, and he looked just so tired.

"Scary…" The elf was confused, to put it lightly.

But he walked over to sit by him anyway.

"All the shit that I caused should have at least once gotten you guys to consider choosing someone else as the leader. But you never did. Even now, right?" He looked Alim square in the face. "No one suggested that I be replaced, now that I made things so horribly worse, did they?"

Alim sighed. "No."

The prince looked away again. "No one's questioned anything, and some of you guys go way beyond deferring to the leader. Faren used to only care about his sister, but now he's got a serious case of hero worship and he'd probably throw his life away just to save mine. Sten and Shale are practically acting like bodyguards, the former even put his life on the line for me without a second thought. Twice. Even volunteered for mind magic, despite having an abhorrence for all spells." He rested his face in his hands. "Leliana almost killed herself earlier too."

The bard felt something rise in her chest but managed not to make any noise.

The dwarf leaned back against the wall. "I've known for a long while that no matter what I do, people just end up with this sort of devotion, so I resigned myself to just doing all I could to prevent life or death situations like this. But it looks like I can't even succeed at this much. I keep trying to prevent shit like this from happening, but somehow I just end up making it happen anyway."

Alim snorted. "You said it like it should be easy."

"Easier than this…" He looked at a small pebble for a while before it became enveloped in a shifting mass of light and lifted itself off the floor, floating up to his eye level. "One of the things I got from the deal was the understanding of how to suppress this wild magic field, so I can at least get Wynne's healing magic to work, although it requires an active effort. I'd hoped this would make things easier, and then I went ahead and got myself incapacitated again, making this newfound skill totally useless. So much for that." With a tilt of his head, the stone was hurled through the air until it stuck the wall next to the door.

Leliana just barely suppressed an "Eeep!"

"I need more power," the commander sounded really exhausted now. "And then, of course, there's the matter of killing that thing,"

"You know we talked about this months ago," the elf said slowly, making Leliana wonder what on earth they were talking about. She filed that subject for later.

"I still kind of took you for granted though…" He seemed to be staring blankly. "The worst part is that there was never any real **need** to come down here. We don't really need a Paragon to settle the throne dispute, meaning that my decision to even embark on this search for Branka in the first place was a mistake. A big, cataclysmic mistake." He sighed deeply. "Anyway, that's all I've got. Now that I so very cathartically loaded you with all my emotional baggage, I can skip the brooding stage altogether and just focus on what's coming up ahead."

"So you just used me," Alim deadpanned, shaking his head and chuckling. "You're the weirdest politician I've ever met."

A white eyebrow went up. "Like you met many of them, cooped up in that tower of yours."

"Point."

"What are the others doing?"

"Waiting for you I believe. But you'll take a while, right?" He titled his head. "Will you be able to get this mind thing to settle down?"

"It seems to be clearing up on its own well enough…" The discussion was finally winding down, apparently. "Now I just have to make sure I don't start throwing psychic attacks at people."

"Okay then," the elf stood up and made a brief wave of a hand, causing a box to float over and hover in front of them. "Unit it does, I'll help you practice this forcefield projection. That, and maybe figure out how you managed to cast your pain unto all of us while unconscious."

"I did that?" He sounded less surprised that he should have, Leliana reasoned. "See what I mean about collateral damage? Looks like I upgraded and can cause it with just my mind now. So much for your role as buffer." The deadpan was actually quite well placed.

Knowing that his mind would eventually settle and he would likely detect her presence there, the bard decided to not stick around for the training session. She'd just have to tell the others those two would take a while.

All the same, her decision was to not mention anything she'd eavesdropped on, even though it had been all by accident.

It really had been.

Definitely.

"-. .-"

Theron Mahariel was glad to finally be away from that camp. Not that he had any issues with the dwarves or anything of the sort, but the fact was that he found places with so many people to be incredibly **noisy**. Granted, the soldiers had accompanied them, or they had accompanied the soldiers, back to the bridge that led over the chasm, to Bownammar, the Dead Trenches as they were now called, but the sound of the march was better than the constant chatter.

The Dalish hunter knew that the way he customarily did not say anything and vacated the premises quite immediately upon their group's decision to stop somewhere to camp gave him the image of a recluse. Theron was not going to deny he possessed a range of antisocial tendencies, particularly aimed at humans, but the fact was that he had long since passed the point where he found their presence uncomfortable. There was a very simple reason for his habit to always keep a distance, perhaps climb high up a tree even.

Staying any closer was not easy on his ears.

Looking at it, the elf was actually surprised no one besides the Warden Commander, Sten and Alim, and perhaps Kallian, had guessed as much. The others either did not bother wondering about it or were too thick-headed to figure it out themselves. Either way, the hunter at times wondered how it was that they had come so far if some of them could not even deduce the simple fact that his highly sensitive hearing, which allowed him to detect movement about as far as a dog's sense of smell could reach, also meant that his noise tolerance was quite a way beneath that of everyone else.

This was one of the reasons he did not stay in the Legion's camp for the most part, wandering about the many passages of that small Thaig. He'd even (by accident) eavesdropped on the entire conversation that Alim and Raonar had, as well as the training that followed. He'd also heard Leliana (he recognized her from the sound of her footsteps, almost inaudible though it was) but he was in a different corridor at the time and felt no urge to intervene.

He did not waste time pondering on what he heard. He did not feel enough motivation to bother, the same way he'd not bothered all those other times he ended up hearing everything those two discussed in supposed privacy. He hadn't ever really been spying, his hearing just carried out that far, and it was their own blame that they did not go any farther away from camp than he did (and that he somehow never was in view from where he rested on his back, high up in a tree). Perhaps, if he'd learned something that could potentially act against the wellbeing of himself and the others, he would have informed said others of the fact that Alim and Raonar knew more about the Blight, the Archdemon and Grey Wardens in general, than them.

Theron was also not oblivious to the fact that Grey Wardens could sense each other. However, he never did seem to be able to do so for those two in those situations. The commander was likely casting some sort of mental shield, so there was every chance that he knew the hunter was listening. On the other hand, the dwarf never alerted Alim to that fact, which meant that he was pulling one over the mage by having him stay oblivious to how he was being 'spied' on all the time.

So, basically, Theron knew that Raonar and Alim knew some things they didn't, and he also knew that Raonar knew that he knew this, but did not bother pointing it out or taking measures to prevent the tattooed elf, in the future, from coming to know of everything else Alim came to know, as long as said mage did not come to know of the hunter's knowing of what he thought everyone else did not know, meaning that Theron did not have to bother getting into the habit of finding lounging spots any way farther, since Raonar either did not have anything specifically against it or knew he was not going to inform the others of his knowing that Alim, who did not know that he knew of his knowing of things that only Raonar knew more about, knew more than what he thought he knew the others did.

Theron had continued to not-truly-eavesdrop on them occasionally, wondering when the crooked dwarf would come forth and inform Alim that, despite what he thought he knew, what he really knew was less than he believed, considering that he thought he knew for sure that no one besides the commander knew what he knew, and that, by extension, no one else knew he knew of those things, when in fact Theron had always known them without his knowing, Alim having been prevented from coming to know that the Dalish elf had always known of his knowing, as well as of Raonar's knowing that the latter knew whatever Alim knew of what he believed only the two of them knew, plus that Alim did not, in fact, know that Theron knew of his supposed knowing that no one besides the exile knew of his knowing of those things (a conviction which was false).

Theron was normally against keeping secrets that concerned more people. Dalish Elf clans were based on honesty and interdependence above all else. Still, as far as peace offerings went, this was one Theron found acceptable. He was allowed to listen and decide on his own if the others should come to know of what he may or may not have been meant to know. And if he did not say anything, then when the time came for everything to be made known, he would enjoy the look on Alim's face at realizing that he never knew that Theron knew he thought he knew no one else knew that he knew what no one besides himself and the exile supposedly knew of.

Theron hadn't bothered boasting about the intellectual capacity he may or may not possess. Apparently, Raonar could gauge it well enough, or he simply felt he did not have the right to stop him from informing the others if he so chose. Or both. Either way, the hunter could recognize a request for help when he saw one. In this case, the commander was silently asking him to preserve the amusement fuel for when the time came, since it will be needed, as none of the others will react well to being kept in the dark.

Theron had come to the realization months ago and, considering the fact that it could be weeks or months, maybe years, before any of that information was needed, he'd asked himself repeatedly if there was anything the dwarf did not prepare for. Two days ago, he got his answer, and he wished he hadn't. Apparently, there were, and whenever the white-haired dwarf failed to predict an outcome, bad thing happened.

Theron also noticed that the prince had tried his best to at least make sure the consequences affected only him. It was admirable. Unfortunately, the real outcome was, provided the commander's conclusion was an accurate one, much worse. Things had just gotten much more serious than before.

He could understand the leader's stance on all this, and how it was logical that some would question his leadership, but the fact was that the way he always assumed responsibility spoke more of his integrity than anything else he ever did. Coupled with the fact that those psychic episodes would have happened whether he'd been in the lead or not, it was easy to see why no one held anything against him.

The archer spared just a distant part of his mind for these peripheral matters, however. Right now, his focus had to be on the upcoming fight, and on how he had to restrain himself from saying how completely ridiculous Raonar's supposedly heroic pose was, standing with one foot on Shale's shoulder and the other on her back as the construct lurched forward, prepared to launch into a dash across the bridge. The dwarf was surrounded in that white mist of his, thick enough to almost obscure the black Legionnaire armor set he'd somehow gotten the soldiers to give him (Theron didn't bother trying to find out if he'd paid for it or somehow gotten them to want to give it to him somehow. It would have been too troublesome).

Anyway, some forcefield was shaped like boots around his feet to shield them from the flames produced by the golem's crystals. The shield of Aeducan was his defense and the azure runes on Maric's Blade were glowing brighter than ever (because he was pumping magic into them deliberately).

Kardol had said that the wardens had no sense in their heads.

Twice.

Looking at the others, who were lined up behind the Golem, the elf could see some of them shared that view somewhat, but they were prepared for the fight anyway. Maybe crazy maneuvers like this were the prince's way of coping with seeing things go to hell in a handbasket. So the hunter, standing more to the side, took in the view. A myriad of genlocks and hurlocks littered the bridge itself, but there were two rows of archers beyond it, on the large stairs that led to the entrance to Bownammar proper. There were a couple of ogres among them too, although, thankfully, not on the bridge itself.

The prince gave the order, and Shale charged, roaring for things to be squashed, arrows breaking off her stone body and the almost invisible forcefield that had come to exist in front of the dwarf himself. The hunter did not need to look behind him to know that at least some of the Legionnaires had their mouths open in shock. After all, it wasn't every day that you saw a big stone giant smashing into an army and sending everything flying in its path.

Literally.

The fact that the guy was cutting through some of them from a distance (somehow keeping his footing on Shale, maybe one of Alim's spells?), sending things like visible, white slashes at them, probably helped cause the gawking, even though few of those attacks were fatal.

Only Oghren reacted as one was supposed to, namely with cheers and a battlecry as he also threw himself forward, eagerly chopping at those things that had the misfortune of not falling off the ledges. The others followed soon after, although Alim and Morrigan turned into wasp swarms and descended like locusts upon the creatures.

Theron readied his arrow, nudging Leliana to do the same, since she'd stopped to stare. He waited until the golem's charge stopped and the commander leapt, landing square in the middle of the monsters gathered there.

The hunter felt his eyebrows rise at seeing the force that exploded outwards from where the fighter had landed, throwing all enemies away, some high through the air, perfect fodder for the other party members that reached the spot a brief time later. So he began his own slow advance, letting arrows fly one after another. Due to the distance, he had to keep a close eye and actually predict where those beasts would end up flying or falling. Unfortunately, since so many of them were being thrown about, he had to resign himself to shooting them in the torso instead of the skull if he wanted to make sure he never missed.

He could not afford to waste arrows after all.

He did sigh in dejection though. Fortunately, Sten was, at least, fighting properly, so the elf again fell into his habit of covering him. He even got a nod of acknowledgment after a while.

At some point, Kardol decided to usher his own warrior forward, and the whole skirmish ended with zero losses and an entire area filled with dead darkspawn. Gwen managed to get one Ogre, while Kallian handled the other.

Theron didn't pay attention to Kardol again saying that the wardens had no sense in their heads, (although he did admit they had skill). He also didn't really care about his warning that drunks (as in Oghren) made poor allies. He was too busy scouring the area for passages that could lead them forward.

Once he'd spotted one, and searched with his senses to confirm no more darkspawn were going to converge on their position, he turned to where everyone was to report his findings.

After he'd finished recovering his arrows or at least replenishing his quiver of course.

"-. .-"

Gwen thought that going ahead and slaughtering every darkpawn and deep stalker infesting Bownammar had been a difficult endeavor. They'd found some tablets and notes that described how all members of the Legion of the Dead have to purify themselves and face the Gangue Shade. From what they could guess, it was a sort of manifestation of the corruption in the Stone itself, one that all recruits have to face sooner or later.

The place where that ritual was done was in the middle of the mausoleum, a very tall structure, majestic, with perfect architecture and more than a little lyrium woven directly into the walls. Sculptures flanked the hall on both sides of the tall entry way, and the ceiling itself was vaulted, and over eighty meters high up. What caught everyone's eye, however, was that something like a soft, teal shimmer pervaded the air in that place, as though the lyrium itself was breathing down upon them. It was probably the reason no darkspawn had ever gone inside, along with the runes on the outside of the entrance. There were two factors that stood out in that entire place, however.

One was the Legion of the Dead Relic, a sort of statue, dwarf-sized, right in the middle, at the head of a dais.

The other was the fact that four spectral dwarves, like ghosts, were praying to paragon statues, two on each side of the chamber. They looked like they were made of greenish light, transparent, but clearly wearing the same Legion of the Dead armor that Raonar was clad in. They didn't even notice them at fist, even though the Wardens were hardly quiet.

So the prince went by himself and faced the Relic, and a shade manifested, that dark creature, like a fog that formed something akin to an elongated head and two arms, just as disproportionate. The four ghosts got up and turned to the scene, but did nothing, much like the others stood back, although some of them had to restrain themselves from doing anything.

The guy facing the demon just reached out to it and trapped it in a forcefield, before something like white tendrils came out of his hand and pierced it, making it disappear in a flash of light, much like Alim had done to that Pride Demon.

Gwen got her suspicion confirmed later, namely that he'd sent it to the Fade instead of having it disperse and just taint the Stone again until it could reform. Apparently, it was the best idea too, since the spectral dwarves walked over to him and bowed deeply before fading into nothing themselves.

The woman still didn't know what had become of them, or what they even were. Ghosts, obviously, but she had a feeling this wasn't how the whole haunting thing worked.

Either way, it was barely on her mind now. What really preoccupied her at present was the stench. It was horrible. "Guh. This Blight sure smells awful."

No one answered, probably because they too were doing their best not to be overwhelmed by the smell given off by what looked like gory flesh, bulbous and filled with pus, which covered the walls and even the ground in front of them. They were in a sort of corridor now, full with the corruption. It would have been much worse, and dangerous for Zevran, Sten, Leliana, Oghren and Wynne, if that dwarf prince didn't have Maric's Blade. That sword caused the fleshy formation to recede and the stone itself to clear as though it had never been touched, and that was when the guy wasn't pushing his magic into the runes, enhancing the effect until every trace of the taint within a four meter radius drained away like animals would shrink from a flame.

Yes, he cast a visible, blue light as he advanced, followed by the others. They'd run into several darkspawn groups, but they dispatched them more or less easily. It would have been good news, but the Blight kept getting thicker the more they walked, until they were no longer, or at least Gwen wasn't, sure Branka had even come this way, despite Oghren's assurance that he could see her trail.

At least they'd found the last piece of that sword from belonging to the so-called admirable topsider.

The suspicion grew stronger when they found the actual lair of the forge master, a darkspawn that made those filthy, black armors and ugly weapons that the darkspawn used. Apparently, those fiends salvaged whatever equipment they could from their old victims and repurposed the metal into that shoddy patchwork. The fight had been grueling, since there were many and some of them quite strong, but they prevailed and moved on.

And then, they began to hear it, a voice, like that of a woman, chanting something, so they quickened the pace. "It wasn't just me that heard that, right?" She wasn't afraid or anything, but she found she wasn't sure she was going to like what they found at the end of what began to sound like a poem as they kept advancing.

First day, they come and catch everyone.  
Second day, they beat us and eat some for meat.  
Third day, the men are all gnawed on again.  
Fourth day, we wait and fear for our fate.  
Fifth day, they return and it's another girl's turn.  
Sixth day, her screams we hear in our dreams.  
Seventh day, she grew as in her mouth they spew.  
Eighth day, we hate it as she is violated.  
Ninth day, she grins and devours her kin.  
Now she does feast, as she's become the beast.

The fact that no one in that whole group, except maybe Oghren (though it was probably because of the ale) had any intellectual deficiencies meant that it was quite easy for them to start imagining what that chant described. Gwen saw even Raonar stop dead in his tracks at one point and nearly flinch at the eighth line. Still, they pressed on, until they pushed a door open and came upon the source of it.

It was a female dwarf, but her coat of mail was tarnished and her skin, what could be seen of her face, was practically rotting away. Or maybe it would have been better to say it had mutated, looking much like what Ruck had all over him. She was sitting on her haunches and going through a pile of corpses, worrisomely bent forward, like she was going to feed.

She didn't have any hair left on her scalp, part of which had that ghoulish flesh all over it, growing out of her in a perversion of what she used to be. She didn't even notice them at first, still mumbling.

"Now you lay and wait, for their screams will haunt you in your dreams."

"Hold on," Oghren stepped to the side. "I think I recognize her. Hespith?"

Gwen only half-listened to the discussion. She just focused on her, on how hunched she stood and how far gone she already was. This is what a ghoul was. She'd seen it before, with Ruck, but he was a man and his predicament didn't hit as close to home as this. Alistair said that Wardens take the Calling once the taint starts working, but what if it doesn't meant it kills them? Is this what was waiting for her? Thinking of that, the human lady felt even more sick and she did her best not to retch.

"I was her captain, and I did not stop her," that got her out of her revelry. "Her lover, and I could not turn her. Forgive her... but no, she cannot be forgiven. Not for what she did. Not for what she has become."

"Lover?" Oghren gasped. "You're telling me Branka… she's into… other women?" He sounded shocked, and he probably was. It was really sad to learn that your wife was a lesbian, or at least bisexual, especially in such horrendous circumstances. "Bah! If I'd known Branka had such tastes, I would've made some adjustments."

Gwen didn't want to think what he meant. She was more amazed at how well he was keeping it together, if anything Oghren ever did could even qualify as that.

"Where is Branka anyway?" Alistair asked from besides her. "Do you know?"

"Branka, she let this happen… encouraged," the woman started to fidget. "No way to atone for what she did. No. I won't stay here. I won't become like Laryn. And you, dream friends. I am cruel to myself, summoning images that I haven't seen before, but the end is near. I know it."

Before anyone could do anything to stop her, she ran off. Gwen figured Alim thought about using a forcefield to restrain her, but it probably wouldn't have done any good. Still, without any better idea, they followed her. Not spending too much time looking at the pile of dwarven corpses. They knew well enough what they were, and what the number signified. There were many, most of them ripped apart, innards spread across the place, even hanging off the walls. The blight had grown in and out of them, and there was no longer any mystery as to what had happened to the newest of Orzammar's noble houses.

"She became obsessed, that is the word but it is not strong enough. Blessed Stone, there was nothing left in her but the Anvil. We tried to escape, but they found us."

Her words pierced through the air. She'd somehow found some large vents or something that allowed her to find her way to the higher levels. Even after they exited into another huge cavern, where they fought a pair of Ogres and a small band of gunlocks, emissaries and all.

"They took us all, turned us. The men, they kill... they're merciful. But the women, they want."

They'd entered another tunnel now. "I think I'm getting an idea of what she means but I don't like it." Truthfully, the idea she'd gotten much earlier, but she'd hoped to be wrong (which she didn't do often).

"They want to touch, to mold, to change until you are filled with them. They took Laryn. They made her **eat** the others, our friends. She tore off her husband's face and drank his blood. And while she ate, she grew. She swelled and turned gray and she smelled like them. They remade her in their image. Then she made more of them."

Gwen really asked herself where that voice was coming from, but she found herself studying the others' reactions. She wasn't right in front, but she could still see Kallian, who looked even more troubled than she was, while everyone except Alim and the dwarf noble were walking up behind her, frowning and gripping their weapons tight. Even Oghren seemed alert.

Then, the tunnel took a final turn, and they could see the larger cave ahead, the ground covered in soot and flesh, the blight at its thickest, stench almost overpowering their senses as they pushed themselves to walk forward.

"Broodmother..."

It was a giant, hideous thing. A small head and atrophied torso, with arms that hung almost limp and could barely move, having lost all usefulness, stood atop a giant, blotted thing that could only be a womb, twice as tall as Gwen herself. Two rows of breasts, each pair bigger than the one above it, hung loose in front. The skin was vaguely grey in color, with some remnants of pink, but that only made it all the more disgusting, and the worst part was that tentacles sprouted out of its underside.

Its face was contorted into a rictus of hate, and it screamed when they appeared, wriggling those tentacles around and wailing. And when it did, Gwen felt it, the change at the edge of her sense, darkspawn other than this ghoul responding to the call of she who had spawned them. To think a dwarven woman could ever become this.

Raonar fell to his knees and used Maric's blade as support, its tip sinking into the fleshy mess beneath him. The blade sizzled in revulsion, but he made no other movement and no light surrounded him. Looking at the others, they were also quite shocked at the view. "Snap out of it!" She yelled, with some success. "Can't you sense them? Darkspawn are coming from all tunnels!" She looked at where the commander was still not moving. Gwen knew of what happened with his dead lover and realized the guy had just been put in front of what would have happened to her if he **hadn't** killed her himself.

She didn't expect him to shut down though. She hadn't, and this could very well be what she could turn into if those things ever… she struck down that train of thought.

Then, the fleshy ground burst apart some way to the side, a long tentacle, slimy and repulsive, rising from the gore. "Watch out!" she saw Alim from the corner of her eye, trying to weave a spell, but he was too late, as the appendage went straight at the prince, aiming to crush him.

It slammed into a force field that flashed momentarily. Then, the exile began to shine again, and magic fed the sword, pouring through the blade right into the overgrowth, poisoning the Blight itself. The Broodmother screeched and two more tentacles burst, but they all were beyond their reach. And then, the shine got brighter, and even that thick layer of disease began to melt and recede, until the prince of Orzammar was kneeling on clear rock. Then, the circle got wider and wider as the fleshy formation continued to retreat, leaving the tentacles of the monster without a hiding place.

It was then that chaos erupted, that darkspawn finally converged on them, even as the threat of infection and surprise attacks melted away. Gwen sprung into action, killing a gunlock and charging straight for the main beast. She saw Alim and Morrigan casting paralysis everywhere from the corner of her eyes, and Alistair running to flank her as she attacked the Broodmother. A tentacle came down, but she dodged to the side and practically chopped it off in the same move. She heard the other one coming from behind her, but Alistair was already there, blocking it and sinking his own sword into it. "I've got this one!"

The tentacle began to flail as the Broodmother shrieked, somehow growing another pair spontaneously, lunging the forward. Gwen met one with her sword, Yusaris, and the appendage ended up cut in half, while the other one smashed into the ground, missing Kallian, who'd appeared out of nowhere and jumped on it. The elf proceeded to somehow run up it and jumping off, vaulting through the air and landing expertly right in front of the monster, her sword coated in her own blood.

Then, she sunk it deep into the beast's belly.

The scream of both pain and rage was disorienting, but Wynne had her holy aura of healing gushing out of her now, even as darkspawn fell by the dozen. Raonar was still kneeling, the tip of his sword still in the ground, but the power that gushed out of him was almost physically present now, taint nowhere near him any longer, pushing everything away. The spawn were backing against the walls and the holes they'd come out of, and even the Broodmother herself had pulled her tentacles away, although it was still flailing madly about.

Gwen heard Oghren yell as his axe slammed mightily over something. Spinning around, she saw him pulling it out of what looked like an insect or crab, only more bug-like and filled with spume. "Maker, what **is** that?"

Which was when she heard something like cracking eggs all around her and the children burst out of their cocoons.

It was a rain of bloodthirsty monsters one only thought to encounter in nightmares.

One of them fell right behind Kallian, so she violently twisted her special weapon in the mother's wound before wrenching it out and, side-stepping a childer, brought it down upon it, right through the head. "Andraste's ass, these things are worse than the monsters my parents read about in those fairy tales." They swarmed from all sides, even as the Broodmother lurched, and another of those things made to jump the city lf from behind. Gwen would have helped her, but she had her own to deal with.

Fortunately, Faren's dagger came flying, chain and all, and wrapped around the thing, heaving it back. That gave Kallian another shot at the Broodmother, so she took it, stabbing it with her weapon again, injecting her poisonous blood into its insides before taking it out and dancing away from a tentacle that aimed to crush her.

"Get closer to me!" the warden commander ordered, so they did, all of them forming a circle around him. Although Sten had to pull on Oghren's collar to drag him away from his latest kill. And when they'd all come in a tight enough circle, they noticed that none of those things dared come closer, so intensely they hated the power from Maric's Blade, the enchantment that was now being multiplied a hundredfold.

So they finally got a good look at those things, and they were really horrid, like larvae, only as large as a dog. Fortunately, the hounds and the Wolf had gotten the picture and also came within the circle of safety, though they snarled at the wriggling things. "I don't think we'll be running out of food any time soon because I doubt I'll have an appetite after this," Gwen noted in a completely casual tone that one usually employed when plotting the demise of one's enemies. She was grateful they left the Bronto with the Legion and only took what they could carry in their respective packs.

"So this is the Blight," Sten assessed, beheading a beast thanks to Asala's longer reach.

"I'm afraid I'm running out of poison," Zervan said mildly, twirling his two daggers. "And these seem to be quite resistant to my weaker recipes. Charming fellows." One of those insectoids lashed out at him, making crickety noises, but drew away again. "Hm. I see even darkspawn young have temper tantrums."

"How long can you keep this up?" Alim, as he seemed to be gathering golden power in two orbs, one in each hand, asked the head warden. His staff was on the ground, as was Morrigan's.

"Until I drop dead from hunger or thirst," was the totally flat answer. "This magic isn't dependent on my stamina, so I can keep it up forever. Unfortunately, it takes a bit of concentration to maintain such a strong charge constant-"

"No academics please," Faren requested. "Maybe we should just charge and kill them and that big blotted monster? Like, now?"

Kallian sniffed. "The Broodmother has been dead for the past three minutes."

Several heads turned towards it, but saw that it was still writhing as if in pain. "Seems still alive to me," Leliana noted, releasing another arrow that, alas, failed to kill that small, larva thing. Meanwhile, Theron released one of his own, only into the last of the hurlocks in the area.

The city elf readied her stance. "No, it's dead, It just doesn't know it yet."

"Must you wardens **always** start rambling during life or death battles?" Morrigan inquired, quite annoyed, her own hands brought together in a display of magic. "It does my concentration no good."

"Speaking of which, this would be a good time for a forcefield," Alim said seriously. "Wynne, can you put one around all of us?"

"I could try but I'm not sure I can fuel its stability well enough-" Raonar's hand was then on her shoulder and she was suddenly glowing with energy as if she'd called upon the spirit.

"I'll give you whatever power you need, and you don't have to worry about me making your spells blow up in your face anymore. Now do it."

Wynne gathered herself, nodded and brought her staff up, causing a dome of force to shimmer into view around them. It was the same moment that Alim and Morrigan both became enveloped in flames, drawing startled gasps from those closest to them, before they threw their arms in the air and released the inferno, creating what could only be described as a rain of fire that completely and utterly filled the area and obliterated everything in sight. It didn't quite reach the Broodmother, but it scorched everything else, even the now bare ground itself.

Gwen watched and listened in a sinister fascination as balls of fire fell and exploded against the ground and cave walls, heat eating through even the thick, bony carapaces that those creatures had. She had to shield her vision with her free hand, and even through the field she felt the heat in her eyes. And at the end of it, there was nothing but husk remains, smoking and stinking, but the smell was much more bearable that that of just Blighted earth. Some still twitched, a pair were trying to crawl away but only had a couple of legs or feelers left, something Oghren didn't miss as he immediately jumped upon them and smashed them to bits.

As for the Broodmother, it had gone still as well, even though the fire had barely reached it. The tentacles lay slumped around it and there was just a small trickle of green and black ichor strewing from those two stab wounds that Kallian had inflicted. "See, I told you," the elven lass said cheerfully. "It just didn't know it was dead yet. My blood can have that effect on these things." Her voice faltered by the end and Faren had to steady her.

"Yeah, just how much of your blood did you use?" He helped her walk over to rest against a wall, mumbling something along the lines of "I hate it when you do that."

"So this is what gives birth to the darkspawn," the Warden Commander assessed gravely, walking towards the wretched thing that was once a dwarf. "A female ghoul, turned into a breeding vessel." Even Gwen could feel the anger radiating off him.

As it happened, the confirmation was given by Hespith herself, who appeared up on a ledge, high above where the Broodmother was. "That's where they come from. That's why they hate us... That's why they need us. That's why they take us... That's why they feed us. But the true abomination... is not that it occurred, but that it was allowed. Branka... my love... "

"To think someone would do this to their own people, their own family," Faren seethed.

"The Stone has punished me, dream friend," the turned woman drawled again. "I am dying of something worse than death. Betrayal." She said no more. She just turned around and jumped off the ledge to her death.

Lady Cousland wasn't surprised at the choice.

She was even less surprised when Raonar slowly walked up to the monster, looked at it for a time, after which, in one single motion, brought the sword in an arc and, with a perfectly clean cut, beheaded it.

It would never again give birth to any of those abominations.

_The review space is, as always, waiting._

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For those interested, the dialog between Oghren and Shale isn't mine. it's actually a restored banter part of a mod. You can find it on youtube. Just search first/second/third/fourth oghren shale banter.


	55. Deep Roads Arc 6: Null

Author's Note: Hmm, this ended up taking much too long. Turns out I had to work on a project so this story took second place in my priorities. Sorry about that, especially with the point in the tale I left things at.

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**Chapter 52: Null**

"-. .-"

Gwen figured that she should be doubling over right now, spilling the contents of her bowels all over the cavern ground. That, or at least she should have done it at some point. Oddly enough, however, she wasn't feeling in any way close to retching at the moment, despite the fact that she'd been treated to the sight of what, in her mind (and the minds of every one of the others, she was sure), amounted to the sort of fate that was the absolute worst even compared to death. Perhaps it was her lingering pride that prevented her body from such an unseemly reaction. After all, if Kallian had gotten the closest and most personal, so to speak, with that big, blotted, now headless thing, and she hadn't even cringed once, how could she?

Granted, that could just be her hiding her disgust and contrition behind her aura of candid irony, but even after the adrenaline rush had left her, the elf still showed no sort of intense emotion and little physical unease, even though she'd lost quite a bit of blood when she used it to poison the broodmother. She was now sitting, resting her back against the wall of the adjoining tunnel they had advanced in. The human lady really wondered if she had bowels of steel. Blood loss, if anything, should have made it even more likely for Kallian to get sick, especially with the incredibly thick stench, rotten yet unique, that the blight gave. At least that fleshy growth was no longer littering the walls.

In fact, there was hardly any Blight in sight after that commander of theirs meticulously went about flaring the enchantment in Maric's Blade all over the place. That was good, and probably contributed to her not feeling ill, though it still surprised her somewhat. She knew her adrenaline rush lasted quite a bit longer. Immediately after the Broodmother's defeat, Raonar, still sensing a threat beyond the range of the others' Warden Sense, had ordered Faren and Morrigan to stay behind while Kallian recovered from her blood loss-induced daze. Then, he led the rest a fairly short distance through a tunnel that opened in a more spacious subterrane where they actually battled the darkspawn forgemaster, an ancient spawn that, apparently, was the one responsible with 'smelting' the metal of all the salvaged armor the beasts found into that shabby equipment the things wore. And it had friends too.

Somehow, since the things had sensed them in turn, the wardens couldn't go through with their initial plan of drawing them out one by one. Fortunately, even though the couple dozen or so things swarmed them, Shale rammed through their charge quite readily (even shooting sprays of fire out of her palms somehow, once she came to a sort of stop). That made the fight manageable, but a couple of unpleasant surprises happened anyway.

One was the Hurlock Alpha that Gwen herself somehow ended up fighting. That thing was relentless and matched her blow for blow for a while with its own big, single-edged oversized, two-handed scimitar. Gwen would never say it out loud, but it was a blow to her ego to see someone, or something in this case, fight her to a standstill with a weapon concept that should never have even **worked**.

She remembered feeling flabbergasted and disbelievingly clash blades with the monster while the analytical part of her brain screamed in outrage at how the hilt was too long, the guard all twisted and the balance of the whole thing being just so incredibly **wrong** that it should have been **impossible** for **anyone** to actually see any measure of success with it, nevermind stand up to her, someone who considered her level of skill to be among the top 10% of all warriors alive. In the end (though Gwen was sure she would have eventually bested it anyway) the beast lost simply because Yusaris, her mighty, trusty greatsword, just cleanly sliced through its own blade near the hilt, splitting its skull in half in the process.

And the legendary weapon never took a dent either. Gwen didn't know if it was an enchantment, the silverite or the way the metal was crafted (or any combination of the three) that made it unnecessary for her to put a sharpening stone to the edge since she got it at Kinloch Hold, but she didn't complain. She knew Maric's Blade was similar in that respect, as was Alistair's (Duncan's Sword) and the weapons of some of the others. Nonetheless, she had been surprised at the Hurlock's resilience.

The other surprising thing was the forge master himself (itself?). Having hanged farther back, it had taken effort to reach it through all the others. Alistair got to it first. Gwen had never thought any genlock could be so tough. It was broader in the shoulders than all others she'd ever seen, and had a big maul in one hand, the same one it used to smelt the ore, that it used as a weapon. Alistair's shield (also Duncan's) would have probably shattered three times over if it wasn't so well crafted. The man himself grunted several times, though he was more frustrated at how he had to work extra hard to injure the thing. After who knows how many decades, if not centuries, of working on that forge, the disturbing imitation of a creature had come to have such thick, strong muscles that it came easier to cleave apart the armor than the flesh.

The fact that a bunch of archers were constantly trying to throw volleys of arrows in their direction didn't make things any simpler. Raonar was able to have a few shots bounce off of some forcefield he'd apparently been able to put around his body at the last minute, while Gwen's own armor bounced off a few as well (only because the tips weren't crafted that well and were made of iron, while her plate was dragonbone). Theron managed to fell them with some assistance from Alim and, eventually, everything had been over and done with.

After their return, Gwen had slid down a wall to catch her breath, waiting for Wynne to finish inspecting Alistair's apparently dislocated shoulder (he'd managed to beat the thing at least). She'd also expected her shock at seeing the Broodmother to finally catch up with her (though she was never going to let that concern show). She didn't think too highly of her ability to visualize things, but even her thoughts were able to conjure up the images of that dwarven woman… going through all that and… changing…

And her mind did it all against her wishes too.

But no sickness came, and she assumed it was because it wasn't so much **what** had happened to the poor woman but **why**. If they were to follow what Hespith said, Branka had **deliberately** let that happen to her people for some reason. Deciding to no longer ask herself why she was dealing with this so well (even though she knew that was a fate she could suffer under certain circumstances) she briefly wondered **why** the woman, who was supposed to be the Paragon, foremost among her people, would take such an action. Only briefly, however, because the fact was that she didn't really care for her excuse. **Nothing** could justify that.

Gwen wondered if that's what that commander of theirs was so angry about. He did not outwardly show anything, just an overly blank expression on his face, but he'd put quite a bit of attention and focus into finding even the tiniest speck of corruption in that area and expose it to such concentrated anti-Blight enchantment (sometimes causing the sword to flash quite bright) that it was almost as though he was trying to occupy himself at all costs. The others had spotted this as well, she noticed, as they refrained from asking him anything. Even Oghren had resolved to just sit aside and drain the last of his ale in silence.

Presently, the young Cousland was cleaning her weapon with a rag, her sight not precisely on the blade itself, but on a specific point somewhere between her eyes and the metal. While they'd camped here, it was only for a short breather and healing, plus as long as it took for Wynne to recover at least part of her energy. The head warden had also instructed Kallian to eat something, even if she felt queasy, since blood loss demanded no less. The healer could charge her up for a while, but it was ideal if her food had enough time to digest and turn into fuel before it wore off. Either way, Gwen wasn't paying things much mind, though she did notice Alistair walk towards her.

Not looking up, she passed the piece of torn cloth across the blade of her weapon one more time as he practically let himself flop to sit beside her, sighing in relief when his back and head leaned on the rock.

"How's the arm?" She asked him.

The not-really-templar moved it from the shoulder around a few times. "The soreness should be gone in a couple of hours. Wynne really knows her stuff."

She didn't look at him but she knew he was looking at her. "Good to hear." The woman hoped it sounded as relieved as she felt. She was already frustrated enough without having to resolve conversational hazards. The reason was because she'd come to the nasty realization, when she heard him groan in pain when the hit nailed his shoulder, that she'd never be able to actually defend him from such hits or give him any sort of fighting assistance. Early on, when she'd started her training, she (naturally, she considered back then) wanted to make sure there was no way for any boy to try and kiss up to her by 'valiantly coming to her rescue' during fights or other instances. As such, she'd chosen long, two handed swords and a deliberately aggressive style because it meant neither foe nor 'friend' could close in and 'save' her, since they had to keep a distance.

Damon, her mabari, who was small enough (she'd never hurt her hound by telling that to his face of course) that she had been able to adapt her style to take his help into account. When it came to others, nothing of the sort worked, of course, and she now realized the double-edged nature of her early decision. While her dignity and pride had benefited, using her flamboyant fighting form also meant she could never really fight well alongside others either. Alistair probably would have liked back-to-back episodes with her too, and had even off-handedly alluded to it a few times, but could not bring himself to risk it.

Gwen made a decision to start focusing on that style she knew of that allowed for allies to come in close. She'd long ago seen the value and need for teamwork after all the fights they'd had to face up to now, and the fact that it would let her and Alistair pull off dynamic duo stunts added to the appeal, though she was never going to say that out loud.

"Are you feeling alright?" His question made her blink, breaking her out of those thoughts. "You looked really distracted for a moment there."

"Well," she drawled, purposely casting her eyes around in order to buy time for a viable answer. She noticed Raonar reading from that huge Caridin's journal again and Alim and Morrigan doing something with their blood magic to the right. Theron had disappeared someplace, though that didn't surprise her anymore and she wouldn't be shocked if he was actually right there somewhere, in a shadows, hidden. Faren was coaxing Kallian to eat a few mushrooms while shooting Zevran searing glares. For his part, the assassin was right next to the young woman, on the other side, urging her to partake of that 'fine potion he had prepared just for her.' The scene was actually cute enough that Gwen almost lost herself in it, but she eventually prevented herself from gushing (it would have been unseemly for her, truly) and returned her attention to closer quarters. "Just thinking about the Broodmother."

His shift in weight notified her that it was probably an answer he was expecting, though she didn't look at his face to be sure. "Maker," he mock-groaned as he slowly stretched his arms up and out. "This joint of mine really could use a stretch before it gets stiff," he stopped and drew air suddenly. "The shoulder! I meant the shoulder, not… anything else…" He was able to push away the light embarrassment of that unwanted (or was it?) double entendre and not so slowly took advantage of her position, slightly hunched forward, to let his arm rest over and around her shoulders. "Ah, that's better."

Mentally thanking providence for Zevran being occupied elsewhere and brushing aside the pang of guilt at the fact she wasn't feeling as sorry for the other couple as she probably should be (especially since Zevran had already suggested a threesome. Twice.), she put the weapon back in its scabbard. "Not so much at the fact that that's what I might turn into eventually," she saw Alistair wince from the corner of her eye, "but because Branka let it happen. On purpose." She knew the last words were clipped but she didn't really bother trying to mask her disgust that much.

"No…" He had a distant gaze, aimed at the direction that led to the nest. "That's never going to happen to you," he said resolutely.

She shrugged. "As I said, I'm not really worried about that much…"

"Awww…." Alistair's head and shoulders slumped theatrically. "And here I thought I'd finally have the chance to comfort you with a few well placed words and a nice hug full of candor, banishing your fears and ever so romantically seeing you through this traumatizing experience." He sighed tragically. "Tough, admittedly, this does spare me Zervan's gripes."

"Sorry to burst your bubble then," the woman said with something that was not quite a smile. She turned serious, however, because there actually was something on her mind. "What I **am** worried about right now is how our fearless leader is dealing with this."

The man glanced in his direction. "I don't see anything outwardly," he assessed carefully. "But I admit I'm not the best judge of these things."

Gwen leaned against him slightly, though if she were asked she would say it was so that she could more properly look in the dwarf's direction, not because she wanted to cuddle next to the one beside her. "That's the problem." She reached up to trace her fingers over the back of the hand that had encircled her. "We've seen him get annoyed a few times and outright angry just a couple of instances. He doesn't get upset easily, but he usually expresses it somehow. Except for once. Remember back in Orzammar?"

"…"

"When we found out about that Leske guy turning on Faren," she supplied helpfully.

"Ah." She felt him nod and sink hid face in her hair.

"The only reason we even realized it was bothering him was the glass breaking in his hand. Otherwise, he seemed calm, serene even. Like right now…"

"Oh hell…" Alistair caught her meaning.

"He basically found out the worst possible fate one can imagine, realized it's what would have happened to… a certain someone… and then learned that the one who is revered as a living God and everything dwarves should aspire to become… had it happen to not just one, but **all** of those who were not just her own people, but her own family. On purpose…"

Alistair gave a deep, tired breath. "Maker's breath…"

"I'm really worried about what will happen if we **do** find Branka alive."

"Wait," the concern in his voice prompted her to turn her head to look at him. "You think he'll try to kill her? He's not the type… Is he?"

"I honestly don't know for sure," she leaned back some more, touched by the fact Alistair didn't wince from the pressure on his hurt shoulder. "Keep in mind that we don't really **need** Branka to solve the succession mess, regardless of what complications Raonar thinks might arise. So, with that in mind, I really think we should… be ready for anything… Honestly, if Branka was a human and, thus, my responsibility, I know my reaction to meeting her would be less than friendly, Oghren wanting his wife back or no."

"Eh," Alistair sounded a bit too laidback for some reason. "Knowing him, I'm pretty sure he'd go for something much more… sophisticated than an avenger's execution. Still, if worst comes to worst, I'll be ready to… intervene. I **think** my templar abilities can nullify his… unique talents... or at least some of them."

"Talk of mutiny, is it? I am shocked, lethallin."

"Gyah!" Synchronized to the moment, Gwen and Alistair almost jumped to their feet with a womanly scream and what the latter will never admit to being anything BUT a manly shriek, respectively. Alistair winced from the pressure on his shoulder but glared at the one that had seemingly materialized out of nowhere. "Theron! How the… Where in the Maker's flaming knuckles did you come from!"

"Ten inches in that direction," the hunter said, pointing back with his thumb over his shoulder. "I've been there for quite some time. A very enlightening conversation you two had."

"Hasn't anyone told you not to eavesdrop on people?" Gwen asked, rising to her feet and putting her arms akimbo.

"No," was the flat answer.

"Besides…"

"GYAH!" Mirroring the earlier motion, though standing, Gwen and Alistair whirled around again, though at least the man succeeded in restraining himself to a startled choke. "Leliana," Gwen breathed out in shock. "Where in the…?"

For all the life of her, the chantry sister completely failed to acknowledge their reaction. "What fun would propriety be?"

Gwen palmed her face. "I hate you all."

"Lies do not become you, lethallin," Theron said with absolutely no detectable emotion in his voice. "Regardless, you worry needlessly and we should, I believe, prepare to set off again."

Gwen groaned but, being the saner one, Alistair just grinned and put his arm around her again. "Bear with it. They mean just as well as we do… I think…"

"I'll go speak to him," Leliana declared in a low voice, looking in a certain person's direction. "But I wanted to ask about that certain someone you mentioned first. I'm not clear on the details and I really think it will help if I knew..." She'd even clasped her hands together as if praying by the time she was finished, longing gaze fully in place.

Alistair sighed, realizing he never stood a chance. "Well …"

"-. .-"

Kallian Tabris didn't like headaches, and it wasn't just because of the simple fact that headaches… well, felt awful. The fact of the matter was that she did not enjoy anything that impaired her senses, and she also didn't get any aches very often. The fact that she hadn't stopped feeling queasy ever since that skirmish (though she thought she did a good job of hiding it) didn't help matters either, especially with how she'd practically been force-fed. She only agreed to eventually eat because she didn't like to see Faren so worried about her.

Honestly, the guy was astounding in the contradiction he represented. He was supposed to have been tough, gruff and good at acting (since it was the only thing that let him get away with letting Beraht's marks, in turn, get away) but in all her time since Ostagar, especially after the circle tower mess, he'd been anything **but** that (well, except for the acting part, that one still got him the Dark Wolf title). If anything, it only meant that his true persona had somehow managed to survive intact and emerge in its entirety once the conditions he lived in were changed. Either way, it was astounding how he hadn't really kept many habits from his time as a carta enforcer.

Of course, Kallian Tabris also knew well enough that, for someone who, as he admitted, never had been in a relationship before (she wasn't clear on whether or not this meant he'd never done **it** yet), he'd nailed the boyfriend act on the head rather splendidly. Too splendidly in fact. This, likely, meant he was getting tips from 'somewhere.'

Which made it even more surprising to see him start up the broodmother conversation of his own initiative (after Zevran had walked off of course). Say anything about him, but he definitely wasn't dense. Then again, that talk was more or less a bust because she hadn't actually gotten to the part where she spent too much time thinking that's something she, herself, could turn into, or that many of the women dragged off in Ostagar were probably turning into something similar as they spoke. That had left a whole new bad taste in her mouth and made it even harder not to retch her newly devoured mushrooms. She got over it though, glad that she'd managed not to alert the poor, well-meaning soul to how he'd brought up a subject she hadn't started to worry about yet.

It might, actually, have been better that he spoke of things first. It meant she didn't get to have the realization drop on her head once all the post-battle convalescence had come and gone. She had to admit to herself that it was more than startling to see what the darkspawn did to women. It also became much easier to understand why there were, apparently, much fewer women than men in the Order.

Nevertheless, all in all, she wasn't too troubled about it. Like she figured Gwen was (and they'd even talked a bit about it before breaking camp), she was more disgusted by the fact that Branka had deliberately had that happen to her whole house. Looking at it, the city elf was actually hoping the dwarven woman would be insane when they found her, since she really wouldn't have any other excuse for all of this.

She produced a scoff at these thoughts, not lagging behind as she kept in line, walking along with the others. To actually wish someone was insane and seeing it as a good thing. What was her life and what kind of person was she turning into?

"-. .-"

After they broke camp, Leliana had managed to fall into step with Raonar at the front, with only his black, huge dog walking alongside him, on the other side. She'd been meaning to finally come clean with him about exactly who she was and what her occupation had been before she ended up at the Chantry. Naturally, she was well aware that much, if not everything, of importance had already been guessed at by him and everyone else, especially Kallian with whom she'd grown closest over the past half a year.

Only her bardic skill at feigning emotion kept Leliana from cringing at the realization of just how much time had gone by without her coming forward to remove this veil of lies that she'd put up. She supposed she should have felt touched at the trust she'd been showed, or maybe the others had just never felt her to be too much of a threat? The woman decided to squash the emerging sensation of having possibly been insulted before it could wrap around her head and prevent her from doing what she'd intended to do.

Objectively speaking, Leliana wasn't certain this really was the best time for what she had in mind to speak about. Studying him from the corner of her eye like only a bard could, she realized she could read absolutely nothing from him. He just… walked along, almost casually, his right hand absently stroking the back of Rinne's neck, much to the dog's obvious delight. His eyes only sometimes narrowed briefly, no doubt because he could sense darkspawn or other things far off.

Leliana passed her fingers through her hair while her other hand threw part of her cloak back over her shoulder. She had a tight leather tunic on which, though not revealing, did not seem to make her front assets in any way uncomfortable. She also wore equally form-fitting suede pants, padded with leather on the front. As always, he ether did not seem to -notice- her or deliberately acted that way. Leliana wasn't sure if she should be flattered by his apparent gallantry or disappointed at how she'd never caught him studying her, except a few times when they happened to stand watch together, but he usually focused on her eyes when he spoke to her.

Needless to say, the woman had considered the possibility that he just was not interested in her in _that _way, but she eventually reached the conclusion that, being the upfront person he was, he would have probably straight-out told her so if he found her subtle, and sometimes not so much, signals unwanted. He'd done neither, so Leliana, naturally, assumed she either wasn't doing things properly, maybe because of some cultural differences (she resolved to read up on dwarven romance literature, if there was any, when she stopped by the Shaperate again) or he was just expecting her to be honest and upright for a change.

Of course, frustration at her wiles being so callously bypassed by him without any visible effort had welled up inside her now and then, but she was nothing if not determined.

That being said, she glanced back to make sure the others were at a reasonably safe distance from them. It would not do to have people listening in after all, though Theron was likely going to hear everything even from far at the back. His hearing was just that sharp.

Seeing that everyone was minding their own business, the red-haired woman decided to break the ice. "So, what are you planning on doing if and when we find this Branka?" She'd adopted a casual tone and now hoped Oghren wouldn't butt into the conversation about his wife.

"Honestly?" He seemed to let his eyes wander about the top of the cave, which had some patches of phosphorescent liken here and there. It was impressive that it had somehow escaped the corruption. "I haven't yet decided." He caught her eye, to which she averted her eyes before she could stop herself. "But that question was such an obvious ice breaker attempt. Honestly, Leliana. You'd think that, by now, you'd learned that I can tell when someone's beating around the rubble."

Figuring that metaphor was probably the equivalent of beating around the bush, Leliana sighed. "True enough. Well then…" She took a deep breath. "It is about…. Before… when you asked me why I had left Orlais and ended up in the chantry…"

"Ah," he gave a shot, almost indistinct nod but kept his pace. "So, after months of deliberation, you've realized that we aren't going to chop your head off if we learn you were some sort of spy at some point in the past." She could tell he was amused at her not-quite-pout. "You do realize that you more or less blew your so-called cover months ago, that night when you told me I would be a master of the Game in Orlais."

"I suppose I did," she could not perfectly eliminate the annoyance in her voice. "Well, I still want to enact the reveal, my proverbial sob story as it were." She realized she was not really in the mood for dramatic pauses though. "Listen… What happened to me, maybe it will affect us, maybe not but… you should know," she coughed in her hand awkwardly. "Well, you all should know. I did not feel like talking about it before but…"

"Do I **really** give the impression that I'll bite people's heads off if they try to talk to me?"

Hearing the completely straightforward tone of that question, Leliana almost stumbled over her own feet. "N-No! Why… Whatever gave you that idea?"

He shrugged. "Well there must be some reason you had to spend months working up the courage to speak about this," he said levelly, before speaking, more to himself. "Maybe I should have restrained my outburst at Isolde. That's got to be the reason for this."

Being honest with herself, Leliana came to the conclusion that she had no overly sophisticated excuse. "I suppose I kept telling myself it did not matter-"

"It doesn't." That got her mouth to clamp shut. "But that doesn't mean it won't help if you talk about it." He eye smiled at her. "I'm surprised you didn't talk to Kalian about it though. I thought you two got along?" Seeing her lack of reply, he shook his head slightly. "Anyway, I'm all ears. Get whatever it is off your chest."

Taking a moment to convince herself not to call him out on that byplay (though part of her mind did taunt her about how she would not have had much against enacting the literal meaning of that phrase), she took a deep breath and began her story.

Surprisingly, it came remarkably easy once she got started. He listened as she recounted her life as a bard, Marjolaine's mentoring and their ultimate falling out once Leliana discovered her treasonous activities. She told him of how, after Marjolaine claimed to have retired, she still sent her to kill a man and bring her what he carried. Instead, she checked the papers and found them to be information on Orlais, information that Marjolaine was selling to other countries, like Nevarra and Antiva, among others. It was treason.

Leliana's life as a bard had taught her that her loyalties should be kept fluid, so her concern was not that Marjolaine was a traitor, but that her life would be in danger if she was caught, so she told Marjolaine she feared for her life, to which the latter lied by saying she'd sent her to retrieve those things so she could prevent what she claimed were past dealings from coming to fruition. Leliana believed her, only to find herself arrested and shown those same documents, altered by Marjolain's hand to paint her the traitor.

She did not go into details of what had been done to her after she was captured by the Orlesian guards. She could tell well enough, by the somber look on his face, even without looking at her, that he could guess well enough on his own what those "terrible things" were. Then again, Leliana now realized that those events hadn't been nearly as horrible as what had happened to Laryn that made her a broodmother. Perhaps seeing a fate that was so much worse than hers had become was at last helping her move past that part of her life.

She continued with her tale of escape, and how she decided against confronting Marjolaine and just fleeing the country, until she reached Ferelden, where the Chantry protected her person and the Maker saved her soul, or so was her choice of words.

She felt warm at how he hadn't said anything about her speaking of her belief in the Maker. She knew he did not partake of the Chantry's teachings (especially after he go Brother Burkel to give up preaching the Chant until he figured if it really made sense) but felt at ease knowing he was not going to think less of her because of their difference in faith.

"And that is the reason I am here. The real reason. No more lies between us, at least in this." She finished, to which he nodded but continued to keep his silence, so she went on." It feels good to have this off my chest. Thank you for listening, and understanding."

It was one of the few smiles, not grins or smirks, she'd had the luck of seeing him display since he turned up in Redcliffe. Too bad he hadn't been looking at her for the short time it was on his face. "I'm honored you felt you could trust me with this," ah, and there was the grin, "although you do realize this story, at least the part of you being a bard, is so **not** going to stay a secret, yes?"

Producing a very suave sniff of her own, she nodded. "As you said before, everyone has more or less already figured out for themselves that I was something along those lines before my arrival in Ferelden. I can, at least, assure you that I have not seen a shadow of an Orlesian since I came to this country, so I am reasonably certain my presence here is not a threat to you."

"That wouldn't be a problem," he answered immediately, reaching into the pouch on his belt. "You're part of this family now, cheesy and clichéd though it may sound." He pulled something out of the carry on and handed it to her. "Here."

Allowing herself a moment to get over her surprise, she accepted the small object. "What is this?"

"Positive reinforcement," he said smugly.

Raising just one eyebrow, she inspected the trinket more closely. It looked like a small, silver amulet in the shape of a sword. "Oh, it's wonderful." Belatedly, she caught up to the fact that he just 'happened' to have it on him. "Wait… How come you even carried this now of all times?" _And if you say you'd predicted I'd start this discussion, I'm going to take a nap of agony in that cart._

"Oh, I've had this thing in my kit for months," he answered without skipping a beat. "Since before we reached Denerim in fact. From that traveling merchant, Old Tegrin."

That gave her pause, though her feet continued stepping forward so she did not make a fool of herself by stopping and gaping. What did that even mean? Why had he bought this in the first place? If it wasn't for himself, that it was either 'just in case' or because… "This trinket reminds you of her, doesn't it?" she almost whispered.

She definitely saw the corners of his eyes twitch but he only looked up at her curiously, white brow furrowed slightly, saying nothing as he tilted his head.

"I'm not the only one whose secrets are being found out, you know," she added, further inspecting the medallion in her palm. "I learned from the others. That… girl that… died in the deep roads several years ago, this has something to do with that, doesn't it?"

"Nah."

Leliana almost fell on her face for real. She'd have expected some tension or any other reaction, not such a casual dismissal and with a tone that one would use when discussing the weather.

Obviously he'd noticed her shock. "What? It's just a reward saying 'thanks for finally coming clean with us,' not some memento of my previous yet long-dead love interest that I am passing on." He rubbed his fingernails against his chestplate. "Though I guess I do understand why you'd expect something like that. All the tales your bardic career introduced you to probably left you with an impaired ability to consider that the event of a man giving a woman a gift doesn't necessarily have a romantic subtext." He turned his attention back to the path ahead. "Though I admit, my legendary charm is probably to blame in this case."

Despite herself, Leliana palmed her face and groaned. "Do you honestly have no shred of romance in you?"

"I thought we'd established the answer to that, vague though it was, back when you told me the tale of Alindra, her soldier and the bratty gods whose way of solving the matter made absolutely no sense whatsoever, looking at it through the lens of common sense at least." And he'd said it all with a straight face too.

It would be a while before Leliana realized she hadn't managed to score any sort of success whatsoever in her efforts to seduce him. He couldn't **really** be that **dense**, could he? Either that, or he was playing with her, but she couldn't believe he'd be that cruel to someone.

Unfortunately, their discussion went no further than that because the metal clatter of armored feet notified them that someone in the back had picked up the pace. So they both turned, only to see Oghren advancing towards the front, though his gaze was focused, a rare sight for him, and aimed at the cavern walls ahead.

"-. .-"

Despite all the things that had happened over the course of the journey, Ogrhen Kondrat was actually feeling good for a change. The trip had been long and grueling, but he'd had the chance to fight and really let loose, something he'd been forbidden to even speak about out loud for years. The fact that he'd had weeks to unwind and get back into form was a bonus too.

But the real high point was that not only were the signs of Branka's trail getting more frequent and easy to spot, but he still had some ale left to chuck down, meaning that he had all he needed to enjoy the coming achievement of their goal. Now, he was bubbling with anticipation, because he knew, somehow, that it wasn't going to take long to finally find his wife. Sure, some of the guys in the group annoyed him, like that assassin and even the guy that turned out to be in charge, but they didn't look like jerkasses overall, definitely not even close to the stuck up nug humpers in Orzammar. Besides, he'd have put up with even those types of spoiled scoundrels if it meant tracking down his family.

This wasn't to say that finding most of House Branka's members turned into an unholy pile of half-rotten corpses was a pleasant sight. While he had a strong stomach and didn't get sick from the sight and the stench, it wasn't good to see all that, especially the broodmother. Fortunately, he'd helped himself to a few ale sips prior to stumbling upon that area, so he'd been somewhat numb to the whole thing.

He'd be lying if he said nothing bothered him though. Learning that his wife fancied other women was a kick in the stones, sure, but it didn't make him care about her any less. As for the whole house dying, well… the bodies they found couldn't have been all of those who left with her, and Hespith was probably off her knocker anyway. No sense in believing anything her addled brain said, that was for sure. Branka was a smart girl and she knew what she was doing. She had to. That much had to still make sense, right?

Having been walking a bit apart from the others, he was pretty close to the cavern wall. They were passing though what was basically a tunnel scraped through the bare rock. It was old enough that licken had grown here and there, but it wasn't plastered. Fortunately, this also meant that Branka had had an extra reason to take chips off of it.

Right, they were getting close, he could feel it. Come to think of it, he was also getting a bit tingly, like little jolts were bursting through his fingers and making the hair on the back of his neck stand on edge. That settled this. There was a lot of raw lyrium ahead, a lot more than he'd ever felt before. Pure too. Ah, there it was now. Veins were sticking out of the ground and all around as everyone kept advancing.

Nothing to it he supposed. Since they were going to walk on something big, and since he was anxious to see what it was, hoping that Branka would be there, whatever it was, Oghren hastened his walk, wrestling with his massive coat of arms. Strangely though, the guy in front suddenly veered off course and stopped in front of a vein in the wall, looking like he'd been distracted by the shiny teal light.

Oghren did think of saying something about it, but his mouth clamped shut when the guy reached out, touched the vein and just drained the energy out of that lyrium, a small burst of something like steam flowing from it and into him, through his arm. The vein was left dull and silent, its faint hum absent.

After a while, he shook himself back to awareness and, a bit more warily, closed the distance until he was walking in front as well. He saw Leliana drifting behind them, like most of the others, so he shrugged and, deciding not to ask anything about what the white-haired weirdo had just done to the lyrium, cleared his throat to get his attention. "Have a feeling we're gonna find something soon. These walls have Branka all over them."

The guy didn't say anything. He just nodded once and, after putting his full Legion helmet on for some reason, kept on walking, stopping to drain the magic out of whatever other lyrium veins they happened to come across. At one point, they began to be more and more frequent. Fortunately, their advance wasn't slowed down, and they did, in the end, reach the end of the tunnel and stepped into a much more roomy area, not quite as tall as Ortan Thaig, but with a natural ceiling that was still about twice as high up as the ceiling of the Orzammar Royal Palace.

The place looked… weird. That was really the only way Oghren could describe it, and it wasn't just because of the unusually long and pointy, not to mention thick, veins of lyrium that looked like roots growing out of the cave top. What was strange was that the place looked ancient, and had the expected quantity of rubble and wear, but some piles of rubble and debris looked like they were a lot more fresh. As they all finished coming out of the tunnel, including the Bronto, he saw something like a terrace up ahead, about as tall as thrice a dwarf's height. It looked like it was reinforced with large iron plaques, most of them looking as though they were repurposed gate or wall patches.

Then there was the explosion.

It was only Theron's quick reaction that calmed the bronto and prevented it from running off when the tunnel they'd just come out of was rocked and crumbled, and, by the time he'd whirled around to try and make sense of what was happening, the top of said tunnel had already cracked, giving way to a rockslide that collapsed the entrance in on itself. "What the…!"

"Vashedan," Sten growled, Asala appearing in his hand as if by instinct. Oghren hadn't even seen him draw it but it might have been just because he'd had it out since before they made the last turn.

The dwarven fighter heard everyone express feelings about how their way in had suddenly closed and only after that realized that the only one who hadn't turned around to check on the commotion was the guy next to him. Instead, he'd turned his gaze ahead.

"There's something about this place…" the Warden Commander murmured almost to himself. "It makes people... despair…" At that, his head moved up a slight bit, so Oghren turned to look in the same direction.

"Let me be blunt with you," the voice of a woman, a hard woman, drew everyone's attention from the direction exactly opposite from the rockslide. "After all this time, my tolerance for social graces is fairly limited. That doesn't bother you, I hope?"

Oghren felt his heart stop for a second, only to start racing as his eyes grew wide in recognition. "Shave my back and call me en elf! Branka? By the Stone, I barely recognized you!" And for good reason too. Her dark brown hair was tied in two shirt pigtails and full of dust and dirt, and her face and armor were covered in grime. Even more, the look on her face was stony, even for her, though she had to recognize him, right?

"Oghren. It figures you'd eventually find your way here. Hopefully, you can find your way back more easily." Well gee, not even a 'Nice to see you again' or 'how are you?' Yep, 100% Branka alright.

Turns out Faren wasn't amused though, the snort said that much. "Way back?" He walked to his left and crossed his arms. "So what, you crash the way we came in and say you hope our way back will be easy? Some sense that makes!"

"Why is it that this turn of events does not surprise me in the least?" Gwen was heard wondering aloud from behind.

"It probably means that we just lead interesting lives," Alistair, that pike twirler, quipped in response. Smartass.

"Though you have to wonder what she thinks that stunt will achieve," Alim noted smoothly from just behind the head warden.

Branka wasn't impressed. "And how shall I address you? Hired swords of the latest lordling to come looking for me? Or just the only ones who didn't mind Oghren's ale-breath?"

Oghren was glad to see her, he really was, but she was still just as good at riling people up as she ever was. "Be respectful, woman! You're talking to Grey Wardens!"

Branka remained indifferent. "Ah, so an important group of errand boys, then. I suppose something serious has happened. Is Endrin dead? That seems most likely. He was on the old and wheezy side."

"Oho!" the one in black Legion armor spoke in. "You'd think some time in the Deep Roads would beat the disrespect out of someone. Paragon for a couple of years and already she's badmouthing kings."

Oghren couldn't tell if that sarcasm had annoyed his wife. "And what's this? A member of the Legion?" She smirked. "Bunch of outcasts, the lot of them, though tough ones I'll admit. What are you doing here, dead one? Had enough of fighting darkspawn routinely and figured you'd chance Oghren's ale breath to see which is worse? Let me make it easy for you, the darksawn are your better bet." She waved things aside. "Then again, I doubt your commander would have just let you come over. So, did you desert? Or did your peers get annoyed enough with you that they sent you away? It would fit the pattern."

"Wouldn't you like to know?'

"No I wouldn't," the Paragon said with a shrug. "But you did not answer my question, and my patience is waning." She addressed the others. "Quite a few surfacers here. Why would so many of you venture so far below ground? It can't have been just so you could help this single-minded fool and his search for me."

"Why are you so sure about that?" the 'legionnaire' asked, much to Oghrens surprise.

"Because nobody helps Oghren. At best, Oghren's need to find me happened to coincide with the needs of someone more important."

"Nice to see you again too, Oghren I missed having you around," Oghren found himself grumbling. "**Arrgh!** You are **impossible**! These Grey Wardens've come all the way from the surface to ask your help picking Endrin's successor." Why did she damn well have to be so frustrating?

"Yes, the king is dead," Kallian uttered, somewhat crisply. "And he has been for about a month now. The Assembly is deadlocked."

"Ah, so that **is** what happened after all." Trust Branka to not be surprised by all this. "And since you're here, you must have a patron, someone high up, someone who wants my support, is that it?"

"Two of them, it turns out," the exile explained mildly. Oghren considered telling Branka just who she was talking to but he figured she was asking for it. "Turns out that both Bhelen and Lord Harrowmont want the throne, each of them claiming to be the heir to it or the king's chosen successor, respectively."

Branka snickered. "Hmm. Harrowmont, is it? Insufferable blowhard who's never had one memorable moment in his tradition-bound life. As for Bhelen… twisted cretin, the last I heard. Not surprising he's done so well for himself."

Now it was the commander's turn to laugh. "Hah. Done well for himself! As if! If I were to make an assessment, he's been digging his own grave for years. Then again, I can't expect one who's done what you've done so far to be a good judge of character or situations, not when she can't even get her priorities straight."

"Don't you presume to speak to me about priorities, fool!" She snapped. "I know better than anyone what is truly important! Why do you think I left the city? Because no one there had any sense in their heads! I don't care if the Assembly puts a drunken monkey on the throne. Because our protector, our great invention, the thing that once made our armies the envy of the world, is lost to the very darkspawn it should be fighting."

"Oh, here we go," Raonar muttered as she started her… well, tirade was the only word Oghren had for it. At least what the guy said next distracted him from part of it. "Faren. Take Theron and… scout ahead." Oghren eyed the kid and noticed the two having one of those unspoken conversations, before the young Warden nodded and did as instructed.

"The Anvil of the Void!" Branka pronounced her ultimate goal, not noticing or caring about the two who went ahead along the path beside the upper level she was speaking from. "The means by which the ancients forged their army of golems and held off the first archdemon ever to rise. It's here. So close I can taste it! Harrowmont could have been pulled dead from his mother's womb and history would read no differently. Same with the other one. A thousand Bhelens could die and history wouldn't notice." She really was getting into it. "I'm looking for the one thing that will return our days of glory."

"Doesn't seem to be working out for you, huh?" the 'legionnaire' noted sarcastically.

Branka scoffed. "What will it be then?" She asked the others. "Is this brazen thug going to be your spokesman? I'd at least thought Grey Wardens would be able to speak for themselves. Then again, considering who you're accompanying I suppose the stories about your order were overblown at best." So far so good, Oghren thought. She hadn't said anything worse to them than he had at first. "Plus you must be really down on your luck if you even accept brands in your ranks now."

_Oh…_

A certain someone's head tilted to the left ever so slightly.

_Oh crap… _

Oghren moved suddenly two paces away from Raonar as if by magic, and he could swear he felt like a rock had hit his brain for a moment there. "_Stone sod it woman, you've done it now_…"

"Oh, that **so** just completely eliminated the possibility of us helping you claim the Anvil," Alim said, palming his face by the sound of it.

"Bets on how long it lasts before its bones are turned to mush?" Shale was heard asking in as low a voice as a golem could manage.

"No ataash will be gained here, it seems."

"And you assume after all my efforts, you'll be able to waltz in and seize the Anvil without a hitch?" Branka was dripping sarcasm with each word. "How typically arrogant. The Anvil lies on the other side of a gauntlet of traps designed by Caridin himself. My people and I have given body and soul to unlocking its secrets."

"Oh please," Gwen finally talked back with heat in her tone. "You haven't sacrificed anything, just got your people killed and worse. Oh so **much** worse!"

"Don't presume to lecture me, girl! I've given up everything and would sacrifice **anything** to get the Anvil of the Void."

"Does that include Hespith and the others of your house?" Gwen growled. "You're obsessed. That must be why Caridin sealed it away…"

"I will not give up. His legacy lies just inside, the sum of all his knowledge, and I **will** have it." Oghren really was wondering what the hell was wrong with her. "You of all people should know the worth of a Golem. You have one yourselves, do you not? I needed people to test Caridin's traps. There is no way to break through except by trial and error. I sent them in... They were all mine, pledged to be my house, and they didn't want to help. They tried to leave me, even my Hespith... But even she couldn't understand that when you reach for greatness, there are sacrifices. As many sacrifices as are needed. And the darkspawn, they too could be used. I knew what they would do to the others, and it was their own failing for refusing to obey me in the first place. I knew what they would become. There would be an endless supply, fresh darkspawn to test the traps. They could still serve me, let me find the Anvil. It was the only way..."

"Well, that settles it," the warden commander said with a worrisomely detached shrug. "Turns out you aren't totally crazy, just obsessed…" Oghren didn't understand why he felt like the temperature had suddenly dropped 20 degrees. He could tell that that hadn't really happened, but the impression was there, and the cold sweat going down his forehead was real. Very, very real, especially when the guy said some more. "So you really have **no** excuse for all the shit you pulled."

"Enough drivel!" the Paragon hissed, exploiting her high vantage point. "**This** is what's important. **This** has lasting meaning. If I succeed, the dwarven people benefit. Kings, politics... all that is transitory." She finished with some finality. "There is only one way out, Wardens. Forward. Through Caridin's maze and out to where the Anvil waits."

Oghren wanted to scream and beat the stuffing out of someone. This was definitely not what he'd imagined things would turn out like. "What has this place done to you? I remember marrying a girl you could talk to for one minute and see her brilliance."

"I am your Paragon," she said solemnly and nearly made to turn around.

Which is when a pressure suddenly filled the area, giving Oghren the impression that his limbs weighed a ton each, and the Warden Commander took just one step forward. His words came on a frighteningly serene voice. "Actually… The fact is that that isn't the only way out."

Oghren would have gasped, but he didn't have the time, forced to flinch away when the Warden's aura of might blasted out through his armor, covering black metal in white light. But the high point of it all, literally, was the burst of energy from his feet, one that shook more than just dust and propelled him upwards, making him clear the distance in a single bound.

Branka staggered back in shock and her brain stumbled in its efforts to enact an immediate threat reassessment when he landed half-kneeling in front of her, one palm on the ground, loudly blasting rubble away with another magic pulse. Looking like a solid mass of light, he got up slowly, very slowly, at the same rate that Maric's Blade left the sheath on his back on its own, energy lifting it into the air without him even reaching for it. "Not so smug without your high ground, are you?" The calm way he spoke only made it more clear how incredibly pissed he was, even Oghren could say that much.

"How…" As expected, the woman's mind was reeling. "Who are… How did you…?" her mouth stopped when she reached for the sword on her side, only to find her reach impeded by another hand on the hilt.

"Don't move too suddenly," Faren spoke from behind her, a bit too amiably, since it was his right hand that had interfered, while his left held a dagger at her throat. "After all, with how still I'm holding my hand, you'd hurt yourself if your neck 'accidentally' met this little friend of mine."

"Wha…," Oghren hadn't seen her so shocked and at a loss for words before in his life. "You dare!" Not able to turn around, she focused her glare on the 'legionnaire.' "I'm your Paragon! How dare you raise a weapon against me!"

"Oh, that's easy," his voice had a faint echo to it now. "Faren here doesn't owe you or any dwarves anything, least of all respect or allegiance. As for me, well…" Maric's Blade practically floated to his front, so he took it by the hilt but held it casually as he removed his helmet. "Let's just say that I know bronto shit when I hear it, and you just pulled a particularly unique brand of shit, one that I find myself unable to let slide." Only then did he let his white corona fade and his appearance could actually be seen.

"You…" Recognition dawned on her. "Ah, now it makes sense." At what Oghren guessed was a nod on the guy's part, from where he was standing anyway, Faren pulled the dagger away and took a step back, though it became obvious that Theron was some distance behind him, one arrow trained on the back of Branka's head. Oddly enough, however, her mouth turned into a smirk. "Nice trick you used to get my attention. So, should I assume you wish to succeed Endrin then? If yes, you chose an odd way of proving your competence. Or was that reaction caused by what I said about Endrin? If he's dead, I'm sorry. He was as competent a king as we could expect." The admission was forced, even Oghren could tell.

She did sound sincere but… "Then I'm afraid that is just another point we disagree on," the dwarven prince retorted. "Either way, impressing you is hardly among my goals here, though I am fairly certain this will do it just the same." He turned to everyone else. "Alim, clear the cave-in, will you?"

There was a pause.

"Oh please, don't think my handywork can be undone that easily," Branka boasted, remarkably unconcerned with the possibility of impending death.

Alim was not impressed. "Very well, White Commander," he gave a curt nod, leaving Branka gobsmacked and addressing Morrigan next. "So, how about it Morrigan? Ready to give your new skills a test?"

"'Tis not harm to try I suppose," she replied, taking a small knife out of her belt and cutting open her palm. Wincing slightly, and making Oghren wonder if they were masochists, the witch did something to gather the blood in a sort of bead about as big as her thumb, one that she had float all the way to the cave-in and let fall between the many boulders. "Now then."

With a flick of her wrist, a resounding boom filled the area, blowing chunks of stone and metal everywhere and raising a cloud of dust and smoke, one they were, fortunately, far enough away to escape. Unfortunately, when it settled, it showed that barely a fraction of the collapsed rock had been cleared, much to Morrigan's disappointment.

Branka looked very smug and was going to say something damning, but Alim beat her to it. "Not bad at all for a first try. Still," in a frighteningly casual fashion, he sliced open his palm and practically grew a whole crystal rose out of his blood. "I believe these are proper magical demolition procedures." Holding the stem of the flower between the index and middle fingers while his longcoat fluttered dramatically behind him, even though there was no wind that Oghren could feel, the elf sent the item like an arrow at its target.

It embedded itself in one of the rocks, after which vines and roots began to sprout from the thorns, just as red and glasslike as the rose itself. The vines crew and spread, wrapping around the rocks and finding their way through the cracks and small spaces left between the boulders, until they looked like a gnarled bush that had reached into every possible space not filled with anything denser than sand or dust.

Then the elf snapped his fingers and, quite foresightedly, put up a force wall between them all and the sight before them.

Branka gaped as a round of repeated explosions of differing intensities did what the mining caste would have barely managed in days and produced what was essentially enough ash and dust to give all the servant caste in Orzammar enough work for a month. By the end of everything, several lumps of rock as big as her head (or bigger) had slammed into the forcefield. Either way, though messy, the way they came was now very much passable once more.

Alim met the so-called paragon's look of bewilderment, absently maintaining a gale that was clearing the air. "You were saying?"

There was silence.

"Now that **that's** out of the way," the commander looked at Branka very intensely. "Let's make sure there are no misunderstandings here. The fact of the matter is that, in order to solve the succession crisis," he stepped closer until there was no way she would miss the look in his eyes. "I don't really **need** you."

"…"

"As for the Anvil," light surrounded him again. "I'll make sure there's nothing left for you to get your hands on. Let's see how you live with that, and yourself." Seeing that she was going to say something, he flared his magic again. "Perhaps you did not understand. 'Turns out you aren't crazy, just obsessed.' **That** is what I said." Branka hadn't lost her composure, but she had suddenly turned on high alert. "In other words, you do not have the** excuse** of madness, which means that what you did here is worse than even **mass** **murder**, you sodding," he took another step, "filthy," he clenched his armored fists "bitch."

For a long moment, Oghren thought the guy was going to punch his wife, and he wasn't exactly sure how he felt about that considering that he couldn't think of anything better to try and get her back to her senses.

His concern was unwarranted though. Saying nothing more, the exile turned his back on her and leapt again, landing neatly on the base level as Faren and Theron also left Branka to stew in her own anger.

Oghren couldn't bring himself to walk after the others at first, feeling conflicted, but when he tried to look at his wife again, she'd disappeared beyond what he could see of what was up there. Blast her, making her own choices without taking anyone else into account.

Stupid woman.

Not having any better idea, he took off to catch up to everyone else.

"-. .-"

As it happened, the path leading beyond Branka's raised terrace wasn't long, but it was, unfortunately, teeming with darkspawn, including an Ogre, albeit not armored, fortunately. They were able to dispatch the creatures without too much fuss. As far as Theron could tell, Gwen probably had some frustration to work out because she made a point of finishing off the ogre herself, going so far as to jump almost a meter high into the air, full plate armor and all, just so she could down the thing with her greatsword through the chest before ending its struggle with another thrust through the skull.

Not for the last time the Dalish asked himself just why humans were always so eager to prove something to themselves or others. Certainty of one's position and skill should come naturally, not be reliant on constant proof. Granted, he could not argue with the fact that he himself sometimes experienced a sense of elation upon achieving something of significance, but still, it should not be a requirement for maintaining a healthy state of mind.

Theron contemplated actually pointing this out to Gwenith herself, but realized he will likely find it to troublesome to bother once he got the chance. Besides, since he seemed to enjoy it so much, the commander may as well see to it himself if he really cared for it.

Either way, they had more important things to worry about right now.

"Right then," the White Commander, as Alim had whimsically dubbed him (despite the fact that there probably wasn't a blacker suit of armor than his anywhere in Thedas), began once everyone's latest bout of adrenaline had faded. "I suppose confirmation is in order. Kallian," he turned to her, "Do you sense any more darkspawn?"

Theron noticed her eyes narrowing slightly before she shook her head. "No. Despite the fact that my sense reaches out over miles, I can't sense anything."

"Hmm," Raonar turned to look at the passage they were sure they'd have to take at some point. Closing his eyes, he furrowed his brow in concentration for a minute before he slowly opened them again. "Right, this will take some getting used to," he murmured. "Okay, so I at least know darkspawn feel different from… everything else…"

"Are you saying you can sense people or other creatures?" Wynne asked In her ever soft voice, looking pensively ahead.

"Yeah," the exile answered absently. "They feel familiar too… what was it…?" Theron noticed realization dawn on him as he immediately turned to the golem they had with them. "They feel similar to Shale actually…"

There was a pause.

"What does it mean?" Shale finally inquired.

Not that he actually answered. "Come to think of it, it does make sense," he mused aloud. "If Golems are actually dwarves in stone bodies, then they obviously have life signs like any other being… Actually, this gives me another idea." He looked straight at Alim as he finished. "Alim… This might involve you breaking one of your tenets, but I think I have an idea we can use to avoid destroying any golems."

"-. .-"

Alim would not have normally agreed to any request involving **that** but, as he was unsurprised to find out, Raonar was nothing if not persuasive. Besides, golems were being mind-controlled with rods anyway, so, he said, this might actually be a means to find out how they might gain the same freedom of will as Shale.

As such, when they advanced through the passage and found the first golem, confirming to the White Commander that he could, in fact, sense any living creatures, including golems, the same way he sensed Darkspawn, Alim did as asked.

He tried Blood Control on it (which really was a bit of a misleading name since it was, by all intents and purposes, mind control of the highest caliber).

And it worked.

"Huh." Oghren let out once they'd passed the construct by and disappeared beyond a few turns, at which point Alim canceled the spell from afar and they waited to see if the thing was going to come after them. Technically, Alim was sure the strength he'd put into the spell would make sure the golem would have no recollection of those events, so they should be fine.

Eventually they realized that it was, indeed, not coming after them.

"Huh." Faren repeated.

Alim figured the silence was too annoying to him. "Well... so it worked."

"The mage had better make sure that I never catch it trying to do something of the sort to me. I **will** crush it into paste if it does." Shale sounded a lot less bold than she probably wanted. "Although I confess a certain… degree of satisfaction… at the peaceful resolution."

Once they went on their way, Alim glanced at Wynne, who was walking slightly behind him. He caught her gazing at him, but she instantly averted her eyes.

So, she wasn't going to say anything about this benign use of blood magic. Wel, at least that meant she wasn't going to reproach anything.

He could work with that.

Once they cleared the tunnel, they found the entrance to a hall. The double doors were made of red steel and tall enough for two golems to pass through side by side quite easily. The distance to the end of said hall, where another, identical entrance stood, was quite far off. The room was lined with two trios of alcoves, on one each side. The ones nearest and the ones farthest were occupied by golems, stationed like sentries, though they were inert.

"I wonder if they are like me," Shale wondered, sounding a bit… apprehensive, or so the elven mage thought. "When I was paralyzed, I was aware of everything. I wonder how long they've been stuck like this."

"About five centuries I think," the commander speculated, making Shale twitch with a faint grinding noise. "At least, if I understand correctly, that's about as long a time as could have passed since Caridin created this trap course. Makes you wonder why he didn't just destroy the Anvil and be done with it. At least then the Golems wouldn't have been bound to this place."

"Enough babbling," Oghren said loudly. "If you aren't going to hypnotize'em, we'll just bash our way through!"

It was fortunate that not just Raonar, but Alistair and Sten also grabbed onto some part of Oghren and held him back before he could go on ahead. "As amusing as the prospect of you getting caught in them might be," the prince started, "I'm afraid you'll just set off deadly traps the moment you step on a loose slab."

Oghren wisely took two steps back. "Argh! Damned smiths and artisans. Are all of them crazy? is it a disease or something?"

"I think I can see most of the traps," Faren said, cautiously inspecting everything up ahead as Kallian and Leliana did the same. "There are at least three that Shale and probably Sten won't be able to avoid stepping on." He shot the two an apologetic look. "And these aren't simple ones so I can't hope to disarm them either."

"Actually," the prince intervened pensively. "If my guess is right, pressure plates are pretty much the only method of activation used here. Alim!" He turned to the elf again. "I have another idea but I'm afraid my ability to create fields of force can't reach that far."

Alim sighed. It figured that he always had to do all the work.

"-. .-"

In the end, as expected, Getting Shale across was the most taxing part, followed closely by the bronto, or so Faren figured when he saw just how much strain was showing on Alim's face. Raonar had even had to help with the last part but, eventually, everyone and everything had made it across and out of that passage without activating the golem sentries or triggering any of the other traps.

So, the idea of magically creating a forcefield to act as surrogate floor had been a surprisingly effective one, since it made it so that no one actually touched the stone slabs even once.

That made 5 golems successfully bypassed. This, naturally, didn't really guarantee anything. Whether or not the things would still be bound to protect this place if they did manage to find and destroy the Anvil of the Void was still up in the air. Even if they could leave the same way they came in, there was also the issue of how leaving the golems trapped here forever instead of destroying them might not exactly be the merciful choice.

Faren cracked his neck uneasily but followed after the others. He wasn't going to worry himself overmuch. If that guy said they were going to bash the anvil while trying to minimize death, regardless of how hard that made things, that's what he was going to help achieve. Even if he hadn't really helped much with anything in this whole journey, he was going to do what he could.

Although, come to think of it, that big thing like a set of four faces stuck to a rotating platform connected to a huge stalagmite, more like a pillar of rock that connected the floor and lyrium-infused ceiling, wasn't exactly something you could deal with by stabbing at it.

He wasn't sure what this chamber, or at least more spatial than usual area, was. There was something like a great dais at the center, with some sort of carving, or carvings, looking like big faces, resembling the Paragon statues in the Hall of Heroes, There were two main differences though. One was that each of those four faces was about as tall as Shale. The other was that they looked like they were wailing, mouths wide agape and eyes hollow.

But even the rest of that 'chamber' was unnerving. Because it was thick with lyrium veins. Whether it was the walls or the ceiling, there looked to be more lyrium than actual rock. The hum was not faint anymore, and the magic steaming out of the veins had the same vision distorting effect usually produced by overheated air above a fire.

The dais was circular and took up more space than his old slum house, and four anvils were arranged in a cross, one in front of each stone mask.

Faren noticed Raonar putting on his full helmet, so he decided to tie his headband on too. Seeing him, Alistair, Gwen, Sten and Oghren followed suite with their own headgear.

Just in time too, as when they'd finally all stepped into view of the odd construction, his ears were filled with a rumble and the grinding of stone on stone.

Abruptly the way they'd used to get here was closed off from a wall that just burst from below ground, trapping the bronto behind it, even as the only other path out was blocked in a similar manner. Then, the faces of stone trembled, shaking the ground as they rose fully from the dais, their hollow, dark eyes filling with white sparks as big as a golem's fist.

"I think that's a bad sight," Alistair ventured, barely audible over the noise.

The movement stopped, but abruptly the faces rotated once, and a wave of white mist erupted from underneath them, filling the area and disrupting every spell of enforcement they might have had as it swept over them.

But the real problem appeared when four ghostly formations came out of their maws, one from each, and struck the four anvils. Pillars of light sprouted from them, leaving behind what looked like spectral warriors, kneeling reverently before they began to rise ever so slowly.

If it had been anyone but Faren who saw it, they might have missed it, but the White Commander swayed, only slightly, enough to put him on alert.

"Scatter!" the prince commanded, but it was too late, because as soon as he'd finished, four more vaguely teal specters shot out of the same maws and flew blindingly fast through the air before they lunged at them, choosing targets seemingly at random.

An ethereal blade through the chest, a mace to the face and a dagger through the head was all that Kallian, Alistair and Gwen had time to notice before the dwarven specters, since that is what the apparitions that assaulted them became, blasted them away with some sort of force attack that rattled their ears.

Faren managed to roll aside, which meant that the spectral scout drove the ethereal dagger through the ground instead of some body part. He ended up just next to one of the other ghosts, but his instinctive kick of recovery passed through it without resistance before its counterattack got him through the shoulder.

Biting back a scream, he threw himself aside again, rolling to a crouch and clutching where he'd been hit. It had felt painful and very, very cold but there was no wound, even though the pain had been and still was oh so very real. Years of reflexes allowed him to detect the anvil fighter coming to cut him from behind, so he dodged, but when he moved to block the next strike, the sword phased **through** his dagger cross guard and would have caught him in the stomach if he hadn't jumped back in time.

Sparing a moment to assess the situation, he saw Kallian was down and struggling to get up, even though he'd seen her get stabbed in the head. Good. Good, so he could calm down. He hadn't even realized his heart was beating so fast, but at least he knew what these things did now, namely ignore defense and just inflict pain without actual injury. It was a really sickly slow way of killing someone, though at least it meant she wasn't dead. She was alive.

Occupied with dodging two assailants, he barely registered Raonar call out some order or another. At that point, his daggers became enveloped in that telekinetic field that only Alim could have cast, so, for the first time, he caught his attacker in a deadlock as his ghostly weapon stopped against his with a piercing shrill reminiscent of a banshee's howl. "Well fuck!" He hissed, unnerved by the impassive, half-lidded expression on that transparent face. "We're fighting ghosts now?"

Able to get a better grasp of things, he saw Sten, Alistair (also dealing with a spectral wound), Gwen (the same) and Oghren fighting one of the warrior or rogue aspects each. All of them had their weapons enhanced by Alim and, surprisingly, Morrigan as well.

"Damn it!" the commander cursed as he finally stabbed through one of the enemies with Maric's Blade, the enchantment on it enough to disrupt it, though it had the magic boost Raonar usually used on it for good measure.

But the specter was just spat out by one of the faces and reformed.

Sten managed to slay his own opponent, but it just got reborn once more.

But then, Kallian did the same to hers, and while it did return to the faces, it did not come out again.

Until she tried to run over to help the others, that is, because the ghost appeared again in short order and they were in trouble again. Faren figured this was a riddle as he danced away from the one he was engaging (the other ghost had since attacked a shielded Morrigan, making slow but sure progress). By the looks of it, Raonar had also caught on, only he seemed to figure something out.

"Everyone, back off from the dais!" He blocked a sword strike and started to back off, drawing his enemy along. "I think it's a distance thing…"

Faren did so, and with their enemies lured after them, they put distance between themselves and the four stone masks, though he figured this made it harder to shut them down. "Now! Get them!" That was easier said than done, because those things were amazingly tough for some reason, Still he was able to slip under its guard and simulate a throat cut, plus a stab in the chest that cause the ghostly attacker to burst into mist and be drawn back into the maw it came from.

Not wasting any time, he dashed to the right and lunged forward, chaining his daggers and throwing one into the back of Kallian's enemy, and that was when the first of the four warriors that came from the Anvils met its end, only instead of returning to the source, it was drawn to one of the anvils and began to reform.

An arrow of light suddenly **exploded** the head of a second such fighter, making Faren belatedly realize he'd completely forgotten about Theron. Again. Looking frantically around, he saw him standing **on** the stone wall that had come out of the ground to block their way back. Wynne was at the base, flanked by all three canines, both the dogs and the wolf looking like the wished they weren't so useless. The mage was apparently giving Theron's projectiles the magical property needed to affect the specters.

A second arrow, apparently overcharged, exploded the head of the third anvil specter, making noise like a burst of wind. Then, when Alim got annoyed and dropped the telekinetic weapon field, he blasted all the remaining ghosts, including the fourth and final anvil guardian, with a well-placed chain lighting.

The magic he cast resonated with the lyrium, the light intensifying and the hum reaching a crescendo for an instant. White mist burst through the area erratically, but the ghosts, nonetheless, were banished.

Faren had shielded his eyes from the flash, but the prince of Orzammar had no such pause. The moment the final ghost had been disrupted, he propelled himself forward with a burst of his own magic, clearing the distance with the anvil in only two leaps. One of the faces tried to spit an enemy at him, but he cut it down in mid-flight before bringing the pommel of his sword down upon the closest anvil, causing an ear-splitting gong before he used it as a foothold and jumped **on** the mask facing him, his foot in its mouth as the fingers of his left hand (he wasn't using his Legion shield, Faren noticed) found purchase in the 'eyebrow' of the sculpture.

The striking of the anvil had caused all four spectral dwarves to be sucked back into the maws, and the faces spun while the commander still clung to one, growing brighter and brighter as his aura surrounded him. The motion had not even ended when tendrils of white energy were seen penetrating the masks, looking like vines growing in and out of them.

Then magic exploded again, hurling the prince through the air.

He heard him gasp the same moment the wave of disruption erupted from whatever that thing was, but he didn't pay attention to that. All he was thinking about was that the guy was going to fall hard and he might die unless he somehow got there fast enough to catch him somehow. His body moved on its own, but he wasn't quick enough, he could tell.

A ball of compressed force appeared behind the still airborne warden commander and burst, instantly cutting his momentum and changing his trajectory in such a way that he smashed straight into Faren's front. The rogue did consider thanking Alim later, but he realized, after rolling on the ground, hitting his head and spraining his wrist, that he probably won't. It hurt, but at least the guy was okay.

"We need to destroy that thing!" Gwen shouted, having been engaged by a reformed spectral dwarf again. "Any ideas? Exploding potions maybe? Or arrows?" One of Theron's exploding arrows hit one of the masks straight in the black hole mouth, but dealt only minor damage at best. "Right!" She parried a strike. "So we probably don't" –slash- "Have enough of them."

"Out of the way!" Shale demanded as she smacked aside one of those things and charged towards the masked pillar of doom. Faren's heart jumped, grinning as he thought _'Let's see it deal with that.'_

"No!" the exile yelled, making his ear hurt. "Shale **stop**!"

The golem didn't hear or didn't have time to react before a specter shot out of a maw and went right **into** Shale, stopping her head in her tracks as though she was suddenly trembling, shivering if that was even possible. "Wh…. What is happening to me…?" Impossibly, Shale lurched backwards and began to show tremors through her whole body, but reached down either way and took hold of a boulder. "Ghhrrmm… Grrhua!"

"Nehraa kadan!" Sten roared as he barely, just barely tackled Shale from the side in time, the red steel armor denting from the force as he managed to knock the arm throwing the boulder off course. The rock flew past Oghren instead of flattening him, and broke into shrapnel that he had to throw himself to the ground to avoid getting showered by. At least, being full of lyrium and all, some bits did damage the spectral dwarf enough to send it back to the masks.

"So many souls…" the exile whispered. Faren only then realized he was helping him sit up by holding his arm around his back. "They're wailing for release… " his eyes were glossed over, "but they have to obey… because they're bound…" He clutched at his head. "That **bastard!**"

"Man, get a grip…" Faren pleaded, disgusted at how weak his voice was, but it seemed to work because the guy took his helmet off and began to push himself to stand.

"The anvils are anchors. They allow the ghost warriors to move about freely. The others can't exist at too great a distance from the Nexus! Listen, everyone!" He stretched out his left hand and began to gather magic into a sphere. "We'll have to attack that thing all at once!" He saw Shale had been immobilized by Alim's timely glyph of paralysis. "Hold fast."

Like thunder his feet blasted the ground away and he was on Shale's shoulder in little over a moment, his sword left behind. Steadying himself by grabbing onto a crystal on her back, he slammed the magic sphere into her head. The force rocked her being like waves in a lake and the intruding specter was violently expelled through her side, right into a shining Asala. "Hit the anvils Shale!"

Catching herself, the Golem hastened to it, still looking fairly conflicted, but her hit was true and the thing crumbled to bits under her blow, its magic damaging the face because of the magical backlash. "Now the face!" He ordered, jumping back to land in a crouch some short distance away as the golem finally hit the mask once, and then a second and a third time, finally splitting it apart on the fourth and shoving a burst of flame into it for good measure.

But Caridin had built the trap well, because no sooner had the four mask become three that a sharp wail traveled through all the lyrium in that place and blown out of the nexus, sending a forcefield in all directions and practically flinging everyone light enough off the dais, all those who were close enough at least.

Shale's sheer weight let her get away with it with just staggering backwards, but Sten ended up crashing on his shoulder and dislocating it. Alistair and Gwen also got thrown off, but they got off easy. The only one besides Shale who didn't get blown away was Raonar himself, who'd managed to raise his own forcefield in time to counter the other.

"Damn!" Faren let out, charging forward only to smash face-first into what had been a completely invisible dome around the platform. "What the!" He pounded his fist against it, making small white ripples that faded instantly.

Shale, at least, had presence of mind enough to smash a second Anvil, but one of the three remaining faces produced a spirit that possessed her again. "Of all the…" Moving against her will, she brought her huge fist down upon where the exile was. Faren though he'd have a heart attack and began pressing against the field harder, barely registering the others doing the same and failing. He didn't pay attention to their reactions either.

The exile dodged to the side, completely surrounded in a transparent body field. He landed behind Shale and parried the sword of a specter with one force-covered hand (he'd dropped his sword earlier), used his hastily drawn shield to block another and took a third through the chest. Fortunately, the field held and the ether blade slid across his chest and under the arm.

Meanwhile, Shale's inertia brought her around in a spin, but this only meant that she ended up vaporizing two of those specters, letting the Warden jump away, though the dome did not let him leave the platform. He stumbled briefly, but recovered in time to dodge another of Shale's attacks, at which point he finally got a good break and Alim was able to create a glyph of paralysis even on the inside of the magical dome. "The spell has to be fueled by that thing. Try to destroy another face if you can!"

"I know!" was the irate reply.

The attempt was good. Raonar jumped forward as well as he could, but he was intercepted by two of those ghosts. He punched one in the face and threw the other one into the third, but he had no weapon and had lost hold of his shield when he'd dodged Shale that last time. So when he was grabbed by both arms and the third and fourth warriors thrusting their swords through him from both the front and back, Faren Felt his blood grow ice cold in a single instant.

Temples throbbing, he barely registered everyone else gasping or cursing. He had eyes and ears only for those weapons coming out through the guy's back and front, and he could feel his heart rate suddenly going from full on throttle to a calm beat as he tensed his fingers and began to press against the force dome in earnest, ignoring the sprain in his wrist letting his daggers hang by their chain off his hands.

He didn't think it, not even intellectually decided what was going to happen. An unconscious switch was just flicked inside his brain. They'd said he was immune to most magic, but it looked like that just wasn't good enough.

Abruptly he felt every single enchanted item on his person lose its potency. The enchantment of the Felon's Coat abruptly dissipated, his rings became useless trinkets, but he didn't really mind, because as soon as it happened, he passed straight **through** the invisible dome as if it was the border of a soap bubble, only then realizing just how much effort he was putting into pushing against the barrier.

Recovering immediately, he landed on his hands and made a cartwheel that ended with his foot in one of the specter's faces. Strangely, it worked without any magical aura of any sort and the thing was smashed to steam. He was going to continue with the next one, but apparently Raonar was pissed now, because he exploded with more magic than he'd ever used before, finishing the other three.

It ended with him on his knees, one hand on the ground and the other arm around his middle. "I do believe I have had better days…" he rasped. The rogue wanted to kneel next to him and offer some help but "You should have some of… those acid and… f-fire bombs." The warden pointed at the nexus. "Feed it one of each in that order."

He did so, even before the spectral enemies had a chance to reform, and that was the end of the second stone mask.

It was most satisfying to see a veritable barrage of spells incinerating the specters as soon as they reappeared, and even Shale seemed to have been freed from the domination.

"Fighters!" the Warden Commander rallied everyone. "Keep those things occupied. With only two masks and as many anvils, their numbers should be manageable now. Mages. Keep hitting that Nexus." And for him, Faren figured he must have been really annoyed because he began to do something he'd never seen him do before.

Cringing just slightly as the phantom pain in his torso, he slowly raised his left arm into the air, holding his palm out and beginning to shine with inner and outer light. His eyes were lost in the white haze and his right hand began to gather power as all the magic in the lyrium around them started to throb like a heart. One tendril of mist grew from his left palm, then another two, and when they reached high enough to make contact with the lifeblood of the earth, all the power flowed down through them, into him and out, forming the sphere of spiraling energy he held aloft.

Faren watched as the light in the veins grew fainter and things went darker and darker, and by the time there was a single Stone Mask left, the commander was ready.

He took a step, then another, then jumped and drove the orb into the final maw, pushing it, the spiraling sphere practically grinding the final support into dust, kinetic waves putting too much pressure until the stone gave way and shattered, the final defenses of the Anvil of the Void defeated at last. The backdraft left behind a cloud of smoke, dust and sand, but it was only a matter of time before it, too, settled down and peaceful silence settled over the chamber at last.

Only one strange thing was left, and that was the fact that the four spectral warriors that had given them so much trouble hadn't disappeared.

Scattered around the area and blinking dust out of their eyes, or coughing, or both, no one had the presence of mind to notice anything before it was too late. By the time they'd recovered their senses, the four ghosts had gathered in front of the Warden Commander, he who was standing alone on a patch of the dais that had somehow been left completely clean of rubble.

Then, much to everyone's honest shock, the specters kneeled before him in perfect unison, heads bowed low under his calm scrutiny. "Rise, my brothers," he told them softly, placing his hand on their heads in turn, as if in benediction. "You are bound no longer."

Not realizing that his mouth was half open, Faren kept staring in shock as the dead soldiers did, indeed, rise to their feet and, after bowing deeply one last time, dissipated into nothing. His brain only rebooted when the guy doubled over and shakily allowed himself to stand on a rock that would not have possibly served as a viable seat if he didn't have an inch of dragonbone covering his rear.

"I…" the Warden Commander's voice was low and had the expected quality of someone who had just been stabbed through the chest twice, even though it was just phantom pain. There was an undercurrent of apprehension though, and it went on to be expressed in words. "I… so **wish** Caridin was alive right now, if only so I could beat the crap out of him."

The former thug figured everyone felt the same way, though he would realize the beating they'd just received was not the reason for the noble's anger.

"To think he'd bind souls this way… Dammit." He sunk his face in his hands, and it was then that the younger dwarf warden noticed his slight trembling. "Idiots. We dwarves are **such** idiots."

It was only when the light of the lyrium around and above them began to return that anyone found the nerve to move again.

* * *

AN: Thanks to the 14 people who answered that poll in my author's profile. The results basically fit perfectly with what I had planned. Rest assured that Theron will get some real attention soon. ;)


	56. Deep Roads Arc 7: Obvious Solutions

**Author's note:** Okay, new chapter up. Sorry to say this, but next week won't have an update (again). I'm finally going on a vacation to the seaside that was a long time coming, so it'll take more than usual to get the new chapter up. Hopefully this one will keep you entertained until then.

* * *

**Chapter 53: Obvious Solutions**

"-. .-"

Having finished dusting off the bookshelf on the wall opposite the fireplace in the Warden Commander's office, Levi Dryden stepped back and admired his handiwork. He'd made it something of a ritual to come up there once every two weeks or so and keep the room nice and tidy. It was the least he could do for the ones that had gone out of their way to help him find the last bit of information about his ancestry, even if it wasn't exactly what he'd hoped for. Then there was how he and his family had a whole **fortress** as a home now. Either way, after seeing the trouble the wardens had gone to in order to make that office the image of authority and taste that it was, he'd decided to take care of that one room himself.

Granted, he had a different sort of 'incentive' at first, one that usually took the shape of a big, melon-sized ball of light that just loved to float all over the place and, naturally, had nothing to stop it from going through the keep and causing a mayhem. It had even spooked Avernus and Jowan a few times before they got used to it popping out of nowhere. Levi wasn't exactly certain how much of a brain, so to speak, that thing had, but he could swear that the way it appeared from where people least expected it was too much like it was a way of having fun at their expense. The fact that it had actually corrupted some of his kids into playing pranks on the adults didn't help him love the wisp either, at first anyway.

Regardless, while annoying and potentially death-through-cardiac-arrest-inducing that behavior was, this wasn't the 'incentive.' The real reason Levi took to maintaining that office was the fact that it caught that wisp playing around the place. And by playing, he meant the wisp was sometimes just hovering around, doing… things. Sometimes it floated above the planning table and got the figurines on the map to move about without touching or throwing any visible magic at them. Other times Levi had walked into that place and found the fireplace cracking with blazing firewood which he had no idea how it had even come to be inside that room.

Once, the Shiny One (that was the nickname his kids had given it while playing tag –Levi was still trying to get his mind around his kids playing tag with a lighting spirit) was doing something particularly strange. When Levi had gone inside, intent on brushing the snow on the window sills, he found that the task had already been accomplished and that, oddly enough, the thing was hovering right above the desk, with exactly four books open and suspended in the air around it, as though it were reading them all at once. As usual, the thing didn't really pay any attention to him, though some electricity occasionally danced on its surface for some reason.

That and, of course, there was the fact that, somehow, the thing had been repairing the statues and other ornamental sculptures spread around the keep. It had taken a while for him to realize it, but now that the snow of winter was melting off the statues, it became obvious. Levi himself had spotted the fact that the statue of that lady warrior, the one on the foremost battlement, now looked like it hadn't been worn by time at all. The face was perfectly modeled and the figure was no longer missing its right hand either.

Some days later, he actually spotted the thing going to some spot closer to the back of the keep, so he followed it, what with his curiosity being piqued by the fact that a boulder the size of his head was floating behind it. He rounded to corner just in time to see the Shiny One fuse with the boulder. The rock then ground into dust, the latter floating onto the man-sized stone figure and regrowing all bits it had lost to wind, ice and time. And then, something like white, misty threads left the statue and reformed into that glowing ball.

Levi used to think that thing was more or less harmless, but he'd had to reassess the situation when he saw that. Being able to effortlessly move big rocks about was already dangerous enough, but to do **that**…

The man had given up on wondering why that thing didn't just go over to the tower and play apprentice for those mages more, what with them not really coming down from there much. Sure, it had, for some reason, assumed the task of taking their meals over. It would go to the kitchens, somehow absorb the dishes, food and all, into itself, and then would fly to the tower, through a window or just right through the wall, and blink them into existence on their own table. At the end of the day, the Dryden figured that thing might simply enjoy hanging around with the kids more.

He did his best to keep an eye on the thing, after once again trying to talk to it and only succeeding in looking and feeling like an idiot due to how it was either incapable of understanding him or acting like that on purpose. Regardless, his fears had abated once he again saw that it didn't really seem to mean any harm. Actually, it had even healed some of his daughter's scrapes at one point.

Of course, what really sealed the deal on his decision to no longer be weary of the Shiny One was how it had taken it upon itself to look after the children like a mother hen. It had even pranked little Drucilla until she agreed to wear her coat while outside in the snow, and it had hung Mark on a nail by the back of his shirt's collar for bullying his smaller siblings too. Those were the advantages of being able to become intangible at will, Levi supposed.

Levi had talked to Jowan at one point. The young mage had told him that, since spirits can be influenced by human emotions, it might just be that it feels safer in the presence of children, who don't really hang onto a single state of mind for very long. That would also explain its own childlike streaks.

The human shook his head, realizing that he'd spaced out while staring outside the window, onto the yard below. Mikhael was working away at that forge of his, always the grumpy one. Levi could understand why he would think the rest of the clan was a bit too soft, but it wasn't like there weren't some among the young ones that fancied metalworking. He even had an apprentice.

Tearing himself away from the window and shutting it, the man left the office and made his way down the hall. His descent on the spiral staircase was uneventful and, though he'd steeled himself for another one of those scares when the wisp would jump in his face as soon as he went through the door to the main hallway, nothing of the sort happened. Instead, his eyes met the sight of Jowan, wearing a blue robe, advancing towards him, apparently having come over from the tower.

"Ah, afternoon there lad!" Levi greeted cheerfully. He'd already established that the mage wasn't that bad a sort, and he **was** a Grey Warden after all. "Had your lunch yet? Or was there something wrong with it? I swear, if those hellions got to the flour supplies and switched the sacs with salt ones again, I'll have them-"

"No no, nothing like that!" Jowan assured him hastily. "Although yes, it does have something to do with food. Thing is that we didn't have supper yet because we weren't brought any, so I came over to fetch some." The lad grinned slightly. "Our self-appointed spirit butler must be busy with something else I suppose."

Levi frowned. That was a bit unusual, though not really worrisome. "Ah, apologies then. I was busy checking the upper floor and I didn't ask if your food was brought up. Let's go to the kitchens then."

Reaching their destination did not involve going out into the yard, but they did pass by some windows, so Levi didn't fail to notice pretty much every one of the young ones lined up outside and staring at something high up. Thinking this might be another one of those episodes where the Shiny One fixes a statue or wall patch, Levi changed course, gesturing to Jowan to come along. "I figured you might want to see this."

Sure enough, once they'd hurried outside, they saw the glowing ball of energy hovering and crackling faintly up in one of the two watchtowers flanking the gate. Incidentally, that was one of the few spots from where you could see every part of the keep. "Wait up," Levi let out in confusion. "I don't remember any statue being up there…"

Before he could say anything else, the spirit pulsed brilliantly and shot upwards, stopping abruptly at several hundred feet in the air. Pausing as though trying to pinpoint a direction, it produced a globular lightning discharge before, just as abruptly, it chose West and blasted forward like an arrow, leaving behind only a noise reminiscent of a thunderclap as it broke the sound barrier.

Levi only dimly registered his children's squeals of indignation at being abandoned by their unusual pet as it disappeared into the distance. Slowly, he turned to face a worried-looking Jowan. "Is that… bad, Warden?"

Snapping out of his daze, the mage cleared his throat hurriedly. "I need to send a message…" Then, more seriously, the man locked on Levi's gaze. "Forget the food. I'll need the fastest carrier raven you have."

"-. .-"

_Excerpt from journal of Senior Enchanter Wynne_

_30 Pluitanis, 9:31, Dragon:__ Caridin really did not hold back when he created this trap course. Considering how much trouble we had with this strange stone contraption, I am not sure I should even think about what the previous traps would have done to us if we hadn't come up with that idea that let us bypass them completely. Even if they would have been less deadly than this last one, it would not be saying much._

_ All in all, I must say we are fortunate to have come through without any casualties, though Sten won't be able to use his right arm for a while, even with my healing. I fear his right arm was broken in three places, and while I did succeed in setting the bones back in the right position, the ruptured meniscus in his shoulder will need time, perhaps a few days if I help it along. Sten was stubborn and insisted that he was fine enough, but he settled down as soon as Raonar bluntly ordered him to lie down and rest. At least he had nothing against wearing an arm sling. Honestly, he should be glad I was able to mend his other shoulder from its dislocation._

_ This behavior actually threw me for a loop. Sten is usually cool and composed and well aware of what recovery from injury implies, but I might even venture to say he is agitated. It is not outwardly visible at all, of course, but I do think he is getting frustrated over something, though I know not what exactly. I do have some theories, of course, but I shall mull over them a while longer._

_ Alistair, Gwen, Kallian and Raonar are all recovering as well. In fact, as soon as the battle was over and their adrenaline rush expired, they all found themselves unable to stand on their feet. I was, naturally, alarmed, and what I found upon diagnosing them was that they had suffered internal bleeding where they'd been stabbed by those ethereal blades. The effect was not directly caused by the strikes, per se, but by the fact that their blood practically froze within the vessels and the ensuing pressure caused them to rupture._

_ Gwen took the most out of me. She'd been struck through the skull and I am not sure what saved her from a brain hemorrhage. Perhaps the attack is weaker depending on how much __**will**__ works against it. Alistair is sitting by her side even now, even though he'd suffered his own share. I'm also very glad our young commander can have my magic work on him now because he would have been in trouble even with the regenerative magic of those two rings of his._

_ Everyone is more or less up and about now, but we still cannot advance because our way ahead is still blocked by that big wall-like barrier that burst out of the ground when the stone faces activated. Raonar denied Alim's suggestion that he use that explosive blood magic on them again, telling him he should conserve his strength. He had Shale begin punching them to pieces instead. It is a moderately slow process and, thankfully, Alim put up one of those sound-dampening barriers he knows how to erect._

_ I would have expected Shale to groan and mumble something about being given such a dreadfully menial task, especially with how tough the walls in question are, but she took to pounding them with everything she has. She didn't even comment when, for some reason or another, the commander told her to start with the one blocking the way they came in. Ah, I see she's done with that one and ready to start on the other one._

_ My, Shale really was thorough, wasn't she? I don't see any rock larger than the size of my closed fist left over there. Did she make it a point of grounding them to such rubble? This truly does look like she is relieving some sort of emotion, which would make sense given how easily she acquiesced to her orders._

_ Either way, it looks like this reprieve is coming to an end, so I should finish my entry here. I will go check on Sten one more time, to make sure the sling did not come loose. After that, we will at last see what this Anvil is all about. I only hope Branka won't appear and make things too difficult, especially with how there will be no barrier blocking her coming now. Then again, she will have to get through the traps we left behind untriggered, as well as the golems. And, even if she does come over somehow, she will be alone against all of us, so I doubt she will be able to do much._

_ Hmm... why do I feel like I just tempted fate?_

"-. .-"

Alim finished setting up that sound nullifying barrier and let Shale do her thing with the second block, after which he promptly made his way towards where the Warden Commander and Faren were apparently, testing out the latter's newfound ability… which really was more of a permanent state of magical negation if what he saw was anything to go by. He drew near precisely as Faren punched the other dwarf's cross guard, totally ignoring the forcefield over it and delivering enough force to make him stagger back a step.

Alim would have said something first, but he figured he may as well go ahead with it. That said, he threw a small, fist-sized fireball straight into Faren's face.

"Bwah!" the young guy gasped, failing to shield his face from the embers that danced defiantly around his head even now. "Why you…!"

"Experiment confirmed!" the commander pronounced, cutting him off and causing his mouth to come slightly ajar.

Realization dawning, the duster reacted as expected. "You bastard! You told him to do this beforehand, when he got the chance, didn't you!"

Alim noticed that he was obviously faking outrage. Faren was, quite clearly, incapable of getting angry at that person. He was still abysmally easy to tease though. Then again, being flamed in the face tends to do that. "Calm yourself, it obviously confirmed what we suspected." To forestall his protest, the magus cut him off with a raised hand. "And no, it would not have done more than deliver enough heat to get some color into those cheeks of yours."

"And Kalian can cause that effect without any sort of magic whatsoever anyway, especially when you two think no one's close enough to see or hear you," the prince said mildly, causing the other one's face to redden immediately, though whether it was because of anger or embarrassment, Alim couldn't exactly tell. Probably both. "Yes! Like that!"

Faren scoffed, threw his arms up in frustration and stormed off.

Still smiling, the white-haired warden looked up at his second in command. "Although his 'null' status pretty much makes any enchanted items useless on him," he looked more pensive now. "The effect extends about two inches away from his skin, so that includes armors, amulets, rings, everything. Even weapons, since the runes that grant special properties are close to the guard, meaning his grip is close enough to negate **them** too." He sighed. "And I can't think of a way to get around it either. I'm worried he's grown to rely on the enchantments in the Felon's Coat and might misjudge his aptitude whenever we fight next."

"Well," Alim tried to cheer him up. "At least healing magic still works. That's something, right?"

"Yes, I guess it is."

"Anyway, there was another subject I hoped we would discuss." The elf punctuated that request by conjuring a sound-dampening field around the two of them. "About you, that is."

The exile raised an eyebrow. "What? This is about me calling Branka a bitch isn't it?"

Taken slightly by surprise, the mage immediately shook his head. "No, nothing of the sort. I wanted to outline something about you and your particular brand of magic."

"Oh," he frowned. "What of it?"

"Well… this really is more about what I saw when I, Leliana and Sten went inside your mind… though I don't think that's where it really was." Oh yes, he'd definitely captured his attention with that one. Feeling certain that he'd be taken seriously, the elf gathered some light around his right hand and held it above the short one. "You recharged some of that magical core of yours, yes?" At his interested nod, he continued. "Can you draw it out and send it back at will?" Another nod. "Good, bring it out now.

After a single moment, the dwarf held his hand out, palm upwards, and a bright, white orb blinked into existence above it. As expected, the scanning spell went into overdrive. "Alright, now send it back." The sphere blinked back whence it came with a nearly inaudible suction sound as the air hurried to occupy the now empty space.

"So, what does that tell you?"

Alim smiled. "Well… I think I might have an Idea of just why you can store magic like this even though I failed to come up with a way to do it myself. The thing is that you so-called 'mindscape' isn't something I, or anyone else that I know of, can emulate."

"Well," the stout warrior scratched his head. "I just figured I stored the energy in my mind or body somehow, but I'm guessing your scanning just showed you that it's probably not it…"

"No indeed," Alim went into full lecture mode. "I can say for a fact that you don't store the energy in your being. Which means that… you hold it somewhere else."

"I'm going to go out on a limb here and hope that there's a reason why you're playing mister obvious…"

"What I am saying…. Is that you probably have access to a place… or dimension at least partially similar but different from the Fade."

There was silence.

"Wait," the prince began to twist his moustache around his index finger. "Actually, this does make sense. Tranquil lose their emotions from being cut off from the Fade, but we dwarves definitely aren't lacking in that department, even though our Fade access is normally nonexistent. So you're saying we dwarves are linked to… some other place… But if that's true…"

"Then that 'mindscape' of yours is actually a sort of refuge for when your mind leaves your body and takes shelter there. It's actually a part of that 'dimension,' part you made your own by reflex somehow, one that you preserve with the energy you get from the Fade or, when that doesn't work, your life force," Alim coughed in his fist. "In theory, at least…"

"Theory indeed," as expected, he was a bit reserved. "What dimension or whatever could that even be?"

Alim decided to just admit he was stumped on this. "I have no clue," he said with a shrug. "Maybe it's not a different dimension at all. Maybe's it's a part of the Fade that is separate from the rest in some way, though I doubt it's the latter. The magic resistance your people usually exhibit might be the effect of the energy just being drained through you and into whatever that plane is…"

"Well, if it's all the same to you, I'll not start to try and look beyond the mirror shell of my small little world," Raonar said quite immediately. "I have strong cause to consider such things an extremely bad idea for everyone, not just me."

"I wasn't going to suggest it," the mage assured him. "As you probably guessed, the **you** there is your… mental 'body' so to speak… So if you 'die' there, you can be sure the rest of you will go mad and best and catatonic or dead at worst. That's what almost happened this last time and-"

"-and the time before and the time before **that** too," the commander finished for him before his shoulders slumped. "Okay, I'll keep this possibility in mind, though I'm not sure what it means for me." With a wave of his hand, the sound nullifying barrier was disrupted. "Now, however, I think I need to have a chat with Shale. I think Oghren told her something just now."

Alim watched him slip past and make his way to the bronto. After he took something out from the bag used to store books, tomes and everything else that was made of paper, he headed for where the golem had stopped striking the wall barrier and was just resting a palm against it, seemingly lost in thought.

This was going to be a long day… if it was even day. Not for the last time, Alim muttered something at the impossibility of telling night from day and figured he may as well prepare the others to head out again.

"-. .-"

Shale did wonder at why that small Warden had told her to smash the back wall first, but not for long. As soon as she'd finished putting the first cracks into that first wall she later crushed to bits, she realized it was doing good things to her nerves… so to speak. Having originally been a dwarf, she figured she either did have the nerves to feel frustrated or had them at one point in the past, so the phrase worked either way.

Regardless, though it did take some time to finish grinding that stone barrier to bits, Shale felt it hadn't taken long enough, so she resolved to see if she could have the second one take longer. Apparently, she could not, because she needed to vent so much that she couldn't pull her punches at all. Belatedly, the golem realized this was one circumstance where she would have preferred being susceptible to fatigue. At least as a creature of flesh, squishy though she would be, she would have eventually tired herself out and relieved herself of everything that had piled up inside.

Not that she would ever admit to such feelings.

Managing to break off one larger chunk of the wall door, the golem bent over and hauled it with both hands, after which she made to carry it to the side. Much to her chagrin, however, she noticed, then, what the sound-dampening field had prevented her from hearing, namely the fact that **that** dwarf, of all people, was coming over, looking at her and grinning.

Dropping the slab of rock unceremoniously, she walked back to resume pounding on the obstacle. "Has it come to whine?" Shale didn't like the fact that her tone didn't sound as flat as she had intended. "Or is its supply of booze exhausted and it now needs some other way to pass the time? If so, I kindly ask that it pester someone else. I have a job to do and it does not bear interrupting."

"You're in one of those moods then, eh?" Oghren asked in his gravelly voice from where he'd stopped, leaning on his shoulder against the bare rock and crossing his arms in front of his chest. He'd taken his armor off and was just wearing some clothes, a bit tattered and dirty with dry sweat and dust, but that was no different from most everyone else. "Funny how that goes. You injure and almost kill some of us and it's **you** that's upset."

Shale expected the sarcasm but she didn't expect the lack of disdain. "Hmph! As if it didn't inflict its own share of physical injuries on the others when it went berserk so many times."

Oghren smirked. "You're dodging the subject. Then again, it's natural for you I suppose. To get flustered around a symbol of sheer masculinity like me. After all, you're a naked girl dwarf." He even sniggered at that.

Shale glanced at him sideways, so she noticed him leering. "Who is **also **made of stone. Erase the mental image in your head, drunkard, or I shall crush it out with my fist!"

If anything, the fighter just grinned wider. "Hot."

Shale glared and was seriously pondering hurling that rock she was holding straight at his head. Thus, she was taken off balance by the way his eyes narrowed and he turned more serious than he'd ever been.

"You look like you want to throw another boulder at me."

Shale tossed it away, doing her best to look impassive.

"I don't suppose you're upset about missing the last time," he pressed.

Before she knew it, the golem had thrown a smaller piece of rock at him. He managed to duck, so it smashed to bits against the solid wall behind him. Biting back a curse at her own lapse in judgment, the golem turned her back completely to the dwarf and wished he'd just go away.

"Aye, quite the temper you have there," he said to her back as he straightened up. "I thought so. You know, this is what I came to talk to you about. I think I got it now, why you claimed to forget about that murdering your old master bit."

Shale diligently refused to turn around, though she almost froze when he said that. "Oh? Do tell. Does it involve prostitutes and quaint mining references?"

The short man chuckled. "You're embarrassed," he drawled out that last word too and snickered some more.

Shale didn't really know how better to answer that, so she went for the usual: flatly repeat it and hope you sound incredulous. "I… am embarrassed…"

Some different inflexion showed up in his voice then. "You're a **proud** one. If I know anything, it's when people are too proud for their own damn good. And whatever that mage that had you before dug up in you, it made you lose control didn't it?"

Shale didn't realize she'd stopped scooping debris up.

Oghren did though. "The same way you turned on us just now, am I right? If that big fella hadn't tackled you when you were throwing that boulder, I'd be paste inside my armor right now. And him, oh boy. I heard you complimenting him before, as though you were trying to convince yourself he's not as easy to crush as the rest, but just one hit from you and you broke his arms, one of them in three places."

Shale kicked some rocks out of her way. "Is it done?"

Apparently not. "You go on and on about how humans are **weak** and they **die** so easily. And you should know, right? Slip only once and they die, just like that."

Shale stubbornly resumed the work of clearing up the current mound of rubble in order to make room for what will fall once she resumed pounding. "This is its theory?"

"And that mage that had you before, Willy, or what was his name. I bet you even **liked** the guy. Easier to believe you killed someone you hate, though, huh?"

Shale went still in her motion to punch the barrier. Then, slowly, her hand loosened and she just put her palm on it and just stood there. "I… it knows nothing. It knows less than nothing." The golem cringed at how much shock seeped into that lame denial, but she found herself unable to say anything else.

"About screwing up?" Oghren really laughed heartily at that. "I know lots. More than lots. But you just go on believing whatever you want, stone-britches."

Shale eyed him from the corner of her eye as he left, but before she could realize she'd been shocked motionless, another, more familiar voice was heard from the other side. "He doesn't seem so shallow now, does he?" The golem said nothing in reply to that, though she did flinch at how he'd just appeared there. She turned to look at him in time for his next question. "So, have you managed to vent enough yet?"

As always, he didn't sound mocking at all. "I do not need to vent anything…"

Naturally, he didn't buy it. "You've been throwing yourself at these defenseless walls like there was no tomorrow though…" Some silence fell at last, though Shale couldn't bring herself to break it by punching the wall again for some reason.

The reason came eventually, however. "Walk over here, will you?"

In spite of herself, she turned to look at him. "What does it want?"

The look he had on was strangely reassuring. "I've been holding off on telling you this. I figured I'll hold onto it for when you needed to hear it." He held up some sort of tome that looked handwritten. "I found this in Honnleath. It's the journal of the mage Wilhelm, your previous master."

Taken aback, Shale actually shook her head, grinding and all, and made a few slow steps in his direction. "I am not about to admit to anything that fool of a drunkard just said, so what difference could this small object make? Does it think I am interested in whatever that vain man last wrote in there?"

The white-haired warden began to read. "13 Pluitanis: The interrogation of the demon is going well, and is rather fascinating-provided that what it is saying is true. I have sent all my research so far to First Enchanter Arden, and while he is concerned about my safety he does not think there is a reason to stop just yet. All I hope is that the templars do not discover what I am doing. How will we ever find another way to deal with demonic possession if the Chantry does not let us research it?"

Shale shrugged. "So he was conversing with demons. How is this relevant now?"

The small warden just flipped some pages and resumed reading. "20 Eluviesta: Young Matthias nearly wandered down here again today, and this time I forgot to leave the barrier up. I believe I will key the defenses to ignore anyone of my blood. I would rather have the boy stumble into the laboratory than have him killed by my forgetfulness. Poor lad, all he wants is to know why his father spends so much time beneath the tower. I will spend more time with him soon, I swear it."

"…"

The bearded one smiled again. "Doesn't sound very vain, does he?" He made his statement vaguely challenging before his eyes went to the tome once more. "28 Eluviesta: Shale is acting strangely. I wonder if I should discontinue my experiments upon it? I am so near a breakthrough, I am certain! Ahhh, perhaps it is best if I focus on the demon."

"Acting strangely…" Shale repeated hollowly.

"2 Matrinalis: The demon almost managed to get away again. Tricky. I shall have to be more careful. Young Eamon sent a letter asking me to return to Redcliffe. I shall have to consider it. Soon."

"…"

"11 Matrinalis: Could it be? What an intriguing discovery, especially considering that the demon was attempting to keep me from it at all costs. Or did it lead me to that information by seeming to deny it from me? I must discover the truth."

"Does it have a point?" the stone giant asked pointedly.

His brief shut-up-and-listen glare promptly got her mouth to clamp still. He flipped through a fairly thick stack of pages before reading again. "19 Umbralis: I think it is time to dismiss this demon. It is too dangerous for me to continue holding it, and I cannot discount the possibility that it is having some influence over the golem. Or is it my experiments? I will try to deactivate Shale for the time being and then deal with the demon once and for all. Let it end here."

Both of them fell silent, and with the sound barrier still around them, absolutely nothing could be heard for a while. "Does it…" Shale managed to find her voice. "Does… the tome really say that?"

Smiling softly, the prince focused slightly and, projecting a faint aura around the journal, levitated it up to Shale's eye level, opened at the last entry. The golem stared at it at length and, eventually, a larger, stone hand came up, the book looking incredibly tiny in that palm.

"…" The only hint of emotion was that her orange crystals started to pulse irregularly.

And then, the words came. "It wasn't your fault that happened Shale."

The journal chose that, of all moment, to slip off her palm and plummet towards the ground, blast it all. Accompanied by a gasp, Shale's body moved on its own, trying to catch it and failing. Fortunately, the exile was fast enough to will its fall to cease as he chuckled silently, probably more at how comical she must have looked just then. "Cliched though it might sound…"

Shale realized she'd sat down on a boulder and was now just staring at that open book, once again in her left palm, her task of breaking down the wall completely forgotten. "I… know not what this all truly means yet… It was all so long ago…"

"Is it good or bad?"

"… Good… I suppose…"

"Great!" the dwarven noble said merrily, walking past her and putting a hand on her much larger shoulder. "Thanks for not immediately wanting to clobber me for taking so long to show this to you. Now then," at his glance, the tome flew back into his grasp. "We still need that wall crumbled, but you can take some time to realize you're feeling great before you get back to it."

And he walked off.

After a while, Shale (who'd completely skipped over the part where she even bothered trying to figure that small warden out) decided she'd had enough soul-searching and got back to her feet, cracking her rocky fists in renewed enthusiasm as she descended upon the wall patch with fresh vigor. Not long after, the way was clear, and they could finally advance. Soon, she would be looking upon the place where she was made into the creature she now was.

Perhaps there was some way to reverse the process. Not that she wanted it to happen, but it was still something she wouldn't mind knowing.

"-. .-"

The way was finally clear, but even while moving along the now opened, tall tunnel, Oghren couldn't stop himself from throwing looks behind him. He couldn't shake the feeling that Branka might just show up to cause trouble. After all, the way things were going, it was likely that they would find the Anvil right in the next room, or whatever the place happened to be. Since she'd already thrown everything away to get it, as obsessed as Oghren had to admit she was, she probably wasn't going to just back down, especially after having been… 'challenged' like that.

The fighter was a bit annoyed at that so-called Warden Commander for how he'd handled things with his wife. Sure, he could understand him being a bit angry, but he didn't really need to call her a bitch, especially since she was a Paragon. He should've known better. Then again, it's not like the stuff he usually did made that much sense anyway. Even just now, before they left, he did some weird things.

For one, he gathered some of the rubble Shale made and arranged it like a few of graves. Oghren was still asking himself why he'd bothered, but he'd gone over and asked what in stone's nipples he was doing. The guy answered he was "setting up contingencies" but didn't even explain anything else. Instead, he walked off and spent the rest of the time it took Shale to finish talking to that sodding dog of his.

The warrior was starting to wonder who was crazier: that prince guy, or the rest of'em for following him. They **had** helped him find his wife, but what was he going to do next? What was that two-timing prince planning? Was it at least something that made sense?

With some measure of annoyance, Oghren grumbled when he reached for his flacon of ale and realized it was empty. He'd forgotten to refill it before setting off again, and he couldn't just go over to the bronto and stop the whole convoy just to get some. Not knowing how else to distract himself from his craving, he decided to look at his surroundings more closely.

Just in time too, because they were just going through the big archway and into a… very, very huge cavern.

"Whoa…" the red-headed warrior let out before whistling long and loud for good measure. From the looks of it, the place seemed like it was a natural occurrence instead of having been carved. Actually, the sheer size of it pretty much made that clear. Dwarves wouldn't ever have managed to make such a big space unless they had centuries and hundreds of miners to spare just for that.

The way ahead started wide, but the natural walls flanking both sides soon gave way to depths, chasms that ended in what could only be a deep, smoldering river of magma if the red glow on both sides of the cliff they were on was any clue (and the heat and dry air). Once they cleared the huge paragon statue on the left (which held in its stone arms big slab with writing carved into it) the way went up on a bluff, and it was there that the anvil stood. It was large, big enough for a golem to lie down as if sleeping on a bed, and the way to it was distinguished by two rows of proud columns, ancient but still every bit as strong as when they'd first been erected.

At least those things are what Oghren **would** have noticed if there weren't a couple of things that stood out more.

One of the facts that immediately drew attention was the abundance of lyrium veins. They weren't even small ones either. While little spikes were in no shortage, there were several that stuck out of the ceiling, huge, serpentine and sharp protrusions that cast their unusually strong, teal glow over the space below. As for the ones that came from beneath, some having grown up through the lava itself, they looked just like vines. One of them had even twisted around one of those columns and caused it to bend at an angle.

The other major factor that everyone immediately took into account was the welcoming party. No less than six stone golems, bodies aglow with lyrium, were arranged in two rows of three, one on each edge of the cliff path. They were watching them intently, but made no move. At the end of the rows was a larger, metal construct, lightning crackling around and through it, pulsing as it straightened up when noticing their approach.

Once they were between the first two sentries, Oghren had to halt along with everyone else, since that white-haired prince had ceased his advance for no apparent reason. Soon enough, the exile half-turned. "Theron… take your wolf and the bronto behind that big statue over there. Zevran and Kallian… You two go and… help him secure the beast properly." Then, to Gwen. "Have Damon go with them and wait there for a while."

Oghren was a bit confused at the order. Why did it take three people to rear that docile animal? And what was with the dog part? Come to think of it, where had that black mutt disappeared to? It was right there a minute ago.

"Wait a moment," Sten, though he rarely spoke first, requested. After that, he went over to the weapon bundle and pulled out a mace. Asala was still in its baldric on his back, but with his arm in a sling, he couldn't really use it well, so at least that move made sense.

Once the weird orders were carried out, the rest of them resumed advancing until, at long last, they were near enough to have words with that big metal giant. Since it was at the end of the road and seemed to command the rest, it was some kind of leader. Maybe it had answers about what that paragon smith was thinking when he built this trap course.

What the echoing voice said definitely left the dwarf a bit shocked though. "So it seems someone has finally succeeded in finding and overcoming my traps. I suppose it was too much to hope that my people would forget about my invention and let it be lost to time." The black steel golem heaved a sigh. "My name is Caridin. Once, longer ago than I care to think, I was a Paragon to the dwarves of Orzammar."

"Caridin?" Shale sounded every bit as shocked as Oghren would've if he'd managed to get the first word out. "The Paragon smith? Alive?"

The mass of steel shifted and the head move to the side. Its face had no moving parts, but the voice had no problem making itself heard regardless. "Ah, there is a voice I recognize," nostalgia, of all things. "Shayle of the House of Cadash, step forward."

Since she was conveniently among those closest to the front, the stone golem had no problem acquiescing. "You... know my name? Is it you that forged me, then? Is it you that gave me my name?"

"Have you forgotten, then?" the construct sighed a second time "I suppose It has been a long time. I made you into the golem you are now, Shayle, but before that you were a dwarf... just as I was. The finest warrior to serve King Valtor, and the only woman to volunteer. I laid you on the Anvil of the Void, here in this very room, and put you into the form you now possess."

"So I truly was a dwarf…. and female at that," Shale sounded resigned, if anything. "To think all the jokes I've had to live with so far actually have basis in reality." After a moment, she gave Oghren what, in golem terms, probably was a light backhand in the side "That does not mean it has permission to resume its previous fantasies."

"Watch it, stone face!" the dwarf growled as he barely kept himself from stumbling. "Can we just get a move on? I get that some people like sappy reunions but we're on a tight schedule here." That wasn't really true, but eh, not that it mattered. "We're here for the Anvil of the Void."

The golem was not surprised. "If you seek the Anvil, then you must care about my story, or be doomed to relive it," the paragon pronounced solemnly.

"This feels strangely predictable," Gwen said from behind, sounding vaguely amused.

"Actually, this works perfectly," the commander stated, his expression remarkably devoid of any emotion besides some skepticism. "You do have to prove you really are who you say you are after all."

The fighter would have scoffed at his paranoia, but Caridin didn't waste time. "Though I made many things in my time, I rose to fame and earned my status based on a single item: the Anvil of the Void that you see behind me." It was an imposing thing too, lyrium veins going in and out of it like lifeblood that didn't belong anywhere else. "It allowed me to forge a man of steel or stone, as flexible and clever as any soldier. As an army, they were invincible. But I told no one the cost. No mere smith, however skilled, has the power to create life. To make my golems live, I had to take their lives from elsewhere."

"That much we already learned," the prince interjected somewhat crisply when the golem paused. "We found your journal after all. We know you turned dwarves into these super soldiers by encasing them in stone or steel and pouring molten lyrium through the eye sockets." The guy really did seem a bit annoyed, or so Oghren thought.

"It was an option I could offer warriors who would volunteer. And some took it. Indeed, originally I only took volunteers, the bravest of souls willing to trade their very lives for the chance to defend their homeland. But King Valtor became greedy. He began to force men... casteless and criminals... his political enemies... all of them were to be given to the anvil."

The prince scoffed. "I'd ask why I'm not surprised, but that would be too predictable. You have to ask yourself why you even went along with it though. As a paragon, you could have just said no. You could have destroyed the thing right then and there."

The accusatory tone was not lost on Caridin. "Alas, you speak the truth. Had I more wisdom and strength of will, I would have done so in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, it took feeling the hammer's blow myself to realize the height of my crimes. You might say I earned this, and it would be true. Trapped forever in my own creation. A fitting punishment, I suppose."

"How is it that you weren't rendered a mindless drone like all other golems?" Alim asked.

"Ah, but you see, golems are not truly mindless," he gestured to Shale. "Shale herself can attest to this. The warriors turned into golems never truly lost their minds, only their wills when they were bound to control rods. Subservient, thus it was that I made them. Always at the behest of others, they would know no freedom but, at the same time, they would know no guilt either. This is the price needed to ensure absolute loyalty."

"Almost like the tranquil," Alim noted somberly.

"You asked me how I did not become such a thrall. It was because my apprentices knew enough to make me as I am, but not enough to fashion a control rod. I retained my mind. Those who stood by me, those I was able to break free of the magic of control rods, they stayed with me and we ousted al others. We have remained entombed here ever since, and I have sought a way to destroy the Anvil. Alas, I cannot do it myself. No golem can touch it." He looked at the crystal-clad stone giant. "You were amongst the most loyal, Shayle. You remained at my side throughout, and at the end I sent you away out of mercy."

"I... do not remember…" she admitted, reluctantly.

"Well, I suppose you really are who you said you are," Raonar decided. "I admit I did have a passing wish to find you still alive somehow, however unlikely that outcome was, although the way you are now does put a dampener on my original plan."

"You wished to find me still among the living? What is it that you wished for then?"

"Honestly?" the exile frowned. "To punch you in the face."

The utterly flat way of relaying that statement caused a deep silence to fill the area.

"Of course, with you being immune to pain and all, and solid metal, it would only end with me hurting my hand. There's justice for you."

Oghren's mouth was hanging half-open. That was the second Paragon he'd badmouthed within the span of a single day.

"I suppose I understand your sentiment," Caridin eventually, and guiltily, spoke again.

"No, I'm not sure you do," the challenge came. "But we'll get to that later. For now, you can tell me why you didn't just forge something like a big, long warhammer to smash that anvil to bits from afar or something. If no golem can touch it, then why in stone's name didn't you just use a weapon to do it? Why didn't you rig the ground to explode? Why didn't you demolish the whole cliff for that matter? Or does the Anvil itself have mind-control powers that completely prevented any directly harmful thoughts to appear in your minds? No, don't answer that!" He pressed his fingers against the bridge of his nose. "Even if I did ask you how to trash it, I'm afraid we'll be interrupted by the newest arrivals."

Oghren's mouth escaped a "Huh?" before things became clear.

"No!" a familiar woman's voice resounded through the Anvil chamber. "The Anvil is mine! No one will take it from me!"

Turning around like everyone else, Oghren spotted Branka right at the entrance. And she wasn't alone.

"Let's see," the voice captured the fighter's attention and he saw that the commander hadn't turned around yet. "Three… no, four… Oh… That **bitch**." Finally turning on his heel, he addressed her. "You really couldn't leave things well enough alone, could you? I'm guessing you have a control rod that let you enslave those golems we passed on our way here? Odd that there are only four though. What happened to the fifth one? **Another** being dead because of you?"

"A control rod?" Caridin turned on high alert. "Of all the things! To think she made the Guardians her thralls. You! Please... help me destroy the Anvil! Do not let it enslave more souls than it already has! Shayle... you fought to destroy the Anvil once! Do not allow it to fall into unthinking hands again!"

Shale was obviously perturbed by how desperate that plea was. "You speak of things I do not remember. You say we fought... did you use our control rods to command us to do so?"

"I destroyed the rods! Perhaps my apprentices eventually learned to replace the rods, I do not know, but if so, then all they need is the Anvil to make all the slaves they need! You have to understand, the Anvil, what it does is-"

"Don't listen!" Branka yelled. "He's been trapped here for a thousand years, stewing in his own madness! Help **me** claim the Anvil, and you will have an army like you've never seen!" Her four golems came around her, two on each side. "Look at them. All of Caridin's traps, the ones you left behind, a single golem was able to go through and destroy them all. Yes, it was destroyed as well, but if just one can defeat everything the master smith could come up with, think of what a whole battalion of them can accomplish!"

"You did what?" Shale burst.

Oghren didn't really get the full extent of why it bothered him so much, but Branka really was starting to worry him. When had she fallen to such madness? "Branka, you mad, bleeding nug-tail! Does this thing mean so much to you that you can't even see what you've lost to get it?"

Branka scoffed. "Look around. Is this what our empire should look like? A crumbling tunnel filled with darkspawn spume? The Anvil will let us take back our glory! You!" She pointed with the arm-long control rod at the exile. "I'm the one you came here to find, not him!"

The sound of Maric's Blade being drawn cut through the intensity as the Commander of the Grey stood as tall as dwarven stature allowed, eyes aglow. "There is no reasoning with the obsessed," light began to shine through the cracks in his armor. "Suffice to say, you are not getting the Anvil, Branka. Nothing will be left of it by the time we all leave this place forever."

"So it fights with Caridin? Good. That seems right," Shale nodded.

"Have you truly no desire to discover this anvil's potential?" Morrigan, of all people, asked, sounding puzzled. "It is a marvel, a tool of creation!"

"Even the best of tools may be misused. This is a thing of blood magic, of destruction!" Wynne challenged, shaking her head.

"Sometimes creation involves the destruction of one thing to make way for another. 'Tis a law of nature that death is the parent to life," Morrigan stated casually. "The fact is that you could rival the Maker himself with this instrument!"

"Says someone who's spent every living moment denying the existence of that entity," Raonar pointed out. "Maybe you'd like to go first and become a golem yourself then? I hear molten lyrium does wonders to the skin. And don't even **think** of saying I wouldn't dare. Only caring for power is the only reason I could possibly decide to side with Branka on this, so there wouldn't be anything stopping me from having you put through that, would there?"

"I… would rather not find out…" the witch backpedalled.

Oghren would have wondered why these people hadn't talked about this beforehand, or maybe they had, but the witch was just that stubborn. Either way, his real problem was the fact that the ones he was with were going to turn on his wife and, much as he hated admitting it, he actually agreed with a lot of their reasoning. Still, this was his **wife**. "Just give her the blasted thing! She's confused... maybe once she calms down, we can talk to her!"

"Sorry man," Faren said from beside him. "Not happening."

Whatever protests Oghren had disappeared in an instant as a sudden, sharp pain at the back of his head snuffed out his consciousness and he knew no more.

"-. .-"

Things had fallen silent, not that the golem was all that surprised. Once he'd been made to stomp through that hall and gotten all the traps thrown in its face, there was nothing left of it, intact at least, except the head and part of the torso. The rest of his body mass was scattered in chucks around the place. That woman that had managed to gain control over him and the others had gone ahead, either not realizing or not caring that he was still alive, or active as it were.

Vord of Noble house Mestor. That used to be his name before he fell prey to the ill will of that despot King Valtor and was forcefully transformed into a Golem. When Caridin finally turned on the King, he was one of those that chose to become part of the permanent measures set in place to ward off intruders. Ironic really. He'd elected to spend eternity as a sentry against those who would seek the Anvil, and had ultimately been the one to completely destroy all the other defenses set in place.

And now, there was nothing left of him except this one chunk lying next to the wall and a rocky mess spread across the floor. To spend eternity like this, forever bound to this motionless husk, this wasn't how he'd envision his end. He wondered now if all those he'd seen fall in battle had also met similar fates, if their souls were stuck inside chunks of lyrium-infused rock, trampled by darkspawn and Stone knows what else, day after day. He now asked himself if his fate, to likely be forgotten down here, where no beast or man treads, was worse than having even that sort of unwitting interaction to keep track of, hoping to ward off madness, at least for a time.

He wished he still had a means to scream, but he didn't. With the neck cracked, he could not move his head even the slightest bit either, and the angle of his face let his eyes see just one small part of the floor, vantage point never reaching the door. He'd put all his will into trying to shift even the smallest bit, to no success.

The fleeting shadows cast by the fire in the enchanted braziers had been the only motion he could distinguish during those hours since being reduced to this state, and already he was growing weary of it. One would think that after centuries of staying motionless and guarding, it would come easier to deal with this, but there was no longer any sense of wholeness. There was also no worry that he might cause any damage by going mad, since he was now just an impotent piece of junk. So now, the one certainty he had was that it would not be long before he would go completely mad and that, as time passed, no one would ever know of his plight or be able to do anything about it.

The dancing shadows of the fire were growing thinner and rarer. White light seemed to be replacing the red-orange glow now. Ah, so he was going insane already? If he still had all the needed moving parts, he would probably be laughing at himself right now, for being so weak.

Wait.

Wait wait…

He **was** laughing.

He didn't realize it at first, but the laughter wasn't just imagined. He'd actually laughed.

Not shocked enough to freeze completely, Vord tried to move his head experimentally, and he succeeded. Slowly, he managed to turn his head around, realizing his missing eye socket had been somehow mended. The white light was even more intense now, so he turned his head some more, absently noticing that the cracks in what was left of his body had disappeared like they'd never even been there.

And then he saw it.

Hovering right above him was an orb of light, immaculate in its brilliant glow. The light it cast was intense, brighter than the fire, but of the sort that he was sure would not be hurtful even to the most sensitive of human, elvish or dwarven eyes. Arcs of electricity danced around the surface of the inner sphere, while the outer one pulsed calmly and reassuringly.

There was dust and sand around it, stone and lyrium both, floating, coursing like streams under its hold, some settling upon his own body, or what was left of it, ever so slowly mending his imperfections.

"Who...?" His voice returned at last. "How…?"

The orb surrendered the perfection of its form for one of a different sort, and the light took shape. The inner orb focused upon itself. Something like two white eyes appeared, the rest of the center taking the appearance of a ballroom mask.

It looked like it was smiling, even if it had no real face.

The outer orb became more solid, but folded and streamed around and above him, assuming the shape of a mantle of light. A high collar came behind the jester mask, while the rest cascaded outwards, blanketing him and then the floor as more and more of that place became the territory of whatever that being was.

The spirit's eyes was smiling down on him now, and that voice, like it came from so far away and yet so near, was deep and soft. "Rest easy young one," a white tendril brushed against his shoulder and healed the stone joint. "You shall be whole again soon."

He didn't need to feel his body steadily coming back together to believe that promise.

"-. .-"

The second son of the late dwarven king straightened up as Oghren fell face-first to the ground, knocked out by the blow to the head he'd delivered with the sword's pommel. "Sorry Oghren. I'll not let you land in a situation where you might kill your loved ones if I can help it." The man would most likely end up hating his guts later though, since what he had in mind for Branka was not particularly nice and friendly, but he could live with that. He already lived with so much else. "Sten, Faren, drag him away from here."

"You are not the only master smith here, Caridin!" Branka boasted. "Golems, obey me!" With that, she held out her control rod and practically every Golem in the Area, except Shale but including Caridin, stiffened.

"No!" Caridin bellowed. "My friend, you must stop her. The power of the control rod is strong and I… must… focus all my attention into fighting its effects. I will not be able to keep all of these guardian golems free of her control."

"Alim, telekinetic weapons. Now."

Gathering his magic, the elf did as instructed, and the flare of his magic was the signal that started the battle.

There were six golems in the Anvil chamber. Branka had brought four more, and with Shale there were eleven. Expanding his awareness, the Warden Commander cast his sight outward, perceiving the electromagnetic spectrum of the magic that was struggling for control over them all. Thus it was that he witnessed two maelstroms practically throwing themselves at the other, Branka's zeal and Caridin's fervor, and it was then that the golems clashed.

The four that made a wall in front of Branka were attacked by just as many golems, and the impact of their fists shook and rattled the earth. Of the three left, two found themselves on the same side, so they hurled themselves at Shale in unison. "Bring it on, then!" She met them, one fist for each as fire engulfed her arms, heating them. They both had free hands, however, and while Alim did freeze one with the grasp of Winter, the other one nailed Shale well on the chest, just before Wynne encased it inside an impenetrable field of force.

"Alim, I'll leave things here to you! See if you can keep the damage to a minimum." Not waiting for a reply, the dwarven noble kicked the ground away, magic throwing him forward before the enemy golems could try and restrain him. Another leap let him close the distance until he was just behind the four allied Golems holding Branka's own at bay. That was when he kicked the ground again, a magical pulse sending him upwards, vaulting over the constructs.

The insane Paragon came into his view when he was still airborne, upside down in the air as his leap had thrown him overhead. She was fiddling with some strange object she had in her hand, like a shield but not quite. He adjusted his position in anticipation of the landing, intent on neutralizing the overzealous woman quickly and take her rod away, thus preventing unnecessary casualties.

Unfortunately, it became obvious that his plan had to go through an immediate revision when his aura of might was blown away like dust and all the magic he'd used to reinforce his body abruptly left him.

Bereft of all superior constitution, he landed very hard on his feet. The force was too much to manage, so he let instinct take over and continued the descent with a roll, but by then his right ankle had already been sprained and he failed to keep hold of his sword as he tumbled. Gasping, he noticed the shadow in time to roll aside, dodging a sword strike that could have gone through his back or at least done some damage to his un-plated joints if the Legion Armor managed to hold against that sword.

Branka made to stab down at him again, but he kicked her in the chest and sent her staggering. Much to his chagrin, he realized he'd used his right, sprained foot to do it, but he bit back the groan and pushed himself to stand, securing the hold on his Legion Shield as he did it.

"Not so tough without whatever that freakish power of yours is, are you?" the Paragon smith taunted, slashing at him but only meeting the targe. "See my shield? The runes I made after you showed off what you can do completely nullify all magic within a ten meter radius!" She followed with several quick strikes that had the unarmed man on the defensive. "All I have to do now is prevent you from recovering until my golems win this skirmish and then nothing will keep me from the anvil!"

Raonar had to hand it to her, she really took him by surprise with that one. It had been a long time since anyone had managed to take him this much off-guard. Doing his best not to move around and let the Lifegiver's magic do its thing on his ankle, he kept blocking her. Time in the Deep Roads had definitely toughened the woman up, but she wasn't really close to his fighting level. It was a good thing whatever anti-magic ward she'd created wasn't strong enough to nullify equipment enchantments at least.

"Stubborn one, are you?" the smith sounded frustrated and, with her shielded hand, loosed the straps on her hip pouch, letting two…cube-like things fall to the ground. "I have to say it's a good thing there is so much raw lyrium here."

Much to his honest surprise, the energy from three of those spiked lyrium veins flew out of its own volition and, like siphons, went straight into those two objects, which promptly unclasped and went through some clockwork-like process before dust and rock, as well as raw magic, solidified into two clones of Branka herself. "Die already!" Both clones pulled one of the two extra swords that Branka on her back and all three of them all struck at the exile at once.

Right, so this was getting serious.

He could oblige.

Ducking under the original's blow, he swiped with the edge of his round shield at the first clone and, spinning around, threw himself, back first, at the second one, its thrust coming under his arm and held there as he used her blade to block the other two. Gnashing his teeth at the protests of his still not yet healed ankle, he reached back and grabbed the head of that temporary construct (however she'd built it) and threw it over his shoulder into the second.

Raonar Aeducan liked to think of himself as a prepared man, so he had a lot of backup elements in place at all times. One was the second sword on his back. Another was the fact that the tip of all his scabbards were collapsible.

Kicking back, the sole of his foot struck the end of that sheath head on, and the force of it as the tip sunk into itself propelled the blade upwards, flying through the air and spinning once before its hilt found his grasp. The Legion shield intercepted a blade aimed at his neck, while the sword came down, grip reversed, and caught the other two in a cross.

"You had to know this would happen," Braka practically snarled, though her disdainful smirk never left her face. "I saw them, you know. Those graves you put up. Kind of a reduced force you ended up with. As I said, no way to pass except through trial and error. Like whatever landed you in exile, leaving you like this, resenting your younger brother for how he obviously had to have gotten the better of you, looks like your errors were many indeed."

The exiled prince was distantly aware of the noises made by all the others as they fought on the other side of that golem wall. What he really was preoccupied with was what he'd just heard, and he really didn't bother saying anything else. "Branka… you are **such** an idiot."

Yes. Raonar Aeducan was a very prepared man. One of the countermeasures was the set of fake graves he'd set up before leaving the stone mask chamber, meant to mislead Branka into overestimating her chances. That, or she could check them and feel superior at having seen through the ploy.

Another countermeasure was the talk he'd had with his faithful mabari war hound right afterwards, the one that had made Oghren question his sanity and which could, essentially, be summed up as "Rinne, jump Branka from behind when I give the signal."

The signal, in this case, was "Branka, you are **such** an idiot."

The woman didn't even have time to gasp in shock when a big weight slammed her from behind and she was thrown to the ground, prone. She probably wanted to struggle, but the hound's teeth around the back of her neck promptly made her reconsider.

Thinking for themselves, Kallian and Zevran had been waiting for a good moment and appeared behind either of those two Branka clones at the same time, running them through and breaking the cubes, having a vague idea of where they were after watching the process earlier. They crumbled to their base parts soon after.

Making haste, the dwarven noble launched at the strap on the woman's side and gained ownership of the control rod. "GOLEMS HALT!" His shout was loud and immediately took effect. His hearing picked up just some more sparse crumbling noises before everyone and everything stopped fighting. "Right. Break it off and scatter. I need to see what happened here."

Walking forward somewhat, the pain in his ankle just a dull ache now, the Golems nearest parted to let him pass. Caridin was slumped over where he was, farthest to the back, interposed between the anvil and the mayhem, apparently weary. His own subordinates looked more or less fine. It was a good thing he'd managed to finish the fight quickly. Unfortunately, one of the golems was missing an arm now, while a second one had lost his left one and a leg. There was even one whose head and torso had completely crumbled to pieces, something like lyrium-infused flesh visible among the bits.

Not giving it a second thought, he walked over to where Branka was still on the ground, pinned by his dog, and brusquely took her shield away. "This is an annoyance." He promptly threw it away, sending it beyond the edge of the cliff and into the lava below. "This ends here." His magic free again, he forced light into his hand and caused the rod to shatter in his grasp with a loud blast.

Synchronized to the moment, all golems swayed, but they straightened soon after and retreated to form two rows once more, the two crippled ones helped to the side by their peers.

The White Commander clapped the dust off his gauntleted hands. "Right. Now, I believe, comes the lesson. Zevran, get the Shield of Aeducan from the bronto and hold into it." At his nod, he retrieved Maric's Blade and walked over in front of the still face-down Branka, he sat on his haunches to catch her eye. She was glaring and squirming, but not too much. After all, Rinne could, at any moment, just close her jaw and crush her neck, spine and all. "As it happens, none of the people I led here died, nor did the animals. As for the anvil you're so obsessed with, I've taken a decision." He walked over to her side and pat the hound on the back. "Rinne…. Let her go."

The dog promptly jumped off and barked once, allowing the woman to try and get her bearings.

She didn't get the chance. As soon as she started to push herself up, Raonar just grabbed her by the back of her full plate armor's collar and began to drag her along, kicking and screaming. "You! Let go of me!"

"Oh, I do think I won't." His pace was steady and his grip firm as he dragged her along. "You kept saying how the anvil is all you care about, how it calls to you, well," he tugged on her a bit more roughly when he completely ignored Caridin and passed him by. He saw Oghren getting back to his senses from the corner of his eye. Good. It was important that he see this too. "It's not that it wants to be used again. I think it's high time you actually saw and felt just who it is that you can hear."

Once he was next to the anvil, he threw the Paragon smith at it. With one hand still holding the back of her armor and the other one pressing down on her head, he forced the side of her face against the hard, metal, lyrium-infused surface, ignoring her grunts and protests the whole time. He called on everything he'd learned of the Fade, mind and outer projection. Light began to stream from him, black metal submerged in power, and tendrils coursed out of him, until they passed right through the woman's head and continued all the way into the Anvil of the Void.

The screams filled his awareness again, thousands upon thousands, all bound to it, all wailing for release, but he doubled his efforts and pushed his will harder, making sure Branka could see, hear and feel every moment of it.

After what was just little over a second in real time, a giant flash of light came from the Anvil, punctuated by a certain woman crying out in anguish, and he was forced a step back. Once the light faded, Branka was on her knees, leaning sideways against the relic, sweating profusely, her face a mask of confusion and shock in equal parts.

"And this brings us back to the why I wanted to punch Caridin in the face," he turned to address him, noticing everyone, golems included, had convened not too far from him. "Because, for no reason that I can discern, the souls of all Golems who die end up trapped here, in the Anvil, instead of ever returning to the stone as they are supposed to. The souls of the dead are the ones calling out to anyone who will hear and listen." He felt weariness catch up to him at last and his posture became heavier. "I can hear them as well…" His eyes settled on the approaching figure of Branka's husband, who looked a fair bit less angry than he expected, though he was rubbing at the back of his head all the same.

"Yes," Caridin took the word once more. "As long as the Anvil exists, it may be used to create slaves. And it **will** be used. How would you, Branka, feel to know you've been torn from all the spirits that had come before you, that you would never rest with the ancestors?"

"The dead...?" the woman mumbled. "You think that's who I hear? But... No! It's the Anvil, calling to be used... I have heard them for two years, just beyond the tunnel, speaking to me..."

"Did you hear what Caridin said?" Ah, good old Oghren. His heart really was in the right place after all. "Hundreds of people were bound into golems, trapped inside the Anvil when their bodies were destroyed. That's who you hear!"

"No," denial indeed. "You lie!"

"You know, Caridin is standing right there," the noble couldn't help but point out.

"But I... I cannot believe that is really Caridin. It must be an impostor… Caridin would never turn on his own invention. He was a genius, the best of us all…"

"Ultimately, does it matter who I am?" the century-old Paragon asked her. "Is what you've been shown not enough to make things clear? Even if you had managed to claim the Anvil, it would have been a hollow victory. It is not the victory, but the achievement that matters."

For some reason, Branka stiffened when she heard those last words, and began to climb back to her feet. "Those words… That's what Caridin himself said. You… you really are the great inventor, aren't you?"

Caridin laughed bitterly. "Great? Great inventor? And what have I wrought but something that has been torturing souls for eons and even driven so many to their deaths just to find it. I am not great, Branka, just an old fool that meddled with things that should have stayed beyond the reach of mortal ken, the same way whoever let the darkspawn into our world most likely did."

The woman Paragon shivered and backed away from the relic. "The voices... they've been calling me for so long, and I didn't even... Ahhh, Hespith tried to tell me, but I wouldn't listen. I… caused their deaths and… and so much worse, just because of the voices…" She turned to look at the prince straight in the face. "You! How? If you hear them as well, how did you…. Why didn't you even …?

"Because the dwarves can't be saved." He didn't expect that low tone of voice to carry so well and so far, but it might have just been the residual magic doing strange things to the air and sound. Either way, everyone heard him. "The only way we can have a future is if we finally learn to stand up on our own instead of waiting for someone to come to pull us away from the brink."

"…"

"How many people did you kill and turn into darkspawn abominations just to get to this thing? How much potential wasted? How many unborn children never got to live? It is the same as with everything else." He walked over to stand beside her, tracing his fingers on the anvil's surface, gossamer strands hovering around his fingertips. "Look at us, we're like a pack of mindless animals. Going about our appointed tasks because we see no recourse, and failing to do anything, no, **refusing** to even consider doing anything but hope someone will just show up and do all the work."

He noticed the great lyrium formation that had grown in a spiral around the great column on the other side of the lava lake. It looked like a hand choking the throat of the Earth itself. "And now, with the king gone and this succession crisis, we're little different from stuck pigs, to the point where we're willing to throw our whole destiny in the hands of the first surfacers who happen to walk through those gates." He studied her face again, to see her reaction. "And all the while, one or two fools entertain delusions that they are the only ones who matter, and that might makes right, so they murder left and right. Just how pathetic can we dwarves get?"

Branka said nothing. She knew well the unspoken question, whether or not things would change if she did get the Anvil and start making golems. Obviously, the answer was no. "It is the same with Paragons as well," he turned his back on the lava lake. "Living gods? Pah! Paragons, ultimately, are nothing but glorified scapegoats. Or is that not the way you felt since your instatement?"

"…"

"Always we stay on the lookout for anyone that dares to stand out of the norm, when in fact we all should think for ourselves. We choose one unfortunate person who happens to capitalize on the gifts he or she was given, and then we raise him or her to noble status, that is if we don't have them murdered over politics first. With that finished, exposure to the most rotten layer of our society is assured, the perfect place to break one's integrity and mar their wisdom. And at the end of it, we stand aside and just wait for the great Paragons to solve all of our problems, until we lose not just the willingness to stand up and work for our own salvation, but we actually forget to even consider the prospect."

This gave him an idea. "Rinne!" Ah, always so refreshing to see her run over and wag her tail. "Get one of those cubes form Branka's simulacrums, will you?" The dog ran to do as bidden as he resumed his speech. "Eventually, Paragons come to the only possible conclusion that they have to do everything themselves, so they end up lunging at the first breakthrough the stumble upon with everything they have. For example."

He locked onto Caridin. "In Ortan Thaig, there is a palace where all dwarven skeletons are arranged in a way that suggests they were trying to get away from the throne, where a prince sat even after death, his soul sold to a demon that terrified the other dwarves enough that they scraped at the walls until their fingers bled down to the knucklebones. The soldiers would have rather died on darkspawn blades than drained by that thing, yet enslaved and drained dry they were." He knew he was being a bit harsh, but this demanded no less. "Just how did **you** gain the knowledge of blood magic needed to make this Anvil work? Especially with our complete lack of Fade connection?"

The silence that fell was heavy, but he spoke before Caridin had a chance. "Don't answer. It is best if you don't pass than information, especially to the golems around you who are going to be around for a long time. Either way, this brings me to my real point. The fact is that you lunged at the chance, not realizing the soul-imprisoning and, let's be honest, completely unnecessary side-effect." He shrugged. "And this might be more because of our isolationism, but you also never even considered, say… visiting the Circle of Magi and copying whatever enchantments they have that created all those living suits of Armor that guard their vaults."

Shocked speechless, Caridin rounded on the nearest mage, which happened to be Wynne. "You…. You possess such things?"

"Yes," the woman admitted, much to Branka's wide-eyed fascination. "But I am unsure if it is some sophisticated rune or the same principle as this, perhaps Templar souls… I am afraid I am not clear on the specifics…"

"Well, Branka somehow managed to make look-alike automatons anyway," on cue, Rinne ran over and deposited that broken cube in his hand, so he made a show of inspecting it. "So… three hundred men and women dead or so **much** worse, right Branka?" She winced. As well she should. "When you could have just mass-produced these things. With Lyrium all over the place, powering them would have been no problem. So," He deftly tossed the cube back to his hound and took advantage of how he was across the Anvil from everyone else, Branka included. "With that in mind," he slammed both palms against the hard surface and, with an unexpected but convenient flash of light, glared at her heatedly. "WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING?"

Raonar had to suppress a wince of his own. It said something about him if not just Branka's husband, but Faren, Kallian and even Gwen, of all people, cringed in sympathy for that woman when he yelled at her, despite the horrible crimes she'd committed.

Nonetheless, he'd reached his goal of eliminating all objections. "The Anvil of the Void will be destroyed." He looked at them in turn, daring them to object, holding Branka in his sight until she averted her gaze. Good. With that outcome firmly in hand, he could finally get to work. "But not yet."

There was a pause.

"What?" Caridin sounded faint. "But if it continues existing, it will…"

"Not for long, relax," he waved the issue aside. "While I'd love to see our people starting to think for themselves, the fact is that there isn't much chance of that happening for years, which means that I have to fix things myself. **Again.**" The prince considered going on a muttered rant, but restrained himself. "That said, I still plan to go back with some Paragon endorsement, and I mean the endorsement from **both** of you."

Caridin thought for a moment. "With the power of the Anvil, I can forge you a crown like no other. There should be no question of it being of Paragon-make once you show it to the assembly. It is a small price to pay for the end of my sentence."

"I'll have to draw you a sketch then," the exile said simply. "There's no way I'm letting the design to you guys. No offense, but if it's going to look as stocky and blocky as paragon statues, I'd rather wear a tea kettle myself. Anyway, I'd more expected some sort of written script, like a writ or slab, so I'm going to have you make a couple of those too." Since it was as good a time as any, he reached into his pouch and took out two pieces of folded parchment. "I actually prepared the exact words for two distinct writs, just in case we did find Branka. Too bad she's not insane enough to not be responsible for all the shit she pulled."

Branka sighed in defeat but said nothing,

He addressed the ancient Paragon himself again. "I want them made of black granite, and the writing will be pure lyrium. As for the rest, there are two more things I want you to attempt. Zevran? My shield if you please."

The assassin grinned good-naturedly and lightly walked over and, with a dramatic bow, passed the heirloom before returning to his position.

"Storing souls can extend to more than living things. Objects gather personalities of sorts of their own if they are used enough. Spirits of the Fade can see those things, the memories and the value that comes with them. We hold some of these relics already and their story and 'souls' are definitely there." Taking the cloth off his targe, the exile exposed the worn, scraped silverite surface and placed it upright on the anvil. "This is the Shield of Aeducan, my ancestor. I want it reforged anew but with every bit of 'itself' intact. I'm guessing the Anvil can do that."

Raonar briefly wondered why Caridin was taking so long to answer. The shield didn't look **that** horrible, did it? "Obviously if it looked great I wouldn't need it reforged, would I?" He was completely entitled to his frustration. Definitely.

The steel golem shook his head. "Aeducan… How much time… what generation…? Just who ruled before this succession mess you speak of came to be?"

"Long story. Can you reforge the shield or not?"

A brief nod. "I believe so, and I should be able to infuse it with enchantments stronger than before and use a totally different physical shell. We will need resources however…"

Oh please, he couldn't be that clueless, could he? "So dismantle the traps. You have a bunch of golems with you here that can do it easily enough."

There was silence.

"You know," Branka finally found her voice. "I am beginning to think he might have a point about us missing on the obvious solutions…"

"Indeed." Caridin 's voice was mournful, realizing just how many unnecessarily bad things had come to pass. "Very well then. What material would you want it constructed out of?"

"Argent." He didn't hesitate at all. In fact, since the golem had volunteered, the prince drew Maric's Blade and put it on the Anvil's surface as well. "If you can give it an enchantment like the one on this sword, that would be perfect."

"I shall endeavor to meet your request to the best of my ability." Caridin even made a half-bow at that.

Now only one thing was left. "All that remains is for Branka to have something to do while you're at it, and I have just the thing, one that will only involve bringing over here one of those anvils from the stone face chamber that we didn't wreck." Turning to give Branka her task, he applied the most intense, the most serious look he could muster. "I want you to make half a dozen, extra-sharp golem-sized pickaxes."

There was silence.

And more silence as his completely barefaced look refused to abate.

And, at long last, the woman's reaction came.

"What."


	57. Second Intermission: Ancient

**Author's note: Man, this took ages. I really have no excuse for this except that I started playing a mega modded Baldur's Gate Trilogy game. Sorry about that. I thin I'll be able to avoid taking so long with the next one, especially since Chapter 55 is the return to Orzammar.**

**As fr this one, if anyone is wondering what the Song of Arlathan is, it is this: http: / / grooveshark . com/s/Violoncello+Solo/6j7kE?src=5**

**Remove spaces, as usual.  
**

* * *

**Chapter 54: Ancient**

"-. .-"

It was strange to realize that she'd started to forget what hammering away at an anvil felt like. She'd spent more than two years just sitting and waiting for the next batch of darkspawn to show up and test the traps again, that is after she finished… sending all of the members of her house out to die.

_Or so __**much**__ worse…_ came the echo of those words.

Branka's facial features drew together into something resembling the beginning of a sneer as she pushed her mind away from those thoughts. For a moment, she almost brought the hammer down on the anvil and the metal lying on it with more force than was necessary. She managed to catch herself before she did so, however, though it was not out of worry that the oversized pickaxe would turn out wrong. She just didn't want to let anything of what was going on inside show, not while under than qunari's judgmental gaze.

She no longer needed to glance in the big man's direction to know he was staring at her, with that infuriatingly blank expression that only slightly let show that he was ready to jump at her with a sword at the first sign of trouble, arm in a sling or no. He'd been doing that ever since most of the others had left to wherever that commander prince of theirs decided to go next. Sten had taken a seat on that second anvil the commander had had brought over from the stone mask chamber, 'just in case' it was needed. The reason invoked for leaving him behind was that his broken arm needed time to heal fully, but the smith was sure he was actually going to be her watchdog.

If one were to ask her about it, Branka would claim that there was nothing bothering her and that she was just immersed in her work, as she usually tended to do. Unfortunately, she knew no one would believe her, given the special circumstances that had caught and held the attention of Caridin, the other golems, Sten and those others of his cohort. And by circumstance, Branka meant the white, brilliant specter (since she couldn't think of what else it could be) that had descended from the rock above some time after the bulk of the Wardens' expedition had left. It took some serious troubling thoughts to make someone ignore of something like that.

They'd been given forewarning. Not long after the Warden commander had relayed his instructions to her and Caridin (Branka was still reeling from being ordered about and was rather shocked at how meek and submissive Caridin had proven to be), they all had been treated to the surprising sight of the Golem she'd thrown at the traps coming in through the passage leading to that area, looking better than it did when she used her control rod on it- on **him**. Vord, as was supposedly his name, proceeded to hurriedly request that they not dispose of the remains of the one golem which had been rent apart during the battle.

His explanation as to how he'd come to once again be in one piece surprised everyone, even the Warden Commander. The message that Vord had been asked to relay on the part of the strange light being that had put him back together took things one step further into puzzlement. Basically, whatever that thing was had told the golem to inform everyone that it intended to come over there and attempt to do the same to any other golem that had come to be damaged, but that it would only do so on the condition that no Grey Wardens be present in the area. Finally, as a form of compromise, the promise had also been sent that the Wardens themselves would come to meet it in the near future.

Branka considered that that prince had agreed a bit too quickly, all things considered, even though Vord had mentioned that the spirit had said that, in case Raonar was wondering why he hadn't felt his presence, he should consider just how much lyrium was littered around the place. While the white-haired warrior did look skeptical, he apparently decided that the time taken weighing the pros and cons was lost time that might have been reducing the odds of the shattered golem being restored. Then again, he did not fail to exploit the obvious loophole, namely that the terms were that no Wardens be in the area, which did not include a sizable portion of their squad.

As such, the seven left, leaving behind everyone else, except Shale, since it was her supposed home Thaig they had left to find, in order to make use of the time it was going to take to make the crown, shield and everything else. They did ask Caridin if he knew anything about a creature like this, but he was just as confused as everyone else.

Oghren had also left, since Branka had actually told him to. Looking back, she'd probably been a bit too abrupt, telling him that she needed to think and didn't want him around for a while so he should make himself useful by going with the others. He'd reacted as she remembered he usually did, disguising his hurt with a short bout of anger and stalking off grumbling. She didn't know what they could say to each other if he stuck around, however, and she did not want to deal with that now.

Branka frowned, realizing her thoughts had strayed. Odd how thinking of Oghren could do that. She turned the metal chunk around and began hammering away at it again.

The assassin and that human redhead took to tracing the tablet of names right away. Sten took a seat and let his big sword lean against his shoulder, his violet eyes fixing her with his gaze as though he suspected she'd try to do something. As for that witch and the old woman, they studiously ignored each other and made sure they were as far enough apart as possible while performing their respective magical exercises.

Then, after about as much time as it took for one to exit the trap course altogether, the thing appeared.

Like the rest, Branka had gaped like a fish as the… whatever it was... descended from the rock above as if there was nothing there. It looked like a white sphere at first, glowing pure and brighter than the lyrium around it. Once it was low enough, it practically cascaded into a mantle and a shape similar to some sort of ballroom mask, both white and shadowless, seemingly supported by an invisible body. It was accompanied by something else, like a hum at the edge of hearing.

It said nothing. It did not even pause before letting the mantle part of itself flow and grow over the remains of that golem, strands creeping through them and beginning to knit them back together. Some of the surfacers tried to address it, but they were ignored. Branka wasn't sure if it was because the thing felt it was beneath it to address them (unlikely, considering what Vord had said) or because the procedure simply required all of its attention.

Either way, as with all things, the novelty eventually expired and they all returned to their tasks. It had been four hours since then. It took three to completely merge those stone and lyrium bits back together (not to mention whatever flesh was left of the dwarf inside). Truthfully, Branka would never have believed it possible if she hadn't seen it with her own eyes, but it was a success. The creature really had taken a pile of broken rocks and lyrium bits and turned them once again into a perfect stone warrior. At the end, the golem itself was the most shocked to be once again alive and sound of both body and mind.

Banka wasn't sure how she felt about all that. Awed to be sure, but there was something else, like a knot in her stomach. She hadn't even bothered to try and see if there were ways to replicate the process. What she knew would no longer matter at all, soon enough.

The past hour, the spirit had spent putting the leg of one of the other damaged golems back into place. Now, even over the clang of hammer and tongs, Banka began to feel a prickling sensation and her hackles rise. As such, she automatically stopped what she was doing and looked to see what was the cause, noticing that the others had done the same. Even Caridin was coming down from the perch where the Anvil of the Void rested, work temporarily suspended.

Then, at long last, the creature finally spoke, a steady, disembodied, vaguely male voice with an echo of its own. "Hmm… This is taking longer than I expected…" Slowly, extensions of itself that had merged with the lyrium veins nearest to it drew back into the white mass. "I must apologize, but I need to postpone repairing your arms, young ones."

Despite the absurdity of the situation, Branka almost rolled her eyes. Calling hundred year-old golems 'young ones' definitely was something to think about.

The two crippled golems looked torn between begging it to stay and telling it that it did more than enough. They settled for bypassing the issue entirely. "Will you be back soon?" one of them asked.

The woman smith thought she noticed the mask shift as if eye smiling. "Not overly…. But come back I will." It sounded faintly amused. "Right now, I have… an appointment to keep."

"Will you not at least tell us who you are?" the old mage woman quietly asked. "Or what you are? There is… someone else that would like to know as well. It feels you are somehow familiar but…"

That told Branka absolutely nothing, but the immaterial apparition turned to behold the elderly mage. "That information will come in time." Branka scoffed involuntarily, but she found herself ignored as the creature continued. "I am aware that an exposition would be helpful, but this is simply not the time for such things."

"Do you have any relationship with my mother?"

At once, almost everyone looked at the dark-haired witch. She was standing somewhat to the side, frowning in suspicion and with her arms folded in front of her chest, awaiting an answer to that blunt and unexpected query she had uttered.

The creature, for its part, continued to project a feeling of amusement, though it seemed to grow in size under their very eyes as the high collar of that mantle twisted just enough for the profile of the mask to meet Morrigan's gaze. Here, Branka expected some cryptic saying, maybe some wordplay, but that never came.

Only one word was said. "Yes."

Morrigan's slack-jawed expression was memorable.

"Although…" the mask turned even more into an eye smile, "the same answer could be given to the question of whether or not you, young witch, have a relationship with the earth, or the air, or the sun. All things are connected. Keep that in mind when you pose such queries." Ah, so the cryptic babble came after all. Figures. "Unfortunately, I can tarry no longer. I will come to finish my task before the Grey Wardens return, however."

"Can you at least tell us why you are doing this?" Caridin asked, making Branka realize he'd somehow come to be behind her. "I expect you will want something in return…?"

The mantle began to pull back in on itself. "Do you need a reason?" The figure stood tall, an impressive feat given the lack of body beneath that overflowing mantle. "I need no reason, neither is this a trade, although, once I am gone, your thoughts will begin to go down paths less bright than they are now. Once the awe is faded, you will begin to ask yourselves if I have always existed. After that, you will start to wonder why, if I have such power, have been passive up to this point, or, if the opposite is true, just what I have been up to while this world has been falling apart."

It began to ascend slowly. "Questions will keep coming, until you begin to believe I have some ulterior plan, perhaps something involving the issue of whether or not I am a demon that is masquerading as a good sprit. After all, why else would I demand that the most powerful and perceptive of you not be near at hand when I make my appearance? Perhaps I implanted some command or control feature into these golems, or other such nonsense." The form at last reverted to that of a sphere with subtle crackling of electricity, though it addressed Caridin one last time. "I mended them for a very simple reason. Because they needed the assistance and I could provide."

Without saying anything else, it shot up and disappeared into the stone above.

It was a while before everyone present regained their senses.

"I believe this spirit was good," Leliana eventually uttered. "Perhaps not all are as ignorant of our world as we think."

"It is strange that it can survive without a host," Wynne mused. "It must be powerful indeed… Or perhaps is subsists on the lyrium itself somehow..."

"As if 'twas not obvious enough from how it manipulated matter and reformed those golems as though they'd never been damaged," Morrigan scoffed before stalking away.

Seeing that the excitement was past, Branka retraced her steps to her own anvil, noticing that Sten had not moved from his spot and was again (or still?) watching her. Sighing, the smith took up her tools and resumed her work, though her thoughts wandered to other things for a long time after the unknown spirit's departure.

"-. .-"

Theron was long past the point where he felt weighed down by the constant presence of a stone ceiling above him, regardless of height, but that didn't mean he didn't wish to get back to the surface as soon as possible. Of course, the desire to see the stars again, and to inhale fresh, clean air, was hardly one intense enough to cause him anything but a peripheral annoyance. As such, he dealt with this issue the same way he did with most things. He logically assessed its meaninglessness and, thus, found that he couldn't be bothered to dwell on it.

The Dalish elf had lived a seasonal sort of life, and his wanderings, even though they weren't repetitive per se, left him with an uncannily well developed biological clock or, better yet, a mental ability to keep track of time with fairly high accuracy. As such, he was quite sure that a little over three days had passed since they left the Anvil of the Void and the others. As usual, he spent most of his time silently walking in tow with the rest of his cohort and studying their antics and reactions. Alim seemed a bit annoyed at having had to leave Morrigan behind, for instance, though this had probably not been noticed by anyone besides him and the commander.

Shale walked a bit more stiffly than before. The elf figured it made sense. After all, they were going to what was supposedly her home settlement so she probably dreaded what she may find. That or she was just conflicted about learning she really had been a hopelessly squishy creature of flesh. Or both.

Oghren seemed more upset than usual, downing his ale at double the rate he'd used while on the way to find his wife. Theron wondered if it was his wife or Raonar that had managed to upset him more.

Other than those three, most everyone seemed back to their regular selves, now that the shock and repugnance of the Broodmother revelation (and what Branka did) had mostly worn off. Theron himself had never really bothered worrying over it.

Currently, the Dalish elf was recalling an occasion when his Clan had wondered over to the North of Orlais, precisely in that period of spring when cherry trees blossomed. They had actually found a glade full of them. They even made camp in the region and spent a while singing and playing their instruments under a shower of petals. There was a particularly bittersweet tune he remembered fondly, one that went perfectly with the scenery and the calm of that clear morning. He remembered even the swallows pausing in their practice flight and trill to just hover on small branches and listen as he and his clansmen played their string instruments.

Leliana (and maybe some of the others, though they never said anything about it) had caught him once or twice, even before they actually reached Denerim, humming, and once even singing, some of the songs he knew. Theron was still of the opinion that the bard didn't need to look **that** shocked. Just because he'd never mentioned it didn't mean he couldn't sing. He actually did it quite often, but in such a low hum that the wind usually covered it up so that none but himself could hear.

Leliana had even offered to exchange songs at one point. Theron wasn't **completely** against it but there was something that didn't feel right about just passing on to humans the few songs his Elvhen brethren had managed to preserve, especially when they were written in the lost language of Arlathan. Fortunately, ever since he'd told her that he wasn't ready to seriously consider the prospect, she'd not raised the question again.

Had he lacked that impressively accurate internal clock, Theron would have likely lost track of time and of what was happening around him, walking along with his hands clasped behind him and half-lidded eyes. Nonetheless, if there was anything superhearing did, it was that it made it almost impossible to lose track of one's surroundings. The prickling sensation at the edge of his awareness, signaling darkspawn presence, also did its part. From the feeling, it looked like his sense had expanded in range over the past days.

Studiously deciding he couldn't be bothered to think about how that was both good (better range is always good) and bad (it meant the taint had progressed further and, thus, reminded him of his shortened lifespan), the hunter straightened his posture and glanced around to confirm that the others had felt what he'd felt. Finding confirmation, he passed his fingertips over the pommel of his Dar'Misaan and continued to walk unabated.

Finding a Thaig infested by darkspawn was not a new thing. In fact, it would have been strange if they found one completely clean of the vermin. From the feeling of it, Cadash Thaig was not much different.

"Let me guess…" Alistair hazarded from where he was walking in front, flanked by Gwen. "You guys have been feeling the darkspawn ahead of us for ages, am I right?"

Obviously, he meant Kallian and Raonar. "More or less," the latter confirmed. "Not too many thought. And they're scattered into small bands."

"About half of them are archers," Kallian said, one finger pressed against her chin in thought. "24, to be precise, all of them scattered about. Stragglers. There are some shrieks too, which may prove a problem. And there is an Ogre also."

There was a period of silence, broken only by the sounds of their footsteps as they continued on.

"How can you even know that?" Faren eventually asked, looking for the life of him like he'd just seen her grow a second head. Then again, Raonar looked surprised as well, and that said a lot.

"I honestly have no idea," the city elf shrugged, glossing over the quizzical looks of everyone there. "I just do."

"We'll have to update our maps after we're done here," Gwen suggested, changing the subject for Kallian's benefit and absently scratching Damon between his ears. "The ones we got from the Shaperate and Harrowmont are incomplete. Cadash Thaig doesn't figure on either of them."

"Orzammar wasn't originally the capital and most of the knowledge we had was held in the Kal Sharok Shaperate of Lore," the commander explained. "Add to that the fact that the majority of tunnels collapsed for one reason or another and there are a lot of Thiags we lost track of. Odd though…" He frowned. "I can't sense everything Kallian does about the darkspawn, but I do get a different feeling from up ahead."

"Brillaint. Road block," Shale dryly commented as the collapsed section of the Deep Road came into view. "I swear, if there is no other way in and this has been a complete waste of time I shall require a substantial period of destructive therapy to relieve the tension."

"I can grow you a whole forest of ice trees, complete with pigeons if you like," Alim offered cordially. "Fortunately, I do think that tunnel is what we are after."

Sure enough, the highway was not the only means of access. There was something else, possibly a service tunnel if the resemblance with the storage area of the Legion's encampment was anything to go by. Even after all this while, the construction held fast and firm, much like so many road signs had maintained their tablets with inscriptions, even despite the spiked decorations that the darkspawn had added over the decades.

There was, nonetheless, something distinctly unusual about this place, even now when they hadn't actually entered it, that left Theron thinking. He didn't immediately know what it was, though.

"By now, the Darkspawn should have sensed our presence," Kallian mused. "But I don't sense any shift in their intention, except some strange confusion and apprehension that has no target. Strange..."

"Yes, I've been thinking of that too. They should have sensed us by now, for all the good it would have done them," the prince agreed.

As the discussion continued, Theron kept on playing that symphony under the cherry trees inside his head, pleased to see it completely dissolve the unease of the Darkspawn sense, though the knowledge of their presence never left him. Eventually, they entered the passage (which was more than large enough for even Golems to pass through). Shale stopped near the other end, passing her stone hand over the wall. "So this was supposedly my home once…"

Of course, the darkspawn did not let them enjoy the scenery for long, though what they first saw upon entering that place was almost awe-inspiring enough to break their attention. Fortunately, they caught themselves in time and neutralized the first darkspawn group without too much difficulty.

It was then that Theron finally realized what had been feeling so out of place. There was simply no trace of darkspawn corruption in sight. There had been none of that fleshy, disgusting overgrowth on the walls ever since they came within two miles of the Thaig, but the real shocker was Cadash Thaig itself.

The Thaig was, simply put, alive.

Not in a sentient sense (not that they could tell at least), but in the simple fact that, instead of just rocks and dirt, it was teeming with vegetation, with grass, greener than anything he'd seen on the surface. It even seemed to glimmer in certain places, where the iridescence of the lyrium veins above cascaded down and bathed it in that surprisingly bright glow. The Thaig was also superbly illuminated, and if it wasn't for the corpses of those genlocks and shrieks that they'd just slain, Theron would have been sorely tempted to believe darkspawn had never come here at all.

The Warden Commander had, apparently, made the same observations. "Alim… do me a favor."

The dwarf outlined the task and Alim performed it in short order. Walking over to the nearest dead body, he used his blood magic to completely drain it of blood. The dark, ichory fluid was now floating in an amorphous blob over the mage's palm. "Now what?"

The prince put a distance between himself and the other one and, after checking as if to ensure Maric's Blade was properly sheathed, gave the strange order (though strange orders were second nature to him by this point). "Drop it."

To his credit, Alim paused just briefly before withdrawing his hand and letting the liquid fall to the grass (it wasn't even moss, it was real grass) with an unceremonious splat.

And then, the blood began to disappear, as if being absorbed, only that wasn't what was happening. The tainted fluid just drained into nothingness, leaving behind a perfectly unsoiled space. "Whoa…" Faren breathed.

"What?" Oghren demanded gruffly. He hadn't been paying attention from where he was, farther back. "Whatch'all starin' at? Nug got your tongues?"

Theron figured he may as well say something for once. "What they are amazed at is the fact that this place somehow rejects the existence of the darkspawn taint altogether." Good, the dwarf's eyes widened a fraction and he started to look around. Though he was asking himself why he was bothering to give an exposition, Theron found himself doing it anyway. He gestured as if to point out the whole Thaig. "This place is alive. Darkspawn corruption usually kills anything that is not like itself, that or it twists it to be the same. Not so here. This place… this place is pure. Unbelievably so, in fact…"

Theron knew it was always good to follow up on one's hunches, provided the act did not harm others besides one's self (the instance with the Eluvian, when Tamlen disappeared, was the one case where he spectacularly failed to enforce that measure). Thankfully, this was one instance where he couldn't get in any more danger than he already was, so he made his way to the edge of that underground stream, which really filled a beautiful lake that spanned much of the ancient settlement.

Once there, he drew one of his special-purpose arrows (which had a string at the end) and, after exploiting his elven, keen eyesight, let it loose into the waters. Then, he pulled it back by the string, along with the fish he'd struck. "Fish. Alive. This lake and river, they are filled with them. Here, see what you make of it." He tossed it towards the exile, who caught it in a force sphere right before it reached him.

"No taint at all. This is something even Oghren can eat," he confirmed, some faint awe making its way into his voice, though Theron only detected it because of his special hearing.

"No offense but I'll not take my chances, if you know what I mean," Oghren said back, taking a caution step away from the noble.

Smiling at his wariness, Theron realized that Shale had wandered off. Upon scouring the area, he saw her near the edge of the Thaig, inspecting a crystal formation that had seemingly grown out of the stone itself. Along with the others, he got closer. "These crystals, they are perfect," she said with glee, turning to look at them with a worrisomely predatory gleam in her glowing eyes. "We absolutely **must** gather them. All of them. However many we find!"

"Now now!" Raonar chided as he made to stop her from trying to pry loose one of the larger shards in her wrist. "You know you're more likely to crack them to bits. I'll do it, but later. And yes, we can gather them up if you really feel like it, but you do remember this isn't why you wanted to come here, right?"

"Of course I do. It does not need to constantly remind me," the construct said stiffly.

The next couple of darkspawn groups were no challenge at all, even those on the stone bridges that passed over the clear streams. Theron took a moment to look over the whole area from the higher vantage point provided by the bridge and thought there was an emerald sheen to the lake in the distance. Shrugging, he followed after the others, walking sometimes aside to inspect certain structures that did not look as dwarven as the rest.

There was a particularly familiar-looking… thing… like a set of three pillars up on a hillock. He wasn't sure if he was just imagining it, but if he looked from the right angle, he could swear the empty space determined by that trio of columns shined with its own light.

Yes, Theron knew to follow up on his hunches, so he decided to just stand in that spot, though he didn't actually expect anything to happen.

Only it did. The moment he was there, his perception shifted and suddenly, the colors were different and everything was blurry, everything except those flying motes of light that he could now see, floating one after another according to what was obviously some sort of predetermined pattern. Not even realizing it, he swayed and brought his hand to his forehead, the other leaning against the stone as he blinked the vision away.

"Hey!" the call snapped him from his daze, and he recognized Kallian's voice. "Are you alright back there?"

Before he could answer, his eyes wandered down to the base of the pole next to him, where an old, ceramic urn sat. What he found interesting was not the Urn per se, but what was sticking out from underneath it. Carefully, he crouched and lifted the bowl, a part of his mind impressed by how durable dwarven paper must be if it lasted as long as he suspected it did. By the time he'd dusted it of off and read it (it was written in King's tongue), the others had come close enough to him to be left wondering at his unsettled expression, as he knew he must have looked.

Without a word, he passed it over to Raonar, who also read it and reacted in a similar fashion, though not as intensely. "Well well, Shaper Warek is it…?" Not waiting to be prodded, he read it aloud. "Commander Regnar of House Cadash, you were wise to send the relic you uncovered. The Shaperate has compared the carvings on it to various records, and believe them to be of elven origin, possibly thousands of years old. I would advise that you cease repair work on the warrior training grounds immediately and continue investigation. A team will be dispatched from Kal-Sharok as soon as possible."

There was a long silence.

"Well Shale…" Kallian eventually spoke, rather blandly. "It looks like your homesickness led to a revolutionary discovery."

"Indeed, I must say I feel terribly enthusiastic about taking second place to a piece of old parchment," the golem said dryly.

"What did you see just now?" the exile asked of the hunter.

Theron pondered a moment but decided to describe it in full.

"-. .-"

After a short deliberation, the group was divided in two. Gwen, Alistair and Oghren went with Shale in search of a statue similar to the one that held the tablet of names back at the Anvil. Meanwhile, Alim, Kallian, Faren and Raonar assumed the task of trying to uncover more clues about what Theron had just experienced.

The Dalish found himself disinclined to continue being apathetic when Alim and Kallian both experienced the same vision when they stepped in the space between the pillars. After Faren predictably failed to experience anything out of the ordinary, Raonar himself took a shot, but nothing seemed to happen. This, at least, seemed to suggest whatever magic was at work relied on elven blood (Gwen and Alistair had both tried it before heading off, to no benefit).

This, however, did not stop the dwarven noble from just calling on his magic sight and shifting his perception of the electromagnetic spectrum (as Alim has described it) until he found the right frequency that let him see what they had seen. What was more surprising that even that, however, was the fact that he began to look in completely different directions than where they knew the wisp-like light motes were floating. "No runes," he at last uttered.

"Pardon?" Kallian hazarded, echoed by an inconclusive whine from Rinne. Anor, at least, was keeping a low profile.

"There are no runes," the exile said again as his glowing, white eyes passed over the scenery. "I suspected there might be some concealed runes on the walls and ground that neutralized the darkspawn corruption, but I can't seem to find any. I'm not even certain we dwarves even were ever able to scribe invisible things like this."

"You're saying that there is something else here that somehow rejects corruption?" Alim queried. "Some object? A relic of some kind, hidden, like the Anvil?"

"I don't really know what this means. We need to find more information but I don't know where the ruins of the Shaperate would be here, if there even was one. And even if we're lucky, we might not find anything or, at best, it would take days for anything to turn up."

While not on par with his hearing, Theron's eyesight was none too shabby either. As such, he spotted another oddity, a small, ragged tome under a pile of bones. He would have missed it if darkspawn hadn't been roaming the area and knocked some of the bones around. Stepping lightly, he went over to pick it up.

"Any luck?" the city elf inquired as the rest of them drew closer.

"I cannot read this," the hunter had to admit. "It is dwarven." He handed it over to the eldest of the two dwarves present there.

After just a short pause, he obliged. "It belongs to a Shaper's assistant. Shalla… But if what this says is for real…" The archer was treated to the rare sight of that person, of all people, gaping ever so slowly. "The excavations are going well. I think Shaper Warrek secretly hopes that the artifacts will lead him to... the lost city of Arlathan…" _wait, what?_ "…despite Tevinter records that insist on its complete obliteration. Even if he found the site of the city, there would be little remaining of any worth. As for the artifacts, they must have come to this area by trade. Cadash Thaig is old, built upon an ancient settlement called Cad'halash. Lots of junk can accumulate over that much time, even elven junk."

It definitely took a period of silence to process that information.

"Right…" the exile at last forced himself to reclaim his composure. "This bears further investigation." That sealed it. If even Raonar ended up playing mister obvious, things were not sticking to the normal range of weird.

After about an hour's worth of more looking around (and noticing that the buildings were in surprisingly good shape), they managed to discover a couple more vortexes leading to something they had yet to find. Their search did yield two extra pieces of information though, from under some more bones and hanging off a pike at the foot of a bridge.

"Going by the timeline, this letter from the excavation worker was first…" the commander assessed thoughtfully. "Got the carvings. These two depict elves forming an alliance with the Cad'halash dwarves, after the destruction of Arlathan. Scholars say it's proof that they took refuge here to escape the Imperium. Should get a great price for this from collectors and historians. And I almost got caught running these things to your man. They'll hang me if they find out. I want a bigger cut… fifty or we're done."

"Figures they'd start smuggling," Faren groused.

Raonar just read the last scrap of paper they'd stumbled across, belonging to that same Shaper Warrek. "We thought the Imperium found the elves hidden in Cad'halash, and destroyed them, but it doesn't add up. The thaig was destroyed with conventional dwarven weaponry, not magical forces. No supernatural means melted the stone and no immense forces pulverized the pillars. We uncovered shields (among other things) bearing the heraldry of old Kal Sharok houses. We destroyed Cad'halash-our own people. The only remaining conclusion is that Kal Sharok learned that they were sheltering elves and, knowing it would jeopardize their alliance with the Tevinter Imperium, took steps to cover it up."

Superhearing in place, the elf noticed the prince's minute pause and the tone faltering just a small instant. "Thus far, there has been no evidence to contradict this theory, but it has split the Shaperate. Some wish to enter it into the Memories, while others demand that it lies forgotten in the dark halls of the Roads."

"…"

As he continued to gaze down at his commanding officer, the Dalish archer was wondering if he was going to explode or start cursing. Neither of the two happened, but a lyrium vein that was unfortunate enough to be within three meters of him did spontaneously explode into countless shards and powder, making a noise like a shattering vase full of acid. Once he'd gotten over his momentary surprise, Theron also noticed that the shred of paper between the prince's fingers had quite a few extra creases in it that a short time before.

He could only watch as the exile dropped the parchment and walked off without even bothering to excuse himself.

"Dwarves have issues," Kallian sighed once the white-haired fighter disappeared behind one of the remarkably well preserved Thaig houses nearby. "Big ones. I'd hate to be him."

Faren visibly winced at that and looked out of his depth, not knowing what to do, so Theron decided to steer the subject towards more familiar waters. "That the elves of Arlathan were here is a major discovery. Just think of how much might still be hidden in this place, how much lore. And magic. Think of it, if our ancestors had a way to purge the taint, to heal it, the means to do it must still be here."

"This place really does seem lively, doesn't it?" the fair-haired elven rogue agreed.

Before they could speculate further, a call drew their attention. "UUhh…. Guys! I, uh, think you should see this…"

Not taking too long, they swiftly jogged over to where the exile's voice had come from. They needed only to round the corner, at which point they spotted him standing a way farther off, with his back turned to them. He heard them coming, however, so he turned around.

Theron froze, and it wasn't because of the confused look on the man's face or anything of the sort. Quite simply, the hunter had been struck speechless by the presence of the lantern that was hovering in the air right in front of the short man.

"This just showed up out of nowhere but I can't touch it…" quite unceremoniously, he waved his hand through the space occupied by the object, passing right through it. "See?"

"Cease that at once," Theron demanded and, before he realized what he was doing, snatched the lantern out of the air and moved It, protectively, as far away from the others as possible.

There was a moment of silence.

"Well now!" the Commander of the Grey exclaimed excitedly, his unease at the recent news about Cadash Thaig momentarily forgotten. "I do believe we have a winner."

"-. .-"

Theron analyzed his odd behavior triggered by the discovery of what could only be a Light of Arlathan (powerful scrying devices of the elves of old) the same way he dealt with every other issue he came across that did not really have any lasting consequences: he acknowledged it and promptly decided he couldn't be bothered to dwell on it more than the situation demanded. He did feel somewhat amused (and a tinge gratified) when his friends took it in stride and promptly decided to search for the other lanterns. Alim even came up with a nice spell on the spot that let him see the frequency of the light trails at will, allowing him to guess the locations of the other three (that was as many as they could assume were there, from how the floating motes of invisible energy behaved).

It hadn't taken too long for them all to be found, even though they still had no real clue what they would do once they were in hand. By all accounts, they had no idea what they were used for and they definitely did not have the time and resources, or the men, to start an expedition to find the lost city, especially since doing that would probably involve some major excavations. Nevertheless, they sought the lanterns out and, once all were tied up with some strange, silver-colored magic threads that Alim had… grown… out of the fingertips of his left hand, dragged them along to the rendezvous (it really helped that the things floated).

The reactions of the others had been completely predictable in their similarity. Had he been less of a detached individual, Theron would have probably smirked at their boggled expressions. As it was, however, he analytically reached the conclusion that spending such a long time with **that** dwarf as the leader should have, by now, already gotten them used to things taking a turn for the awkward.

To their credit, at least, they did put some effort into taking things In stride as well. "So let me get this straight," Gwen carefully began after a very long period of consideration. Her eyes were inspecting the space to Alim's right, where Theron knew the lanterns hovered. "What you're saying is that this Thaig was built over an even older settlement and that the Arlathan elves may have hidden here from the Imperium..." Ah, so she'd chosen to first approach with the part that had solid evidence first.

"It speaks of things that may happened far before my time then?" Shale sounded both awed and reserved.

"And, according to you guys," Alistair ventured hesitantly, "there is some sort of magic here, or some relic or whatever that is **somehow** responsible for keeping this Thaig free of all darkspawn corruption…"

Nods all around.

"And you're saying that these… Lights of Arlathan… are indisputable proof that this happened Maker knows how long ago…"

"Pretty much, yes," the white-haired one confirmed blandly.

There was an extended period of silence.

"Ye're all off yer knocker!" Oghren blurted in obvious disbelief, automatically bringing his ever flowing flacon of ale to his mouth in an effort to stave off the senselessness of the situation.

"You do realize…" Gwen was obviously choosing her words more carefully than the berserker, or trying to, Theron could easily tell. "That we can't see a damn thing…" She made a gesture that indicated what was definitely empty space to her. "The closest we can get to believing all this is taking your word for it that the lanterns, or whatever they are, really **are** right there-"

"- and that this isn't some elaborate prank on your part," Alistair finished, frowning at he who is known for such things. "Oh, don't give me that betrayed look, you did it before!"

"To Loghain!" Raonar countered as if that was going to win the argument in his favor. The only effect, however, was a more obvious glower. "Okay, so it was to the whole of Ferelden, but that's not the point!" Theron wondered if the others realized the exile was just feigning his mild outrage. Probably yes, though he was sure they didn't know just why he bothered.

As if it was a natural thing for things to take such a course, the humans, Golem and non-warden dwarf beheld Faren questioningly, to immediate effect. "Hey, don't look at me!" He raised both hands placatingly. "I can't see or touch them either."

The Dalish elf figured it was high time things moved along or they'd be at it all day (his biological clock told him it was about 3 in the afternoon), although he did feel a bit wistful from the fact that he'd come to enjoy all these antics. "If it is any consolation, lehallan, only we elves can touch them. Raonar can only see them because he is an abnormality."

There was an awkward pause.

"Well thanks a lot, Theron," Raonar muttered with a sniff, after which he frowned, inhaled and, with a deliberately slow, vertical movement of his hand, somehow released a sort of white mist in the spot where the Lights of Arlathan hovered. Truthfully, the hunter wasn't sure he was able to do that, but the lanterns did become partially visible for about a second, as if viewed through a fogged glass. "Is this proof enough for you? Jees, you prank **one** country and you never live it down."

The humans wardens, along with Oghren, Shale and Faren, gaped like a bank of fish.

"-. .-"

When they had left the Anvil and the others there, it was agreed that they would all strive to return there within a week's time, since that was about as much time as Caridin said he'd need to finish both the shield and the crown. It had taken them three days to get to Cadash Thaig, meaning that they had one day to spend there, doing whatever they wanted, or, more precisely, what Raonar decided they should do.

In this case, that was waiting for Alim to finish experimenting with his divination magic, though the others weren't idle either. As promised, Raonar went with Shale to help her gather up as many new crystals as they could. Faren went with them (not at all surprising, Theron thought), as did Kallian (since Faren was there, it was to be expected). Gwen and Alistair had taken to a friendly sparring match while Oghren sat on the sidelines, occasionally mouthing words that may or may not have been in encouragement.

After quite a bit less time that Theron feared it would take, Alim stumbled upon the somewhat less concealed than expected secret: the lanterns were actually puzzle boxes of some sort. They were composed of interposed circlets, each divided into eight segments. Depending on how each horizontal circlet was positioned and rotated, the previously illegible symbols (silver drawn on a bone-like material) combined into more familiar-looking runes, although they were not in Arcanum. Theron didn't think they were in the Elvish he knew of either, but some came really close.

Alim, to his credit, did not mind the assistance. While he was an expert in Arcanum and a variety of other languages (he'd even gained a decent grasp of dwarvish over the past month), Elvish still mostly Eluded him. So, after they relocated to a sort of plaza, next to the central underground lake (Alim even drew an as yet inactive antimagic glyph on the ground around them, just in case those things had a tendency of exploding) set to work. Each chose one lantern and did their best to match the symbols to what they both knew, whether by comparing them to those from memory or basing their actions on guesswork.

It had been about half an hour since they'd started, more than enough for Gwen and Alistar to finish sparring and proceed to spending enough idle time that they were bored out of their wits. Oghren had dozed off, Creators be praised, as had Anor, though the great wolf's ears still flicked periodically. As for the two dogs (Rinne hadn't left with Raonar for some reason), they spent the whole time frolicking.

There was a click.

And just like that, the lantern left Theron's grasp, hummed to life, abandoned the ethereal plane and phased perfectly into view, complex patterns akin to streams of quicksilver pulsing through the bone-colored outer layer. The moment it became visible, a soft hum started to be heard at the edge of hearing, one that sounded incomplete. "Elgar'nan, it worked..." the hunter breathed out, cautiously getting up and gazing guardedly upon it.

"Well, so they do exist," Gwen acknowledged, drawing near the floating artifact. "But let me guess, you still don't know what they do, right?"

Theron noticed Alistair get distracted by how the silver shades played through Gwen's braided hair before he spoke as well. "I'm getting a strange feeling from these things, like... like something's staring right through me." He frowned and there was a flash of white in his eyes for a moment. "And I can't seem to shake it off either."

"So what do they do?" Gwen moved quickly to the point, now that her curiosity had been piqued. She made as if to poke the thing but she probably noticed Theron's extremely subtle narrowing of eyes and thought better of it.

"Well, we are not certain," the archer admitted blandly, not taking his eyes off the lantern. "As I said already, they are scrying devices, but I am unsure what they will actually do, if they are even keyed to any-" the sound of magical relief sounded again and the invisible lantern that Alim was manipulating hummed to life as well, stopping in the air at a fixed distance from the first one, "-thing."

Silence would have fallen, had a different tune, again almost inaudible, not joined the previous one. "Is that some sort of... music?" Gwen looked faintly dazed. "Is it even coming from the lanterns? It sounds as if it's coming from everywhere at once, or from nowhere at all..." She paused. "Yes, I know how senseless that sounds, thank you very much."

Theron idly wondered if he really showed any sort of dryness in his expression or if Gwen said that merely because she had some unresolved issues. Deciding he couldn't be bothered to worry about it, he completely skipped over the part where he offered her reassurance. "I have noticed the strange nature of these sounds as well. Perhaps activating the other two will bring us more clarity."

"Maybe... maybe we should wait..." Alistair cautioned. "Until we're all here. Well, all of us who came here anyway. Not to sound scared or anything, but the last time any of us meddled with old artifacts and altars, a pride demon showed up."

"Point," Alim conceded with a slight frown. "We'll try and get the third lantern running but we'll wait for the others before preparing the fourth one."

So they set to work again, Alim doing most of it while Theron contributed with helpful language hints. Most runes were beyond even him, but he somehow found a strangely accurate intuitive capability to predict where each segment should go and how things should be turned to put the symbols in order.

"Hey, are you alright?" Alim asked him.

The hunter blinked. "What?"

"You told me to stop doing anything about five minutes ago and then kept staring at this thing as if you'd been hypnotized."

Theron distantly realized he'd not been listening. His mind was more preoccupied with something else at the moment. "Move the center one clockwise three times, then switch vertically between the first and second."

The mage narrowed his eyes but did as instructed, even though it did disjoin almost everything they'd succeeded in arranging.

"I wonder if... I know. Reverse the actions..."

"... What? Seriously Theron, is something wrong?"

"Just do it, lethallin. My instincts, if this is truly what they are, have not failed me yet."

After what was almost a glower, the magus did so, only to be stunned at how the quicksilver patterns lived to their namesake and shifted under their very eyes. "Well I'll be..."

Without any forewarning, the archer snatched the head-sized object from Alim's grasp and began to go through what felt like a strangely appropriate pattern that only just fell short of looking totally random. And at the end of it, he simply removed both his hands and the lantern flared to life, its own tune adding to those of its two siblings at whose level it now hovered and pulsed silently. "Lights of Arlathan indeed."

For a while, the ranger kept on beholding those three items, feeling an unusual elation welling up inside him. Only at length did he notice that Alim and their two human companions were staring at him as if in shock.

His reaction must have shown on his face. "You..." Alistair's voice as barely above a whisper. "You... you're smiling..."

All of a sudden, there was far less noise to interfere with the pleasant hum of the three Light of Arlathan. Oddly, however, the other two seemed to share in his predicament. The fact that he actually reacted emotionally in a visible way for once seemed too much for their minds right now.

So Theron did the only sensible thing. He shrugged and reached the conclusion that trying to somehow respond to that was more trouble than it was worth.

"-. .-"

One thing that Raonar never came out and told anyone without some prompting was when he was worried or otherwise preoccupied, and this was definitely one of those days. Perhaps it was irrational, he considered, to still think of this days after the fact, but he was troubled by that golem, Vord. Well, not by him exactly, but by the message he delivered and its implications.

The dwarven noble had stretched his ability to sense life to the limit and he knew it to be a great advantage, as well as the fact that the presence of lyrium did not impair it in the slightest. Actually, it acted more like an enhancer if anything else, as if the lifeblood of the world itself deliberately guided his awareness and added its own to it, if there even was such a thing. This is why whatever remade Vord put him o such a edge.

The golem had said that the creature was a spirit of some sort.

The golem had also said that it appeared unexpectedly, from no source he could see from his position.

Furthermore, it had said that the white creature perfectly put him back together, all of it happening just about a hundred meters away from the Anvil chamber.

In other words, that spirit had been completely beyond his ability to sense even **while** putting Stone knows how much power and attention into repairing... into **healing** Vord. For about half an hour.

It did not compute. Even before he'd conned Pride into handing him the power and knowledge he needed for his failsafe, he'd still somehow sensed the existence of that demon's remains in the Aeducan Thaig and the other two places. Logically, he should have had no problem detecting this other creature. The fact he **didn't** meant it either had an abysmally low amount of power to speak of (unlikely, given what it had done and conveyed it would again do) or it had some, probably passive, ability to bypass any sort of psychic awareness.

There was, of course, a third possibility, but it was one that Raonar felt (and hoped) was too outlandish: that the sheer scope of that thing's power was just so unfathomably large that it could be mistaken for the immensity of the presence of the lyrium he could feel for miles around.

The Warden Commander was certain it had not shown outwardly, but he'd been mulling over this issue for the past three days. He kept feeling like something like this was too big a blind spot, despite repeatedly telling himself that he wasn't even supposed to have any sensory abilities in the first place, barring the darkspawn detection. As such, this should not cause him so much distress.

His concern had then passed from being centered on the fact of his inability to sense that creature to the realization that he was unable to impose logic in this instance. Normally, any issue that could emotionally influence a regular person found itself unable to phase him because he'd long ago accepted that stress and other unfortunate feelings were detrimental and completely pointless.

And here was the problem. He'd done the same to this situation, but even with the logical assurance, he still felt that something was seriously in danger of blowing up in their faces, even though he couldn't tell what it was. In other words, all the parts of himself other than his mind instinctively sensed something was wrong or might go wrong soon.

It did not make sense, and there was something even more likely to cause a problem.

The Archdemon itself had never even come close to giving him worry and fears he could not logically dispel.

"Oh crap..."

Shale had been loading some blue crystals in a bag but briefly stopped to glance at him. "What? I am not loading them wrong, am I?"

"What?" His mind finally focused on the present and he also noticed he was holding a pair of those crystals himself. "Oh... Oh no, no, things are..." The words halted and he looked at the crystals for a moment, wondering if they were some new sort of lyrium or something else (and why had he never seen such things before?). He sighed and unceremoniously tossed the objects through the air. They did land in the bag, but not without some unflattering snick and tink noises. "Either it's my wounded pride, over not sensing that spirit, talking, or recent events are pointing towards things going to hell in a handbasket." He scowled rather fiercely, though he only realized it a tad bit too late. "Again."

Shale kept silent and Raonar was glad Faren and Kallian had run off to retrieve some crystals from a cluster just out of earshot.

"Sorry Shale," resignedly, he pressed his fingers against the bridge of his nose and released a deep breath. "Don't mind me. You enjoy your visit home. Since you got to both maul an Ogre and find the tablet of names with yours on it, you should make the best of it while you can."

"I find it is hard to do so when it..." She stopped for a moment "When **you**... are exhibiting such strange behavior. **It** is the one that went so far out of its way and brought me here so I would that it not spent its time in such a gloomy mood."

Unbidden, a smile krept onto the dwarf's face. His reply did not come, though, because the other two met up with them.

Once they established that they had gathered more crystals than even Shale could ever need, they set off to find the others. They had not agreed on a rendezvous, but that was unnecessary because he and Kallian could easily sense where everyone else (and, in Kallian's case, only the other wardens) were.

Only the fact that he'd emotionally prepared himself for worse (to find the place blown up) allowed the exile to not react in any odd way upon coming upon that scene. He **was** somewhat taken aback, however, though not exactly at the fact that three of the lanterns looked like they just needed a fourth one to complete a perfect square, floating and visible as they were. He also then realized he'd been hearing something like a song at the edge of hearing all the while, but only now he actually realized it. And it wasn't any sort of hypnotic sound either, nor something forewarning like the warden sense.

The strange, incomplete music was just... there somehow... And actually seemed to neutralize the pull of the taint at the back of his mind.

Strange.

Shale's hard footstomps signaled their return, even rousing Oghren from his slumber, though it was a close thing if his confused slurs were anything to go by. "Wha... Oh, ye're back. Finally!" He only just remembered to make as though to cover his yawn as he dazedly tried to stand.

The so-called plaza they had convened in was rectangular. The lake did almost touch upon it up ahead, but a knee-height wall that doubled as a long bench (no doubt meant to allow one to gaze ahead over the lake itself) took care of that and even allowed enough distance to the water for the patch of land to qualify as a shore. That was where Gwen and Alistair were seated, though they had their backs to the water and looking at Theron.

Inspecting what they were frowning at, he noticed that the Dalish, sitting cross-legged on the ground next to the three floating lanterns, had his hand in front of him as though holding an object, only nothing could be see there. It was easy enough to deduce the final Light of Arlathan was what he was so focused on, but the view was still fairly awkward.

Not that the hunter seemed to care. His attention was completely invested into whatever it was that he saw. "Er... hello?" Raonar chanced cautiously, failing to keep his metal boots silent as he approached.

"Greetings," the elf replied ever so casually. He proceeded to keep gazing at that apparently empty spot for almost as long as it would have taken for the dwarven noble to try and prod him again, but he spoke once more. "I believe I know how to activate this last item, but the others suggested we wait until we were all here, to take precautions..."

"Yes well, much as I would **love** to unseal another evil from the metaphorical can..." Gwen's voice was dripping with sarcasm, "I'd hate for all this greenery to get scorched."

"I have prepared an anti-magic glyph, as you can see," Alim waved his arm slowly over the area. "Unfortunately, it will require constant power to maintain-"

"-and you need me to act as a battery since I'm a walking power source anyway," the prince easily guessed. "Okay, so where should I stand? Or sit?"

"Right over there, with your back to the lake," yes, there was a nice helpful circle on the ground, beyond what was probably the border of the null area. "When I tell you, start pouring out whatever energy you can. I'll be on the other side regulating the flow to keep things nice and constant."

"I thought you were able to cast these things on your own," Gwen pointed out.

"Indeed," Alim confirmed. "But not in so large an area. Also, I drain a huge supply of my mana doing it and the glyph lasts for only as long as the power holds, which is not much."

"Okay, so when do I start?" asked the noble.

"Hopefully never," the mage answered. "By all accounts, if we went ahead with it now, the lanterns would likely be affected and do not know what might happen. Perhaps there would be no lasting effects, even if they do shut down temporarily, but I would rather we did not have to find out like this. Just be ready to go ahead when I tell you."

"Well," Faren at last spoke. "Now that that's all out of the way... can someone explain to me exactly **why** we are doing this? What are the Lanterns supposed to do exactly?"

Glances were exchanged.

"We possess absolutely no inkling of that whatsoever," Theron said flatly.

There was only the subtle musical hum.

Raonar saw Alim sigh before trying to be somewhat more helpful. "We suspect the lanterns might show us whatever keeps this Thaig alive and pure."

"But there's just as much chance of this all bein' a waste of time or worse, right?" Oghren gathered. "Well... not like I ever put any thought into much of what I do. Whatever!" Gingerly, he pulled out his axe (which was only slightly dented compared to what it looked like before leaving Orzammar). "I won't mind if you get me something to hack at either. Let's get it done!"

Gwen and Alistair wisely stepped away from the berserker. The prince wondered if they envied Shale for being across the small plaza from them. "Faren, instead of me or Alim, go stand by Shale so you don't accidentally end up doing something to this whole magic with your nullifying ability."

"Right," and so it was done. Everyone was more or less stationed in a circle now.

"And so it begins. Creators watch over us." Apparently satisfied with having been given the potentially life-threatening task of activating the last lantern, Theron began to manipulate the item only some of them could see in his grasp.

"-. .-"

The Dalish hunter, if one were to ask him, could swear by the Creators themselves that, of all the things he thought might happen when he activated that last lantern, the scene in front of him was not one of them. He'd assumed some sort of magical backlash or mist would surge or that he'd be force-fed some visions directly to his brain, of for some sort of spirit to be summoned. Instead, when he'd finished manipulating the fourth Light of Arlathan, it responded to the other three and, together, they flew another meter upwards, where they came close and linked every other one of their upper facets together.

It had happened fast, but not overly so, and when the contact was made, they became the tip of an ethereal, regulated pyramid, the very same one he was standing in front of.

It had taken everyone about a minute to take it all in, by which time they realized that the music they thought they could hear before had changed again, though he could not say how.

The pyramid was about as big as an aravel, the land ships that his people use to travel and live in. The edges were only slightly more opaque than the almost completely transparent facets. Everything was of a faint silvery hue, and there was a strange symbol now on the ground within the confines of that closed space. It had the feel of Arlathan, but Theron did not know what it meant.

Experimentally, he brushed his fingertips across the field of energy. It shimmered slightly, though what truly had more weight on his understanding of the situation was the sudden whisper in his mind. He knew, on an intellectual level, that he had not understood any word, if what he'd heard, or thought he'd heard, really were that. Even so, however, the meaning came to him clear as moonlight.

It was an invitation.

"Well..." Gwen at last broke the silence they had all fallen into, one that only the hum of the artifacts pervaded. "This is certainly... something."

"Well, nothing exploded so far..." Shale noted. "That is good, yes? No? Perhaps is should poke it again. I like it shiny anyway."

"It is inviting me inside..." the archer revealed, not moving his eyes away from the elven magic in front of him. "I believe it recognizes me as a descendent of the elves of old."

"Hmm, let me think about this," the Warden Commander said. "Suppose we start to debate whether we should let you or someone else do this, we'd eventually just reach the conclusion that it has to be you, because it only responds to elves, Alim has to do his magic in case things go wrong and Kallian wouldn't have much chance of understanding this better than you, or handle it in any way better, right?" He gave a sheepish grin. "No offense Kal."

"None taken," she shrugged.

"And," Raonar went on, "I doubt there is any way to dissuade you from trying it now that we did this much?"

Theron thought he detected some sort of worry in his tone, unlike any he'd heard before. Nevertheless, he was resolute. "Let us see what becomes of this." The transparent wall gave no resistance, though he did feel as though something like steam went straight through him as he entered the space within.

At first, nothing happened. The pyramid just appeared to wait for its walls to become again uniform.

Then, the sound came.

It was very faint at first. Coming to complete the hum they'd been hearing, it filled his awareness, as though it was coming from every direction at once, and from far away. It sounded like it was heard everywhere, at the same intensity and grace. Resembling the tune of a string instrument, it gained crescendo ever so steadily and felt, if anything, melancholic.

Unbidden, memories flashed through his mind, both good and bad, completing the bittersweet mood.

"Is that... is that a cello...?" Gwen whispered in what could only be disbelief. "Leliana is going to hate us for missing this but... Where is that music coming from?"

So it **was** being heard everywhere. "The Lights of Arlathan must be producing it somehow, though it doesn't sound like it at all." The elf recognized that as Raonar's voice, though he wasn't paying much attention to him and the rest anymore. Now, he was too lost in the soft drum sounds, like a heartbeat, that had joined the song.

And it went on, somber yet grand, soft but pervasive.

"It's beautiful," Kallian breathed out. "It's like an entire orchestra is playing..."

So slowly and carefully the tune came. Theron could almost see the bow sliding across the strings, so perfectly steady that one could never tell when it was switching from going back to going forth without seeing it. It caused the tune to rise, like the elves did. The drum beats added complexity, and the trumpets sang the glory of what was no more.

This was the song of mothers cradling children in their cribs. This was the song of artisans going about their craft. This was the sound of leaders and teachers looking after their charges. This was the tune of the priesthood, singing the praises to Elgar'nan and the rest of the pantheon.

And in as much as it was all these things, the music was also that of the warrior who fought for the sake of betterment. The song of the defenders that shed their blood for their people. The sound of their eventual failure as they were overwhelmed by their enemies. And lastly, it was the music of grief, of the failure. It was the song that lamented the end, that grieved over all of these things being taken away and shattered.

The last song of Arlathan, the one where the last of its denizens placed all they had left of themselves. This is what the lights held. That is what the lanterns now made him understand. A song equal parts splendor and sadness, remembering the glory of old and the grief of its fall. A song of no words, as none could fully contain the meaning and feeling of it. It tugged at the back of his chest, it felt cold behind his eyes, but it went on, ever louder, never hurtful, and always becoming more than it was a moment before.

Music, his keeper had said once, was something that equaled much more than the sum of the sounds produced by a bunch of instruments.

What he heard now transcended that, because the Lights of Arlathan had stored not just the final symphony, but the feeling of each player. Like the instruments created the song, their soul created the heart. That music had a heart. That music was the soul of Arlathan.

Theron now felt as though just listening to that music would be enough for his people to regain everything they had lost. The more he listened, it grew in being, in existence. He didn't know what he was thinking, really, but having such incomprehensible thoughts just did not feel inappropriate at the moment. He was witnessing the most beautiful thing in his life and knew for certain a single thing: that he wished it would never have to end.

And then, it abruptly stopped.

It was sudden, too sudden, like the song had been snuffed out along with his sense of balance. He felt his knees buckle under him. He was able to catch himself, only to realize that tears were streaming down his face, pallid as it reflected itself unevenly in the pyramid wall. His black tattoo was sharply visible in contrast to his skin, even more than usual.

"Hey, why did it-" Gwen suddenly cut herself off, making Theron look in her direction. He was treated to the sight of her looking at him in shock. "-stop...?"

He fleetingly wondered why she would react in such a way, but then he noticed his own tears. Wait, he'd just realized he'd been weeping. Had it slipped his mind in the same moment?

There was a moment of darkness, until he felt a grip on both shoulders and he struggled to wipe the streams off his face, with little success. Looking up, he realized it was Kallian. She was obviously worried, but his own mind was reeling, confused as to how she'd come to be there so suddenly, and at how he'd been brought to his knees at some point.

Abruptly, he felt the ground shake, and his head seemingly struck against something or other, again and again. Distantly, he considered the possibility that he may have gone into shock. That, or his consciousness was being fickle, coming and going as she pleased.

The feeling was replaced by tremors as the world trembled. Distantly, he heard things crumbling, people shouting, but it all felt far away and removed. He wondered if it were some vision of Arlathan's end he was reliving, or if the world was ending all over again. And he kept feeling himself slipping, that is until a blinding pain seared him through every inch of his body. It was then that his awareness returned, for an instant, enough to see a dark, great shadow, a terrible presence looming over him, formless but malevolent beyond doubt.

Then, a brilliant flash of light collided with the looming evil and resulted in what could only be an explosion, one that hurled him downwards, straight into darkness.

"-. .-"

They had prepared. Weapons were at the ready, their formation was far enough spread without anyone being too far apart from the others to be rendered vulnerable. Alim had his spells just one word of power away, everyone was as set for conflict as they could have possibly been.

And it had all been for naught.

Kallian hadn't allowed herself to glimpse at the others. Her feet practically moved by themselves as she ran to where her kinsman had fallen to his knees, looking shocked and confused. She heard Alim and Raonar calling out for everyone to watch out one second too late. She managed, at least, to reach Theron in time, but even as she did, a pressure began to weigh down on her, as if fear had become something physical that was pushing her from above.

One instant was all it had taken. One instant of broken watch on their part was all that they let slip, the moment something alien, like a gale, swept through the Thaig and instantly killed the song of the lanterns. That instant where Theron collapsed in tears and they all were involuntarily taken aback was when the ground itself trembled.

With the practice of one who knew how to fall, she relaxed just a small fraction and threw herself sideways, pulling Theron into a roll as everything began to rumble. From that angle, she was now facing upwards, only to see an unnatural darkness get thicker and thicker, snuffing out all the light that Cadash Thaig glowed with. "Maker's breath..."

"Sod it to hell!" she heard the commander curse, barely audible over the earthquake. A cursory glance revealed him half-kneeling, fighting to keep balance. "Something's appeared! I didn-" he finally failed to keep balance. "Dammit! Where did it come from!"

"What?" Faren called out from somewhere else. "Oh shit!" She noticed him just as he dived to the side, rolling away from a falling stalactite. "Watch out for falling rocks!"

Tabris wondered if she was only imagining it or if something really had been starting to make itself heard over the rumbling noises. Still, she remembered what she was doing as looked next to her as she pushed herself half-way up. Theron had his eyes open, but his expression was a blank one and she couldn't make out anything else because the only light around was the one from the lantern pyramid.

"Where did this darkness come fro-" Gwen choked on that last word, by the sound of it.

Not that Kallian was paying attention anymore. The instant she'd been cut off, a real malevolence descended upon them. The city elf felt her blood run cold and her muscles grow weak. All of a sudden, she wanted to run off screaming and hide, anything that could take away this feeling like her life was going to be taken at any moment. The darkness itself gave her the impression that it was almost alive, reaching out to her, straight into her soul.

But she'd dealt with darkness before, so she pushed dread aside and bit her lower lip, forcing her fear away with pure pain. Belatedly, she realized that she'd been clawing at the ground and two of her nails had partially been torn off her fingers. Gritting her teeth against the ache as dirt mixed itself with blood, she made to get up and drag Theron away.

"Easy there, girl." The weight was removed by the gruff dwarven fighter that was now next to her. "I've got mister straight face." He made as if to hoist Theron over his shoulder, but she only caught a glimpse of his face before the last of the true light from the lanterns dispersed with a final flash. They only cast a pale glimmer now

The four objects fell to the ground one by one, and when the moment passed, the earthquake was eclipsed by a maniacal laughter. "Move!" Raonar shouted in her ear. He was next to her now, shining like never before, but even his light did nothing to the dark.

**"I tHink nOt." **Two eyes, like green fire, blazed into sight above and before them, higher than they thought was possible, but they saw nothing else of it, that or its being was the darkness itself.

Kallian fell down, her face meeting the overturned dirt. She head Oghren grunt as he, too, fell. The grass patches had been rent apart and now she was barely breathing as gravity got stronger and stronger. "Oh no you don't, bastard!" The commander roared, releasing every bit of energy he could muster, activating the anti-magic glyph and totally canceling whatever unholy magics were making her feel so much heavier than she should.

But only for a moment.

The next instant, something boomed from aside and she was hurtled away, rolling across the ground until she smashed with a heavy gasp, sideways, against what she assumed was the knee-high wall facing the lake. The other thing she heard was a loud splash in the water behind her, which must have meant that a larger than usual stalactite had fallen there. Vainly, her mind struggled to understand what was happening. What could possibly be causing destruction on such a wide scale, and why? And how did it take them so completely by surprise?

She thought maybe she should look to where others might be, but her eyes could see nothing through the black haze. There were only a few lyrium veins up high, unshrouded by dark, but the only other light source, and the only one which still reached other things besides itself, was the set of four lanterns, now on the ground and almost faded.

**"YoU morTALs arE very bRave,"** the voice, shrill and rasped, drawled mockingly, **"aNd stuPID."**

Easily finding the eyes in that blackness, Kallian felt her heart jump in her throat when she saw it was nearing Theron's prone form. Before she even had time to think better, she threw herself forward and let loose two knives in their direction.

She did not see them once they had left her grasp, but she did hear them being contemptuously batted aside with no effect.

The lighting bolt that slammed into it from the other direction connected squarely, however, and even illuminated the area for a brief moment. The thunderclap eclipsed all other noises, even that of the boulder than fell from up high, right on top of a thaig dwelling Kallian knew to be just meters way from her.

For the first time since Ostagar, Alim had abandoned all thoughts of restraint. He was outright flying, blood flowing in thousands of droplets around his battered form and, for the first time ever, he exhibited a aura of his own. Emerald light surrounded him, mixed with white strands that his left arm was wrapped in, a sole beacon in the void, one that brought his arms wide and lunged them forward.

A second lighting bolt slammed into the enemy, then another, and another.

**"AnNoyiNG!"** Impossibly fast, a fireball as large as a house crossed the distance between the two before Alim even had time to fly aside, and it burst into an outright inferno, loud enough to block out any screams of pain there may have been but not bright enough to chase the dark away. **"YoUR maGiC is deCEnt, sorCErER, but I knoW what yOu soughT!"** Kallian saw something that made her heart sink deep.

Shale had used the opportunity to try and draw close to where Theron was, in the hopes of dragging him off, along with Oghren, who was trying to stand between him and whatever that thing was. And then a wave of force had actually blown the golem clean off her feet and straight through the wall of the empty house five meters behind her. **"Is thiS YouR way? To saVe comRAdeS thAT HAVe fallen?" **Another force blast struck Oghren, sending him flying and grunting to the left. **"OR haVe YOu realiZEd thaT HE is mY QUARRy?"**The presence was almost upon Theron now.

"Fuck you!" An acid bomb and a fire flask blew up in the face of that creature. Faren had taken Oghren's place and was standing like a statue, or at least that was as much as Kallian could see of what the lights of Arlathan illuminated.

**"HmmMMm... A blanK, is IT?"**

"Give it your best shot, bitch." Faren taunted as Alistair and Gwen scrambled to take the unconscious Theron by the arms and drag him off.

**"As YOU deSIRE."**There was no gesture, no word. The ground beneath Faren just burst and hurled him away. He just managed a confused cry of pain before darkness obscured him again. Seeing that, Kallian wanted to get up faster, to ignore the ache in her bones and force her ribs to stop hurting. **"As FOr yOU two humans..."**The glow of the lanterns revealed just one, clawed finger rising and pointing forward. **"Your eFFORts are fuTILE!"**

Tabris stared and listened as, like in slow motion, the beast pronounced a word of terrible power, ever so slowly, and Theron screamed like no one had ever screamed before. It was the most wretched howl of pain she'd ever witnessed, and it was so piercing and desperate that it made her forget about the earthquake and the sounds of cracking earth from above and below.

Then and there, Kallian Tabris watched Theron die.

One word in an unknowable language had been uttered, and the soul of the Dalish was ripped from his body under her very eyes. Just like that, Alistair and Gwen collapsed under tremors and the dead weight of his body, and the soul was left hovering weightlessly. She felt her temples throbbing, but she could no longer move and she failed to take note of the cracks that could be heard above her. She did not remember ever feeling so helpless before, and yet here she was, unable to do naught but stare at how something like black smoke glimmered in the light of the lanterns.

Then, the green, blazing eyes were right above Theron, the entity looming over him and a three-taloned grasp closing around his spirit form. **"CenTURies I've waitED for somEOne to leaRN the LOcATIon of the doorWAY, and hERe yOU are aT LonG LAst! I will DeVOUr y-" **A silver whip came out of nowhere and tied around soul and demon hand alike.

By the looks of him, Alim would have probably wanted to say something, since he was on the other end of that bond, but he looked like he could barely stand as it was.

Kallian Tabris felt numb. It had been just a few minutes since the song of the lanterns had been interrupted and there was just no way to react in any other way than denial. It had happened too quickly and without warning of any sort. Just how do such things just come to pass...? It seemed certain now, that they would all die either at the whim of that thing or because of the earthquake.

Come to think of it, it wasn't so loud anymore. "Kallian!" Someone was hissing in her ear. "Kallian! Kal!" Taken by the shoulders, she was shaken out of her daze by someone. "Kal! Snap out of it! I need you!"

"F-faren?"

"Look, can you move?" He was keeping his voice as low as he could manage under the circumstances, rumble and all.

Not trusting her voice, she nodded tersely and strove to look determined, though she was sure she managed it even worse than he masked his worry.

"Look, Alim won't last long. We'll throw every explosive we have at that thing, alright? You can see where it is...?"

Like before, she nodded again and reached into her pouch for whatever she still had. It was good that those things needed a special rune to be activated on the cap. If impact was all it took, they would have exploded inside her pack ten times over by now.

The enemy did not even have to do more than behold Alim slightly. A falling rock did his work for him and promptly drove the mage into the ground.

That was all the signal they needed.

The spot where the green, blazing eyes were was at once engulfed by flames, noxious fumes, poison mist and everything else they had in their vials.

Or at least, so they thought. What had really happened was that an invisible wall had stopped them all and caused them to detonate harmlessly at half the distance. **"I diD Not forgET aboUT You."**It did not even look in their direction. Thecreature just loomed over its prize and all they could do was helplessly watch.

She wanted to curse, but Alistair beat her to it. "Maker's sword! How do we fight something made of darkness!"

No one expected an answer, but that only magnified the effect when it came without delay.

**"With Light of course."**

The tremors in the earth abruptly stopped.

A shaft of brilliant light exploded through the top of the cavern, blowing all darkness aside and searing right through the extended arm of that creature. And there the light remained, a column of power, standing steadfast and pulsing, emanating a splendor they had yet to see anywhere else.

The darkness hesitated, shocked for one instant, before it drew back and hissed, almost cried out in pain. Its hand had been struck and the grip loosened. The arm had not been severed, but the implacable beast had, nonetheless, been pushed back and its green eyes burned with fury, larger than before.

And the voice came again**. "The first of the magus cast themselves deep in the Fade in search of answers and power."** Ever so steadily, the darkness began to fail. **"Always power." **The earth itself responded as if to a calming touch and the aftershock and agitation dwindled. **"They found the forbidden ones." **The pale glow of the few lyrium veins above became richer and newer ones appeared through the newly formed cracks in the hard foundation. **"Xebenkeck, Imshael, ****Gaxkang the Unbound****, and The Formless One."**

As if forced into her awareness, the anger that sparked in that evil creature was palpable. **"DamNAtIoNS!"**

Even shocked as she was, Kallian did not miss the recognition in that reaction.

The light swiftly came down and compressed, changing shape. Alive. It was everything that the enemy was not, immaculate and bright beyond what even dreams would let one imagine, and yet not uncomfortable to the eyes at all. The white specter hovered protectively over where she knew Theron's soul had to be. Kallian didn't know how to describe the creature, except as some sort of white shawl that was alive, or like a quicksilver cape with nothing to hold it up, the same way an eye mask stared up at the other creature, defiant and amused in equal measure And then, it spoke once more. **"I did not forget about you either. Centuries of searching and planning, finally come to a close, deceiver."**

Darkness drew away, showing now its true nature, a cloud of black dust and ash now that the alien hold upon natural law had been broken. Kallian's sight was returning, so she saw that so much of their surroundings had been turned upside down, and yet the worst of it, like the great breaches in the stone above and the cavern walls that were about to collapse had been prevented. Lyrium veins gleamed through where the stone had split, having grown to knit the stone itself back together and hold it fast and strong.

But the blackness had not disappeared, merely been withdrawn to a smaller area, and anger flared again, like purple lightning all around it. **"TheN yOU TOok too LONg, fOOL! I alrEAdy haVe WHat I nEEd!**" The intent was obvious. The warping bolts were going to assault the bright one.

The eye mask smiled.

Kallian had blinked just once, but even that was enough to make her miss the sight of a sharp lyrium spike as tall as a small watchtower sprouting out of the ground and impaling the space that the darkness occupied. Her ears definitely did not miss the shriek of agony and outrage that escaped it, however.

But then, with just a grunt of pain, the enemy vanished, like a black shroud collapsing upon itself.

Silence reigned once more.

But not for long.

**"See to your fallen comrades, but I suggest you check the lake first."** The specter began to glow brighter.

Alistair's reaction was more or less the same one she would have had. "Wait, what?"

**"Your commander cannot swim."** And just like that, with another giant flash of light, it disappeared.

All things considered, no one could really blame them for not immediately regaining their wits, but then Faren finally made sense. "Oh shit! Raonar's been thrown in the water!"

Kallian did not immediately make the connection, but she did eventually. The loud splash she heard just after she was hurled into that knee-high wall was not some boulder collapsing from above. It was their leader falling in, complete with his abysmally heavy full plate armor.

Fortunately, Gwen was already running towards the lake, leaving behind armor pieces as she went.

No one noticed that the Lights of Arlathan were gone.

"-. .-"

Theron wondered if there really was nothing more to death than this utter blackness and the vague sense of loss. After that very short vision of some evil entity, he knew only darkness. He **thought** he may have been falling, but he honestly could not tell for certain or for how long. All he wished now was for some change, any sort.

As if in response, the dark was replaced by one less thick, but he did see something. A ceiling. He had just fallen **through** a ceiling, one that was rapidly growing more and more distant. Somehow, he twisted in the air just by thinking about it, and he saw the ground. Well, the floor more like.

Brilliant. If he wasn't dead, he definitely wasn't going to survive falling from such a height. Then again, there was a much higher chance that he would just keep falling through that solid mass and be lost in darkness again, descending forever through solid matter. The elf now wondered if he'd been played a trick by Fen'Harel and left to fall until he came through the world's underbelly. It definitely did sound like something the trickster dread wolf would do instead of just allowing someone to die properly.

Ah, and there it was coming now, just a few more meters and.

Bash.

Theron fell and smashed against the hard floor face-first. Had he a body, he would have ended up with very few unbroken bones and definitely no chance of survival. As it was, however, he experienced only a vaguely intriguing feeling of going splat before he reasserted his shape and just lay there, prone, wondering just what in the world and Beyond had just happened. He'd activated the Lights, entered, heard a song and then...

The song. It made him feel sad now. It was a powerful experience in itself, but the grief that overcame him before that final, painful experience came from having had the song interrupted. He didn't understand it. It should not have affected him that way, but it had. And now...

Now he was dead.

Marvelous. You'd think it would be more of a memorable experience than that.

Or maybe he just couldn't be bothered to be impressed. But still, if death wasn't an intense enough experience to break him out of that, just **what** was?

Well, the song was one example... Though it may have caused much more harm than good if that thing he saw was going to go after his friends. His mind flashed back to that last sight and he hoped it wasn't anything that endangered the others. Communing with the Lights of Arlathan had been his choice and he supposed that dark being may have been some final hallucination, or at least something only he experienced. And yet, it had felt much more real and solid somehow.

Not knowing what else to do, he slowly got up, feeling oddly weightless, and cast his eyes around. The room was large and circular. Well, it was more of a hall, really, incredibly tall, taller than the greatest trees of the Brecilian, and that said a lot. What truly caught his eyes, however, was that it seemed to be made of a single material, bone-like in color and obviously of special enough properties that it prevented even the passage of spirits (him, as it were). He looked up and saw that the ceiling was regular rock, which explained why he'd ended up within the confines of this place at all.

But there was another thing, and it was about more than the lack of a door. More than just the same material, the hall looked like it was made of a single, immense piece of it, or as though it had somehow **grown**, like the lyrium itself, only in a predetermined manner. And it was a very complex one too, with statues of what looked like elves, very lifelike, on all sides, as well as a sophisticated rune circle covering the whole of the floor, one that would probably make Alim gush with glee.

And just like that, his thought were of his companions again, the ones that had just watched him die. He wondered if he should bother feeling regret over putting them through that, but realized he did not have as much control over the reaction as he thought or wished. A part of his mind found it curious that just the fact itself, that of his death, did not seem to cause him any direct distress. He wondered if it was because he did not actually mind dying, or something else.

And by something else, it was the fact that he did not want to live without the song of Arlathan, the one that had been cut short and had brought him to his knees. Come to think of it, he did feel somewhat hollow...

He looked at the ground, wishing that he could somehow see what had become of the lanterns. Surprisingly, the bone-like material of the floor turned translucent, and then took upon itself the properties of a seeing stone from shemlen fairytales. He was now looking at a vision of the ground where the lanterns were. It was dark there, but things were illuminated for an instant.

The hunter took a moment to assess what had just occurred.

And then, he decided to experiment and wished he would see others of his order.

In response, the entire floor, not just the inner circle, scryed on the desired area, but there was little to see, except darkness. So much darkness, with just a few light sources. But then, he saw movement, and flashes, and he recognized the figures.

Frowning, like he rarely ever did, he gazed upon the battle that was being waged over possession of his lifeless body.

"-. .-"

Kallian knew herself to be the best swimmer out of everyone there. Unfortunately, she had a couple of broken ribs (which she had yet to properly examine) and her arms and legs weren't faring very well either. As such, she did not complain when Gwen hasted towards the lake and took off her armor as fast as she could before she took a dive in search of their leader. Kallian was still shocked over how quickly everything had happened, but at least that meant Raonar hadn't been underwater for overly long. She just hoped Gwen would find him before he died on them too.

The city elf was dragging herself to where she guessed Alim had to be, hopefully still alive. She didn't want to look at Theron right now, because she refused to admit he had actually died. The denial stage was like that. So she distracted herself as best she could.

Faren was helping her walk, bless his soul. Despite being shorter, he didn't seem to have any trouble supporting part of her weight. When they finally spotted Alim, however, they ignored whatever pains they had and ran to his side. They found him breathing, thank the Maker. Well, rasping really, but she hesitated to move him because she didn't know where that rock had hit him. He was already covered in enough cuts and scrapes as it was, and worse. He looked like he would die of blood loss at any minute.

Fortunately, health potions were not something they were lacking in. They even had a few that could repair internal damage and replenish blood, so they fed him one of each. The short, red glow that coursed through the mage at least let them know he really was alive, since the poultices would not have worked otherwise. Most of his surface wounds closed as well.

Some sharp intakes of breath and lines from the lake's direction notified her that Gwen had finally come out from the water. The way Faren jumped to his feet and ran off after a brief "I'll leave him to you," was expected.

She just hoped it wasn't more bad news.

"-. .-"

Theron didn't really have time to digest the fact that the battle above was over because a thunder-like noise and a blast of displaced air sent him sliding away from the center of that hall, until he hit the wall, conveniently concealed by one of the elf statues. Biting back a groan, and any other noises he considered producing, he made sure he was well enough hidden from view before he peeked around the corner to see what had appeared.

The place had grown much darker than before, but not enough that he couldn't see that shadow, smoke and ash that made up that thing. It was like a cloud with green eyes, like something totally formless. Fortunately, it hadn't seen him. It probably wasn't aware of his presence at all, and the way it had appeared suggested it was in a hurry.

As if to confirm his assumption, the darkness started to reach out randomly, the walls and floor resonating, showing images he knew not of what, though most were completely dark. **"CoME on, whERe iS IT? DamN you, SHOW me whAT I WANT!" **Theron thought the creature would start smashing its fist, if it even had hands (its voice sounded somewhat avian, so he couldn't be certain), against the walls and statues, but it probably considered that the scrying nature of the chamber might not work so well if he did. **"ShOW me WHERE the poRTAL is."**

The word portal acted almost against Theron's will and made him think of the Eluvian that had almost killed him. Unfortunately, the memory was strong enough that the chamber resonated with it and a vision of the mirror appeared on half the circular wall, completely dashing all of the dark creature's efforts.

The fact that said wall was just behind him and blew his cover definitely did not come as a pleasant surprise. **"By the CHanGER! What aRE YOU Doing hERE?" ** The voice of it had taken a predatory tinge and the darkness grew thicker. **"Such forTUNe! I mAY haVe my booN AFter aLL." **It took flight, or so it seemed. **"To thINK a smaLL moRTAl like yOU can use this creation of The eld-"**

Thunder came down from the Stone above and smashed the word shut, and though it dispersed harmlessly against the bone-like floor, the blast was enough to knock the elf on his backside. **"Speak not words that would confuse our audience." **The spirit of Light again took shape, this time larger, whole. The living cape was draped across the shoulders of a tall, huge humanoid being, but the intensity of the glow made it difficult to see anything clearly, even thought it caused no pain to the eyes.

**"DaMN yOu!" **The beast drew back in hate. **"I wiLL be rID of you! I WIll escape the conFINes of this w-"**

The darkness was instantly cut apart and pushed back, grunting. **"As I said, no words that will confuse our audience. A wretched thing, is it not, Formless One? Bereft of your sight of what is to be, you are nothing. You even got surprised by me three times already."** Tall as a great oak the two were, and the white one lunged forth, a sword of light in hand slicing cleanly through the black haze, dispelling some of the shroud. **"You spent so many centuries just waiting until someone stumbled upon the solution, to show you the light pointing towards what you think might avail you."**

The other one laughed. **"BoAST all yOU wiSh, foOL! " **A large, staff-like rod emerged from the dark to strike back at the white one. An energy backlash succeeded in pushing back the bright one's advance. **"YOU never wON agAinst AnY of us fouR, do nOT think to STArt now! NoT hERE!"**

Despite everything, the somewhat smaller one simply laughed. **"Never won against you so far, from your subjective perspective perhaps."** The ends of his cape coiled like vines around the staff as it went for another hit. **"Serves to show how informed your confinement has left you. Besides, you are mere shadow."** His sword was caught in a clawed hand. **"Shadow will always fail under the sun."**

The green eyes tilted. **"This is MaDNEss fool!"** There was an unmistakable tint of incredulousness. **"You aRE oUt of YOUr mind. We arE leagues uNDerground."**

** "Hmph. You really don't realize just why I brought the foremost of the People here, do you?"** The green eyes narrowed a fraction. **"This place. What do you suppose it will do if, say, he thinks of the afternoon sun?"**

Theron didn't even have to wonder about it much. The moment he stopped wondering what the hell he was watching, the odd reflection of the battle was replaced by precisely what the bright one had spoken of. All he did was think of the sun how it would look like over lake Calenhad. And as he did, the walls became the sky, the sun shone through and the floor became the lake.

The darkness screamed and flailed, smashed to the ground as the fog, ash and smoke was blown away by sunrays, leaving behind a monster that was only vaguely humanoid. The vision was brief, for the Guardian lunged at the change and released a blinding wave of energy, one that engulfed them both and left to the eye only the shape of a long chain. It lasted for mere seconds, and when it faded, Theron could take a better look at it. He even risked coming out of hiding.

The face was that of a bird, but the rest was some sort of reptilian anatomy, with clawed, three-fingered legs and hands. One of them was vainly struggling to reach for its staff. The creature also had some sort of robe and a pair of great, black wings, now crushed over each other. The bright Guardian was standing over it, one foot on the back of its neck and his hands firmly clasped around the end of the chain that had the evil thing bound firmly. **"CuRSE yOU and all YoUR iLK!"**

** "Spend eternity plotting your revenge if you wish."** With a mental tug, the bound creature was in the air. **"You already wasted so much time just waiting here, until someone came that let you try and fool the Lights of Arlathan. So much time wasted."** He let his sword disappear. **"The fool is you. The light of this place. That's what **_**I**_** am." **With one fluid motion, the Guardian struck the demon with both palms. The moment contact was made, a pulse of energy burst outward, though it was something else that Theron kept his eyes on.

A chaotic portal appeared right behind the demon and, as it was pulled in, cursing and screaming, the Dalish elf saw a glimpse of another portal within it before it collapsed with a crack of displaced air. **"An Eluvian you want, that is what you shall get. That you never specifically mentioned **_**which**_**of them you sought is another matter." **Silence fell at last and the sunlight continued to stream forth through the scrying hall. **"Two down, two to go I suppose."**

Theron spent a moment trying to gather his wits about him. The first argument he came up with was that he was dead, so this very well **might** be what the afterlife was like. He was now asking himself if this was some sort of hell or just limbo. He sighed. Just his luck. It just **had** to be him that didn't get to pass through the Beyond and then join the creators like good, behaved Elvhen are supposed to.

**"Fascinating."**

"Elgar'nan's C-!" To his credit, he only just backed off a step instead of falling on his rear when that creature was suddenly his height and staring him in the face. "-Cane..."

**"I must admit, I knew all along how this event would turn out, but I did not know until now just why you were going to survive getting forcefully removed from your body." **The face-less, humanoid light... thing had an oddly familiar way of speaking. **"Ah, but where I my manners. I apologize you had to get involved in a conflict that is not of your making or responsibility."**

"Wait..." As always, he could not be bothered worrying about madness so he latched onto what made sense. "Did you just say survive? You mean I am not dead?"

**"Yes you are, for now. You are not in your body and, thus, qualify as dead. What is strange is that there is too much of you here..."**

"..." Theron did not often feel gobsmacked, but this came close.

**"Sentient beings have four components,"** The bright one created four hand-sized human models to illustrate. **"The identity, where the core of a person rests and inception occurs. The mental, where some memories reside and the idea is translated into concepts. The emotional, where less coherent remembrances lie and which defines how much drive one is willing to place in the pursuit of that idea. And, finally, the physical, which, unfortunately, has come to act more as a constraint than a means to carry out the will."**

"I see..." He really didn't. He was rather trying to take in the fact that so much strange things had happened to him within the span of 20 minutes.

**"When someone dies, the soul, the identity component as it were, leaves and only takes away a small part of the mental and emotional, if any, depending on how much they were integrated during one's lifetime."** It had a strange penchant for giving lectures, apparently. "**This degree also determines how much one distinguishes him or herself from the rest of his peers. You, apparently... have completely integrated all but the physical." **It bowed to him then.** "This likely justifies your regular stoicism, among other things. So, my congratulations, young master."**

The elf thought he could understand part of it. "Integrating our... selves... You mean like Alim and Raonar are doing?"

The spirit straightened. **"That is a loaded question. You ask as though I am supposed to know them intimately."**

"You did just imply you have foresight." Theron remembered Alim talking about a statue in the Circle Tower that supposedly was a petrified old farseer. This might be something similar. Maybe.

**"Fair enough."** It stood silent for a time. **"I suppose the answer is yes, although the latter is farther along integrating the physical than the emotional. Then again, they did not have the benefit of an ancient artifact speeding the process."**

Theron was partially amazed at how surreal his life... well, his **death**, was turning out to be, but he figured he may as well get as much information from this... person?... as he could. "You mean the Lights of Arlathan..." He was surprised at how wistful and sad his tone was.

**"Indeed."** Much to his shock, the creature stepped back and, after bringing its arms in front of its chest, it unwrapped them wide, revealing four familiar relics. **"The Lights of Arlathan."**

He did not know why, but the desire to listen to the song all over again almost overwhelmed him right then and there. "What... what are they?"

The other one tilted his head, the eye mask looking amused but not mocking.** "They are what you have already guessed. They hold the soul of your old people. The identity component. Nations can gain it after enough time has passed. This soul you accepted when you entered the closed space created by the lanterns. That **_**is**_** why it affected you so strongly when it was interrupted."** He stepped aside and the Lanterns took flight, recreating the pyramid and the faint hum. **"The rest of Arlathan is waiting for its children to welcome it, even if it is just one at a time for now."**

The hunter had little doubt he wanted this but... "How will I change?"

**"I do not possess omniscience, so I cannot answer that properly. Though I do have some inkling, it ultimately is an opinion, nothing more. All I can state is that it will be with you wherever you go, from now on."**

"As you say..." He looked at the shimmering mass in front of him. "One last thing before I do this and undoubtedly forget to ask about." He paused. This was one question whose answer he might not like. "This... thing you just fought. Who was it?"

**"I will not say yet. I am sorry."**

There was a sigh. At least it sounded sincere. "Alright then... I suppose the 'yet' in there means we will cross paths again at some point. Tell me this. The Archdemon. It is going to be even more dangerous and fearsome, isn't it?"

For once, the answer came rather late. **"Unlike the others... who were more affected by the taint, this one has... changed. So, I would have to say... yes. I am afraid so."**

"Will we win?"

It turned to study him for a while. **"Ah... I am afraid that depends only on what you see as victory. Please, ask me no more of this."** If anything, the creature was frustrated.

Realizing he wasn't going to get much more out of whatever that thing or person was, Theron Mahariel stepped forward to embrace his fate. Maybe afterwards they'll get around to his actual coming back from the dead.

"-. .-"

Kallian Tabris really had wished that some miracle would happen before she had a chance to finally internalize the realization that one of their own had just died, but fate proved a harsh mistress. Though Gwen managed to get Raonar out of the water, she had not managed to resuscitate him. Fortunately, Alim had regained consciousness by then and, even with a broken arm (the same one Raonar had broken before reaching Orzammar), he forced himself to weave a spell that drew the water out of his lungs and restarted his breathing.

The look of dread that covered him when they told him of Theron's passing almost made her wish he'd fallen unconscious instead of recovering so quickly from nearly drowning. He was kneeling now, next to the hunter, just looking at him, looking every bit like someone who felt guil-

"Dammit," he at last spoke, almost a grumble. She probably wasn't supposed to hear him. "Dammit all to hell, why don't I feel guilty over this...?"

Well... that threw her for a loop.

Confused, she shot Faren a look. He was sitting next to her, on the other side of the body from him, and made no effort to hide that he'd heard it too. He didn't look any better than the others either, though at least everyone else had gone over to help dig Shale out of the rubble and debris from the house that collapsed on top of her. They would have all kept vigil over their fallen comrade, but just leaving Shale to rot wouldn't have been appropriate either.

It was absurd. They'd gone through so many dangers and trials, and then they somehow awaken an ancient evil that completely put every one of those to shame. And it had all happened so fast. Se supposed seeing Raonar go catatonic just from having a staredown with the Archdemon should have been warning enough, but this was a much harsher lesson.

About ten minutes passed like that, until the others, finally, returned with a dusty and haggard-looking golem in tow. The others gazed somberly on and Shale chose not to make any dry remarks. Even Oghren just stood and watched. It occurred to her that he probably saw many people die so he was no doubt used to it by now.

It would soon come to be quite obvious that, used as some of them were to people dying, they were not even close to that level when it came to people rising form the dead.

It came with about as much warning as the dreaded shadow of doom. As in, none at all. Theron's body just flashed white for an instant before he gasped and began to choke and dry heave. A white chain appeared like a spiral around him and, after a short moment, tightened and melded with his skin, leaving behind just something reminiscent of a chain tattoo that coiled around his every limbs and his torso, ending up around the forehead, where it combined with his elven Creator mark.

Needless to say, everyone had recoiled as if burned, some even screaming in fright.

The dalish, of course, just kept choking and heaving. "Guh... ugh... what... crawled down my throat and died?" he rasped out.

There was much shock to be had.

"**You** did..." Faren blurted without thinking, not that anyone blamed him. It wasn't like any of the others were faring any better.

In fact, they'd all been so flabbergasted that they completely failed to take note of the white... thing... that appeared over him, just above everyone's eye level. **"And so it is done." **The mantle-like apparition ascended somewhat but left behind the four lanterns, which gingerly floated over to sit on the ground, perfectly out of the way. **"And now I am off. Until we next meet." **Which is when it just turned into a wisp and disappeared into the stone high above.

"Ugrmmm... I feel stiff..." the archer groaned, pushing himself to lean on his elbows and, with some care, managed to sit up. His efforts were not made easy by any of the others, shocked motionless as they were to see him literally come back from the dead.

Not for long though. Kallian eventually got her wits together, so she did what any sensible person would do in such a situation. She launched herself at him and embraced him as tight as she could, lingering rigor mortis be damned! And the others followed, all of them piling on as well as they could. She even noticed Alistair tugging on Oghren to join them before he'd had a chance to escape. She saw Faren and Gwen shedding crocodile-sized tears of joy too, though she wouldn't bet on hers being any smaller.

"I'm so glad!" "You bastard, you scared the shit out of me!" "I'm ordering you to sleep in the cart on our way back, do you hear me?" "Ugh, easy on the arm, guys. Glad to see you alive, Theron. I'll want a full report." "Yes, you have to tell us **everything!"** "For heaven's sake, people, let the man breathe." "Aye, wouldn't do to have'm suffocate to death all over again."

Nothing like someone rising from the dead to make everyone else forget about every nasty thing bothering them. They were fine. They were all alive and Theron was actually laughing for once.

Yes. Things were good.


	58. Succession Arc 1: Preparatory Stress

Author's note: Here it is at last. Apologies for taking so long, but my sister came over to spend some time and real life existed. I hope you find the wait worthwhile.**  
**

* * *

**Chapter 55: Preparatory Stress**

"-. .-"

_Excerpt from journal of Senior Enchanter Wynne_

_08 Nubilis, 9:31, Dragon:__ I thought I would be able to finally stop worrying about these young heroes when they finally returned from their voyage, but the things I learned and saw once they did threw me for a loop, and a big one at that. I never imagined that a so-called side-quest could ever lead to such monumental discoveries and events._

_ The fact that there is a Thaig completely uncorrupted down here (and it even has vegetation and fish...) is no small matter, especially since it has been uninhabited for centuries. I knew there were magical means of repelling the taint, Maric's sword being just one piece of evidence. What I did not even dare dream was that it was possible on such a massive scale, not without a substantial amount of fire involved. What is truly strange, however, is that I am not as shocked at this as I should be._

_ I have been considering the possibility that I have been going slowly mad. That, or just the lives led by these young Wardens are crossing over into the surreal more than it is healthy. After all, just what are the chances that the news of a taint-proof settlement almost as big as Orzammar would be overshadowed by something else? Because this is precisely what happened._

_ Twice in the span of 5 minutes in fact._

_ Not only did we get slammed with the news that some sort of demon of unknown nature, more fearsome than a pride demon even, was lying in wait, but we are actually told that Theron died there. Theron __**died**__, for Maker's sake! And __**then**__ he came back to life by intervention of an equally unclassifiable entity, which can only be the same one as that which healed the Golems before it left, only to reappear and finish the job (and leave again) just one day before the Wardens' own return._

_ I never felt special for being the only known person to rise from the dead, but this new happening leaves me less at ease than I would like. I should be in awe, relieved that such things exist, but this... whatever it is came out of nowhere too suddenly. I will have to try and pry the exact experience from Theron himself, though I doubt he will be forthcoming. I know my own death is not something I would casually speak about._

_ Perhaps I have just spent too much time in Raonar's company. Why else would I be so wary of something that has only shown the best of intentions so far? I dare say this all has been chafing at my idealism. I don't remember being so paranoid before. _

_ I am surprised we were even told of these things, knowing how secretive the Grey Wardens usually are. I pointed this out, and our commander gloomily explained that the secret does not deal exclusively with the darkspawn and that it concerns the dwarven and elves races, and Thedas as a whole, so he could see no reason to keep things hidden. Of course, I suspect that Oghren's witnessing of those events (and his questionable ability to keep secrets) would have put a damper on any secret-keeping decision._

_ Of course, the Wardens, as I understand (and am still having trouble believing), can do some extreme things to keep secrets. Killing Oghren for his silence would have been a very real possibility if the one in charge was someone other than one of these young men and women. _

_ Speaking of gloomy moods, that's exactly what Raonar has been like ever since they came back yesterday. One would think Theron would be unsettled by his ordeal, but he's been just as stoic as ever, though I can't help but shake the feeling I can hear something at the edge of my awareness whenever I'm in his presence. No matter, our exiled prince is the one worrying me._

_ I am having trouble figuring out why he has been like this. By all accounts, despite the unexpected near-tragedy, things turned out well. If it were any other person, I would guess that nearly drowning to death could strongly affect someone, but he's been near the edge in the past and he rebounded fairly quickly. Not so now. He spoke very little, making me glad to just see that he at least did not skip eating._

_ Gwen tells me that the incident led to them all finding out that our dear commander cannot swim at all. He was, apparently, quite upfront about it, saying that he doesn't have much better chance at floating without his armor than with it on. Upon being pressed about why he did not inform everyone of this before, he said we'd never asked. _

_ The fact he actually used such a, as he would call it, cliched reply made me worry about him even more. Still, I doubt this alone is what has made him so depressed. I do hope he'll be better by the time we return to the city._

_ Speaking of returns, we are going to leave on the morrow, as soon as Caridin finishes the new Shield of Aeducan. The main work has been done for days, but the paragon smith waited for our commander to return in order to add some sort of enchantment that will bind the relic to those of his line. From what I could gleam, I think this is some sort of blood magic, so I can't say I am overly enthused, but I gave up on trying to argue against blood magic long ago._

_ The crown was finished days ago, and I must say it is a wondrous piece of work, made of volcanic aurum and infused with lyrium. One would mistake it for a beautiful helmet that still evokes the spirit of the dwarves, having just enough grace that it enhances the strength of the straight angles. The truth is that it is made of two pieces, allowing one to change it from crown to full helmet easily. It even has runes on the underside, ones that boosts the wearer's fortitude and constantly restores his strength, among other things. I remember that Raonar and Caridin had a very detailed discussion about just how many effects might be combined together._

_ I should put my quill to rest, I think. These fingers could do with some other sort of exercise, and my brain is still nagging me to try and learn more of what happened. Alim appears to be done with his study of those strange lanterns for now, so perhaps I should speak to him a bit. We don't see eye to eye on many things, but at least neither of us are openly hostile towards each other, which is more than I can say about my 'relationship' with Morrigan._

_ Hopefully things will be alright again by the time we are back in Orzammar._

"-. .-"

If there was anything Oghren was sure about, it was that, for the first time in a long while, he was eager to get back to Orzammar as soon as possible. Sure, he was still ready to beat the snot out of anyone who dared say he might be scared of the Deep Roads, but the simple fact was that he'd had more than enough of traveling with these Grey Wardens. The kind of mess they got into was a bit too crazy, even for him. Give him an axe and some darkspawn to kill on any day of the week, but even he drew the line before omnicidal, invulnerable entities and all the other demon crap these guys landed in on a regular basis.

All he wanted now was to take his wife and finally get back to the city, maybe salvage whatever was left of his life. He didn't have anything else and, after everything that had happened, he was sure there was no way he could ever rebuild what he'd lost. No everyone hated him in Orzammar, but he wasn't loved either. He had nothing there. Branka really was all he had now.

But the stupid woman refused to even talk to him. She'd basically sent him off with the rest because she didn't feel like talking and, even now after they'd gotten back, she still ignored him. She just kept on doing whatever, always wearing that damned, blank expression. And she wasn't being all that nice either. All she said when he tried to get her to take a break from all the hammering was "Don't bother me right now, Oghren, we'll talk later" or "Go drink something and let me work, like you know we both prefer it" or something else like that.

Stupid woman. It was as if as long as the anvil was there, it refused to let her un-bitch, even if she made a point of not looking at it.

They'd been back for hours. Oghren thought they'd immediately trash the anvil and head home once they returned, since it wasn't late enough in the day to demand camping. But when they did reach the Anvil chamber and go an update on what had happened while they were gone (and gave a report of what they'd gone through), Caridin came down from his big perch to get that prince warden leader to go along and help him with whatever finishes he wanted to make to that shield of his. The Warden came down from there soon after and started brooding like he'd been doing for the past three days. Meanwhile, Branka just submerged herself in hammering at that last pickaxe, again and again and again.

Yeah. This all definitely beat the sod out of how he'd imagined it.

The past half hour, he'd spent just sitting on a cot and looking around without any aim. Well, the others probably thought he was glowering, which was mostly true, but he damn well had the right and a good reason to. Besides, it wasn't like he hadn't caught any of the others glowering. Well, maybe not at him, but they did glower. Sometimes.

Bah. At last this whole mess wasn't going to last for too long.

Ogrhen was about to take another sip from his canteen, but the voice of a certain Antivan elf made short work of that. "You know, my stocky little friend, you never did answer my question about that filth you so enjoy drinking."

Despite knowing it wouldn't do any good, Oghren glared at him. "Right on that, I didn't. And you can't have any!"

The elf grinned in his annoying way, making Oghren wonder why the sod he didn't just hang out with everyone else instead of bothering him. "Do not worry, I won't. The stench is worse than your feet after all. Besides, there was something else I was curious about."

A quick look around the place showed most everyone either eating or talking. Darn. "Bloody antivan, keep your hands where I can see'em! What're you doing smelling my feet, uh? Is that some kind of Antivan perversion?"

"It is difficult not to smell your feet. Perhaps in Antiva."

Now Oghren finally knew why he didn't like that elf. "Now you're beginning to sound like Branka."

"Oh, do I?" Even Oghren spotted the predatory tone in his voice. "Then perhaps you will be more inclined towards satisfying my curiosity. So tell me, how is it that you never seem to run out of ale. We haven't ran into any merchants for weeks now..."

The dwarf grunted and took another swig, looking randomly, just not at the Antivan's face. "Nobody sells the good stuff anyway."

"Then are you making it?" He really was persistent, the bastard. "I don't see a still anywhere in our provisions... And you aren't walking around with a keg, so unless you're... oh no..."

That did it. Oghren jumped to his feet, not that it helped him reach the bastard's eye level. "What? Where has that perverted elven mind of yours gone?"

"That... would explain the smell..." Zevran took a step back, slowly. "Suddenly I'm not so interested in trying a sample..."

"So long as it gets you off my back..." Warily, the warrior made to sit back down, but some movement caught his eye. He noticed Branka stop her hammering and Caridin finally coming down from that Anvil of his, carrying something big, probably that shield, but **why** it was all wrapped up in that rag he had no idea. And where did he get such a big piece of cloth anyway? That round shield was pretty large.

Figuring he may as well see what it was about, since everyone else had decided to gather around the spot, he walked over to stand by the others. Before long, everyone, even Shale and the other golems, had formed a circle around Caridin, Branka and that annoying Warden commander, next to Branka's anvil.

The five pickaxes were piled up next to the small anvil, and Branka let the sixth, and last, roughly fall on top of them. "There. That's the last of your digging tools."

The strange guy just nodded once, a weird, bland expression being all he allowed on his face for some reason. Oghren wondered if it would kill him to try and get off Brankas's back even a little bit.

Caridin's clear voice broke off his thought. "I believe it is time we put this off no longer. Here is your shield." With more care that Oghren expected, the black steel golem pulled the covering off. "I dare say this is easily my greatest work, as far as recent times go."

Oghren had seen the crown. He'd seen it, he'd gaped at what it looked like and he was sure there wouldn't be anything able to make him have such a reaction again any time soon. Not often did he find some item that was able to marvel him despite the fact that he wasn't a smith. Well, besides a good old weapon and piece of armor. Still, even though that shield definitely was armor, it left his mouth open anyway.

The fact that the shape of it was perfect wasn't the surprising thing, neither was the rune circle on the outer ring. What really stood out was the Aeducan crest, the face of the paragon encrusted on it, whose eyes seemed to glow faintly with an inner light from beneath the gleaming, silver surface. It was almost as if the thing was alive somehow. "Sodding things looks like it's breathing..."

He obviously wasn't the only one who thought the thing looked a bit too good for its own good. Even that Warden was staring at it with his eyes a bit wider than he'd seen them before, and he even took off his gauntlets and just let them drop to the dusty ground before reaching out to take it.

And when he touched it, the thing gleamed for a moment, like a wave passed over it, and an inscription shimmered into view, above and below the face of the paragon, in recognition of the one bearing Aeducan's bloodline. "What in the world..." Raonar murmured.

"That is my fault I am afraid..." Zevran admitted unrepentantly. He was even wearing the most face splitting grin Oghren ever saw. "You see, ever since we learned, back in Denerim, of what happened I always thought this line of yours was very catchy, so I just could not resist the urge to suggest to Caridin that he add it to the mix, though I admit I did not expect him to be able to make it invisible."

"How do you know I even said this?" Raonar was surprised for once.

Zevran blinked. "Why, from our beloved young conqueror of course!" He declared dramatically, throwing his arm around Faren's shoulder too fast for the latter to duck away in time. "Who else?"

There was a pause.

"And how on Thedas do YOU know...?" the prince asked the younger dwarf.

Faren grinned sheepishly and rubbed the back of his head. "Hehe, well, Gorim must have slipped and told me back when we were c-" He abruptly stopped, making Oghren think that maybe he **hadn't **imagined the short instant where he suddenly felt like some huge, cold weight fell on him. "Before I left the city," the guy finished quickly.

Oghren wondered how in hell Gorim could ever come to know a brand when he was the sort of guy who disliked them and surfacers both. He didn't care enough to ask about it though. Gorim was dead anyway. Too bad, but shit happens.

Yeah, shit happened... but that's not what was important. "Right, well are we gonna keep starin' at the thing all day or can we finally get on with everything else?" It was damn time they did too. Everything was ready, so wrecking the anvil was the only loose end.

With seeming reluctance, Raonar tore his gaze from the shield, covered it back up and cleared his throat. "Everything else is finished?"

Branka spoke for once. "Yes, yes, everything you wanted is done. I even compiled the best idea I could come up with for powering those simulacrums, though I still have no perfect solution. The notes are there," she waved at where she'd spent her days working. "You will find them with the original schematics."

"Indeed," the commander passed the Shield of Aeducan to Faren. "If that is the case..." He went and picked up the first giant pickaxe on hand and held it out to Branka. "I believe it is only appropriate if you get to do the honors, **esteemed** paragon." His bland tone only very slightly cracked near the end.

Branka matched him with an identical stare and held it, but she did, in the end, take the oversized tool. Alim didn't even need to be told to activate his telekinetic weapon field on it.

It was an odd procession that proceeded up the slope leading to the site of the Anvil of the Void. Branka led it, her expression grim and, unless Oghren was imagining it, a bit disappointed. He, the Warden and Caridin walked abreast a few feet behind her, followed by all the others in whatever order they'd found their place in line. As for himself, the fighter felt anxious for some reason, like there was something itchy at the back of his head.

The feeling didn't go away even when Branka stopped in front of the Anvil, looking every bit like she wished she could suddenly divine all its secrets and make everything she'd done worth it. Obviously, no such assurance came, so she set her jaw in dark determination and brought the pickaxe down upon it.

Once.

The pointed end sunk half-way into the metal, cracking it and the lyrium that permeated it. The air vibrated.

Twice.

The anvil released a blinding flash as it broke apart into several chunks that almost wailed.

Its purpose exhausted, the pickaxe was allowed to fall to the ground. Branka picked up a very big maul instead, one that Caridin had used to break apart the more temperamental of ore.

Thrice.

As the hammer truly smashed the anvil apart, the world itself seemed to sigh and it appeared as though the anvil's remains breathed out. Lyrium vapors were released as if from a pressurized container and Oghren could only stare dumbly at what poured out and up, whispering relief as the souls found their afterlife at last.

The spirits of the long departed golems lingered in the air like afterimages for a few seconds, after which they dispersed randomly, some passing between and through their audience, finally leaving for whatever awaited them but had been denied to them for so long.

The dwarf fighter shivered in spite of himself when one of those motes went through his chest and came out through his back. It was a really weird tingle. And when he finally recovered, he saw that Branka had staggered back a step and had brought one arm around herself. She was breathing too heavily, even for all the hitting and crushing.

"Is... is it over?" Kallian asked.

Silence was her only answer for a time.

"Yes..." Caridin at last said. "I can sense it. The bindings are broken and the magic of the Anvil has been unmade.

Yes, it was over. Oghren felt like skipping about and cheering. Finally, Orzammar awaited. Now all he had to do was make sure Branka didn't just up and decide she'd go somewhere else. He didn't relish the thought of tying her up and dragging her back, but he damn well was going to do it if he had to. "There. It's over. Now let's go back to the city." The words sounded much more pleading than he intended.

"It can't even be called a mistake..." the woman murmured, not looking at anyone.

"Huh?" Warily, he took a step towards her.

She cast her eyes around, eventually settling on some distant point beyond them and the cavern walls, as if she was looking at something far away. "Simple mistakes don't cause something like this... Like that. Hespith tried to tell me..."

"Hey, stop that," Oghren tried to sound commanding, but it was like he never could get the tone right. "What's wrong now? The Anvil's gone, the voices should be gone too. Aren't they?"

His wife's eyes were downcast as she showed one last, grim smirk. "The voices don't make any difference." She briefly locked eyes with the Warden, whose own expression was blank. "They never did. I just used them as an excuse." She gave her husband one last look. "I wish I could say I'm sorry Oghren."

The man watched in shock as she put as much speed as she could into rushing away from them and straight for the edge of the cliff. "NO!" He lunged for her a moment too late, stumbling over the handle of the hammer she'd let fall in his path, and all he could think was how stupid he had to have been for not thinking about this, for not putting himself between her and the ledge. "Wait! Branka!"

The Paragon smith was already diving off.

And then she fell face-first on something invisible. "Oooph!" The air beneath her shimmered like water, her fall having been preempted by the most stable forcefield a certain Warden Commander could throw out. Oghren just stared in shock at his wife, lying on her face on a shimmering, flat mass just above the lava pit.

The simple fact was that the dwarven prince had not, in fact, forgotten to get close enough to the edge, just in case. "Like it wasn't obvious that you'd be nursing suicidal thoughts after all you'd been made to realize," he uttered from behind that white shroud he now cast, his right arm outstretched, maintaining that field with visible strain on his concentration. "Of **course** I prepared for this."

"Aye," Branka just looked back for a moment. "But so did I." Before anyone could get there and prevent any further action, she manipulated something on her left gauntlet.

"Oh shit! Grab her!" the exile shouted only after her runes flared to life.

"Branka! Sod, no!"

The anti-magic field snuffed out the forcefield holding the smith paragon from her doom, and Branka fell, death welcoming her as the river of magma accepted her passage with surprisingly little resistance, a testament to just how incredibly hot it was. There was no scream, no final word of disdain or discord, no epiphany, no final curses to be spat.

Not on her part at least.

_ No. No no no, no no, sod it, no!_ Oghren wanted to curse. _No! No no no no... _He wanted to dive in after her, but he just collapsed to his knees and stared in despair at how there was already nothing left, not even a trace. The molten rock had already devoured her and left nothing behind but more of itself. _Dammit! Damn it! That...! That...!_

The voice that spoke his very thoughts was not his own, but it only barely fell short of exhibiting all the anger he wanted to let out. "That...! That... two-timing, nug-bred, self-centered, stone-blind stupid **coward!**"

"-. .-"

The past week could have definitely gone so much better, but life, it seems, decided this was a good time to show him just how easily his every effort could be rendered meaningless. He hadn't exactly reached the point where he started to wonder why he bothered, but even with three days to come to terms with what had happened in Cadash Thaig, he still hadn't succeeded in getting over the gloom that had settled upon him.

It was, usually, very hard for him to actually find something that could so acutely inconvenience him emotionally, but when he did, the effect seemed to last. It was nothing short of amazing that Caridin actually succeeded in lifting his spirits. Holding that Shield had felt so incredibly right.

And then Branka ruined it by going ahead and killing herself.

Just like that, with barely even a word. She'd even prepared for the possibility of being magically restrained, and that only served to further frustrate him, because that only proved that she was the greatest brand of idiot there was. It was one thing to not possess any impressive mental faculties, but a person really screwed up when they had intelligence but used it to pursue only the most idiotic of goals.

Like, say, suicide and fratricide.

There was more, though. Two things, actually, that made everything even less pleasant. One was the fact that, as he now realized, he'd been in such a foul mood that his emotional state prevented him from preparing more than that one countermeasure (the forcefield). By all accounts, he should have foreseen that Branka might be able to cancel his magic again, but he didn't, and, as always, when he made a mistake, people died.

The second nagging thing was the look Oghren sent his way after his outburst, just after his wife disappeared into the lava. It was full of so much accusation and just barely did the man bite his words back and growl, almost moan really, before sullenly retreating to the bottom of his ale flacon. No doubt he had a mind to snap at him and say it was his fault for berating her that she went and did that.

He was half-right. The way he dealt with Branka was harsh. However, it wasn't his attitude that drove her to suicide, but her own realization that she'd done more harm to her people than the darkspawn themselves did in her lifetime, and not just in terms of body count.

Caridin wanted to end his existence too, though this was obvious ever since they found him. No doubt there was nothing else he wanted more than to finally get the freedom of the afterlife, if there was such a thing, especially with how the Anvil indirectly caused yet another death. Raonar had been wondering how he should approach this issue over the past week.

Ironically, if there was anything that the latest trials had given him, it was clarity in this one regard. "So, Caridin. I suppose what Branka did is what you yourself want?"

The two were the only ones present in the stone mask chamber. Immediately after Oghren stalked off from the Anvil cliff, the commander asked Caridin to follow him so they could speak alone, hence their presence there. "With the Anvil's destruction, my self-imposed sentence is finally over," the golem gravely said. "I thank you again, and I hope I may finally find my rest."

Raonar considered asking Caridin if the temperature of the magma was even higher than the melting point of the black steel he was made of. Deciding it would be better to make sure he didn't need to ask that question, he prepared for doing much the same thing he did to Gorim before leaving: ask Caridin to do as he asked, regardless of his own desires. "A week ago, I would have probably stepped aside and let you finally do what you wished for so long." It was one thing to manipulate the bad into blundering and allowing those who would do good to see success, but actually asking someone to set aside his greatest dreams or wish for **his** sake was something he did not relish. "But I find I must... ask you for the greatest boon yet."

There was the slightest tilt to the golem's head. "You wish me to go back to Orzammar with you? Please do not ask me this. I belong to a different age. I would that I did not have to bring my failures to this one."

The dwarf shook his head. "No, that's not what I want. I do ask that you not discard your life, however. And before you refuse, please listen to what I have to say."

The great golem sighed but agreed. "Speak then. I owe you much already. It would be wrong of me to deny you this."

"On a normal day, I would probably describe to you the wonders of the surface, the many things you could spend your newfound freedom on. It might even be enough to get you interested for a while, but the fact is that none of that will matter if the Blight swallows up everything. I used to think that we stood a fair chance of stopping it before it got too serious, but recent events made it more than clear that we are in very, very big trouble."

"Is it really so serious? I am afraid I do not have anything to compare it with."

The exile steeled himself and began recounting the two incidents that led to the Archdemon's evolution. Caridin listened silently, barely moving, though the electricity coursing through him did crackle at a few points. "This is grave news indeed. Do you know what to expect?"

"Not really," he admitted. "But I do have a vague idea. You weren't around when we updated the others on what happened in Cadash Thaig, since you chose to keep working. It was a near thing, Caridin, almost all of us got killed by a single creature. I still don't know what it was and it actually did succeed in killing Theron. The only reason he's alive now is because that spirit that came here and healed the Golems also interfered there and, from what Theron tells me of his out of the body experience, subdued that monster."

The paragon straightened. "It overpowered all of you? How can that be?"

Raonar figured it made sense that he'd be shocked at learning that the ones who passed his trap course with no fatalities and held out against a golem force were so thoroughly thrashed around. "I am as shocked as you are, but that is not the point. The point is that, as Theron tells me, that Spirit, or whatever it was, told him that the Archdemon was going to be even more dangerous. If that's true, then numbers definitely won't drive this Blight back on their own."

The silence that followed that statement was heavy.

"The others so far think I've been doing a decent job as Warden Commander." His statement lacked all the self-satisfaction such a declaration usually came with. "But that also means they are looking to me to make things turn out for the better, and it isn't because they feel like it's my responsibility since I was the reason the Archdemon got smarter and stronger in the first place. They genuinely believe I'll somehow save the world."

"So then why are you speaking of this so grimly?"

"Because, contrary to what they may believe, I **can't**." It wasn't an expression of self-doubt. This wasn't a crisis of faith or some episode where his confidence left him. He was merely conveying what was easily the nearest thing to an objective assessment. "Once enough time passes when you keep growing in power and **still** fail to make a visible difference, there isn't much room for doubt. With the way things are going, we **will** fail, no 'ifs.' So that's why I'm coming with this to you now, asking to help us, and I can't even guarantee your time will not be wasted."

The immortal paragon beheld him for a time. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean that, whether you help us or not, we might still all die in the end." The prince found himself staring at the rubble mound that the stone masks had become. Appropriate metaphor, that view was. "These centuries you spent guarding the Anvil, they at least had some clear purpose and the assurance that you **were **making some sort of difference, protecting our people the only way you could. I cannot offer you the same certainty, and I am not working for the immediate benefit of our people either, but I am asking you anyway." Straightening up, he looked at the paragon directly. "Will you please help us?"

This time, Caridin really bent his head to the side. "Frankly, I am surprised you aren't actually demanding or ordering me to pledge my assistance to your cause."

The dwarf snorted. "As if you'd just follow me if I did."

"I would."

"I thought n- Wait, what?" The image of broken clockwork suddenly seemed very appropriate.

"Well, following your orders **is** what I have been doing for the past week." Caridin pointed out.

"That's not the same thing, it was a trade. You help me, I get the anvil wrecked and free you." Try as he might, the prince had detected no sarcasm or amusement in that tone, and Caridin wasn't backing down either. "Let us distance ourselves from this discussion," he said warily. One day, he had to find out just what made people so absurdly loyal. "Will you give me your answer? And before you ask, yes. I do have backup plans in case you choose to say no."

"Might I ask what they are?' the golem asked with some amusement.

"Well, you'll probably feel insulted by me thinking you might be the sort of person to have such tastes, but kneeling, bowing and begging do rank quite high on my contingency list."

That immediately made the whole situation a lot less amusing. "You aren't..." The giant of steel would sure have gaped if his mouth had moving parts. "That you want my help was no secret to be kept from the others. You're saying you asked to speak to me alone just in case I pushed you to **that**?" There was clear shock there now.

"Actually, this **does** have to be kept a secret from nearly everyone outside the Order," the noble answered. "But yes, and it wasn't because I would feel humiliated if they saw me do it. It wouldn't be half as bad as..." He stopped abruptly. What was on the tip of his tongue needn't be said. It would have veered too close to self-pity. "Anyway, since I caused the Archdemon to get stronger, I have to try and fix it, so I won't have anyone else humiliate themselves by begging for help to solve my mess. That **is** what would happen if they knew I had this in mind."

"You needn't have troubled yourself in such a way," the golem's voice softened. "Please don't say such things as though you feel you are being selfish by asking me to help you. Just what kind of life have you had that made you always prepare for the worst in people and such wretched outcomes? Of course I will help you. I would have helped you even if you had not given me such a strong reason."

The prince finally released a breath he didn't remember drawing in. "Thank you. That's kind of you to say."

Caridin allowed himself one more minute to just gaze upon that short person. "I do have one condition, however." That got his attention. "You will have to tell me what those pickaxes are for," he said mildly. "I cannot imagine you would have golems turn to mining."

Raonar frowned. "I'll have you know that the idea did cross my mind, and a long time ago too. Imagine, cave-in-proof workers that can match twenty normal people. Why, the tunneling progress alone would be spectacular. And don't get me started on how our construction projects would benefit if we used them for heavy lifting. It's not like the legion of steel and stone in the Shaperate of Golems is of any other use, kept under lock and key as they are. Honestly, it's like we dwarves refuse to use our brains." He sighed and pressed his fingertips against his forehead. "But yes, I did have something specific in mind for the pickaxes."

"Then let us put aside dark thoughts. While I will leave it to the other golems to decide for themselves what they will do next, I myself will be glad to assist you in whatever you may require until the Blight is stopped or you deem my services are no longer necessary." Caridin saluted with his fist over where his heart would be. "Though I truly have no idea what my smithing skills can be used for, and how, if I am to be presumed dead. "

"Oh, not to worry," the prince waved off his concerns. "The only people who need to be fooled into thinking you're dead are ours. You'll find plenty of assistance, and things to do, back at our headquarters on the surface."

Caridin said nothing, though it didn't take a genius to figure out the idea of going topside made him uneasy. Hopefully he didn't think that the heavier he was, the more likely he was to fall up into the sky.

They kept silent in their walk back to the main Anvil chamber, where everyone else was waiting, scattered about the place. Everyone looked at them with curiosity and anticipation, but Raonar just shook his head at them in turn before they could ask anything. He had something else to take care of after all.

Boldly, he strode to the pile of pickaxes, picked two of them up (it proved to be more of a challenge than he expected-those things were huge after all) and held them out to two golems who were conveniently close by. "At least this one mystery will at last be unraveled." With that, he drew his sword and walked over to where the Anvil cliff started. There, he surrounded the blade in a magical sharpening aura and sunk it into the rock about two inches.

He then cut a line in the ground that went all the way from one edge to the other. "You'll work in shifts of five," He began. "You are going to use those things to dig the deepest trench you can. Then, we'll use every explosive charge we have and every bit of magic to shake the earth until this entire cliff, not just the Anvil, has sunk beneath the molten rock." Brandishing the weapon with one unnecessarily dramatic motion, he sheathed it. "We will not be guilty of leaving behind exploitable remains that overconfident men might think useful for trying to replicate whatever Caridin did. That would be a gruesomely pathetic, and predictable, way of letting history repeat itself."

His audience stared at him very intently. Even Oghren had made a very short break in his drinking to make his surprise visible.

It was Caridin that broke the ice by taking hold of one of those digging implements himself. "Where would you have me?"

With that, the atmosphere lightened quickly, as those present realized that the Warden Commander was going back to his usual, overprepared self, complete with unnecessary but not unwelcome flair for drama, even if it had been planned and not really felt.

"Alim? You know what to do."

That the elf immediately approached and activated a telekinetic field on the tools made it obvious that, true enough, he knew well what to do. Yes, things were getting back to normal at last, though the exile still considered that their normal wasn't really desirable, what with it consisting largely of the surreal (and potentially lethal) at the best of times.

"-. .-"

Oghren was no stranger to drinking until he passed out. Sure, he made sure he didn't go quite that far when out campaigning, but there were many times that he ended up being knocked awake after falling asleep at Tapster's. Most of the times, it was either a shove or an impatient nudge, sometimes on Corra's part (which he didn't really mind) but more often from one of those nug lickers that made it their special purpose in life to see how far he can go before their constant insults and jeers made him snap.

Yes, it was common for him to get that kind of rough wake up, which is why he was so confused when he was steadily pulled from his deep sleep by an uncommonly gentle shake. It took a while for feeling to return, at which point he realized he was lying on his side, on that makeshift cot he had. Groggily, he opened his eyes, which protested even though light wasn't that intense. "Huh...?" He rasped, since his throat was clogged. Trying to blink away those spider webs that were still clouding his vision, he forced his head to twist back, though any attempts at further speech ended with an inarticulate grunt.

Theron was sitting next to him, though his voice was the only thing that gave him away. "You should wake up." Even through the haze, the dwarf thought the elf was just barely managing not to smile. "I do say you've slept more than enough."

The fighter thought of sitting up, but his body felt like dead weight. Even just moving his hands to rub at his eyes took a lot effort.

It took him five minutes to just get his bearings. Once he did, and looked around a bit, he was treated to the sight of a very amazing-looking anvil of the void. Amazing through the simple fact that it, and the big cliff it was on, wasn't there anymore. There were the obvious remains of explosions and tremors, but only lava beyond, as well as an immense column of rock, around which was a grand lyrium outgrowth, like a vine, but brighter. "When di-" he choked and tried to clear his throat. It was anything but painless, and there was an all too familiar, bad taste in his mouth.

He looked around and noticed the tell-tale signs of what had probably been his vomit. Someone had cleaned it up, and him as well by the looks of it. The realization made him want to crawl under a rock and hide. He didn't normally feel shame over throwing up, everyone who drank did it sooner or later, but the thought that he'd been looked after while he slept the ale off... And he'd been so carefully roused too, even after that.

"Here, my durgen'len friend," Theron passed him a cup of something. "Alim's hangover cure."

Frowning, the dwarf looked at the dark liquid dubiously, but whatever questions he had disappeared when the general muscle ache (and headache) finally caught up with him. "Uuuh... thanks." The drought proved much less foul that he expected. It tasted better than Orzammar ale actually, and the effects were fast. Not instantaneous, but still fast. "Whoa... I'll need the recipe for this stuff."

"I fear only mages can make it," Theron said sympathetically. "Are you well enough to walk?"

The dwarf's head was now clear, but he could swear there was something weird, like he could hear something that suddenly fell silent as soon as he noticed it. Chalking it up to leftover hangover, he nodded. "I sure as hell don't remember that thing going down," he waved at the cliff as he shoved himself to his feet. "Did I sleep through the whole thing?"

"I am afraid so," Theron said as he dusted his hands off. "One day and a half in fact."

"What?" The dwarf gasped, looking around and seeing... fewer people than he'd expected. "How the sod...? That almost never happens. It usually takes something serious to make me drink so much. Why did I...?" And then it hit him, the full memory of his wife jumping to her death, and everything that happened afterwards, although things broke off after he' been drinking for a while. He vaguely recalled getting into a drinking match with Kallian and things got blurry a while after that. Weird. It usually took a few hours more for him to get stoned. He must've been really out of it, though that was expected, he guessed.

Branka was dead. After everything, she just went ahead and died. "... Oh." _Dammit_ he cursed inside. _Stupid woman._ It always was like this when the drink started to leave his system. Whenever crap hit the vents, it always came back to eat at him, no matter how much time passed. It always felt like whatever made him miserable had just happened. And people judged him for drinking.

_Stupid woman. Why couldn't she do like Caridin and... Hold up..._ "Wait," he called after the retreating Dalish. "I don't see everyone here. Where's that nu-.. that commander of yours. And that kid and the rest?"

"They left ahead of us," the man answered, stopping to face him again. "Raonar took Faren, Sten, Morrigan, Alim and Alistair along, to bring the news of our so-called success and call an assembly session."

The short fighter counted the golems still around the place. There were only two left, not counting Shale. "Did Caridin go with them? And those golems that aren't here anymore, did they go along too?"

Theron paused and held him in his gaze for a time. He sighed. "Oghren... Branka wasn't the only one with the idea to jump into the lava."

That definitely made his jaw drop. "...oh." His mind reeled. Badly. "That... That sucks." Yes, this was just one of those weeks. "Well this all pretty much beats the sod out of how I imagined it."

"Indeed," the elf agreed before walking off.

"-. .-"

Theron was pleasantly surprised at how smoothly everything had gone. It was just as Raonar said: He hadn't even had to lie. He just told Oghren that Branka wasn't the only one who thought of diving into the lava, which was absolutely true. That Oghren immediately assumed that that meant Caridin, and the other golems, had committed suicide was entirely his own fault. Then again, after being told that exactly after he asked about it, it wasn't like there was much chance of him suddenly guessing that Caridin and the golems had gone with the first group.

As such, he also could not guess that he'd been slipped some drugs while having that drinking match with Kallian, just so he wouldn't see any of it and, thus, was free of any responsibility to keep the secret that Caridin was still among the living.

And to top it all off, Oghren was already so determined to drink himself senseless that it was all too easy for Kallian to administer that sleeping drought. All it took was 'accidentally' striking his tankard hard enough to break it, or make him drop it, and then fetch him another. Adding the powder had been the simple part and, in the end, Oghren reached the only conclusion he could see: that he'd drunk himself silly and ended up missing one day of his life because of it.

So now, the rest of them could finally start on their journey back to the dwarven city and, hopefully, back to the surface soon after. Too bad it was going to take almost two weeks for the journey to end. Well, nothing to it he supposed. He may as well start thinking of those new tunes that had been joining his thoughts more and more frequently ever since his 'death' and being granted the 'Soul of Arlathan,' whatever that implied.

Waiting for Oghren to be ready was going to take a while, even though everything else was packed already. As such, he decided to go lean against the cave wall and wait, playing whatever music he thought of inside his head.

"We need to talk."

Theron had his eyes closed, but it wasn't the voice that gave Kallian's identity away. He knew she was coming toward him ever since she started walking in his direction, and the pattern of her steps made it clear it was her. Most people probably wouldn't have even heard her coming, but he wasn't most people. His superhearing alone made sure of that. "Hmm? Yes lethallan?" She wasn't alone either. Gwen had come over and was standing to her right, while Leliana was to her left. "Are we to leave already? I can hear Oghren still packing up his things."

"Will you at least open your eyes and look at us when we're talking to you?" Gwen requested in a tone that went well with a roll of the eyes. She'd probably done that too in fact.

The Dalish did as asked. "Very well." He even got to his feet to boot. "How may I be of assistance?" He hoped they weren't going to ask him if his special ears had let him overhear (eavesdrop really) the conversation between Raonar and Caridin. He had, of course. Superhearing was like that.

They ended up discussing something else. "We'll just cut to the chase," Gwen said.

"We can't sense you anymore," Kallian said bluntly.

Theron blinked.

"Like, at all." She continued. "Ever since about one day after leaving Cadash Thaig."

"..."

"..."

"..." Theron shifted his weight and gazed at a random spot with his index finger on his chin. "Oh."

"..."

"Oh?" Gwen finally caved. "Just 'oh'? Seriously Theron, this is important! Do you have any idea why this would be?"

"Honestly no," the man said simply. "I suspect it has something to do with whatever this Soul of Arlathan is, though I believe that is something you have also included in your hypotheses."

"There's something else too," Kallian added, a bit more cautiously. She and Gwen then exchanged glances. "We thought we were crazy at first-"

"- you mean **you** did, K."

"-I could tell you did as well," Leliana chimed in, much to the Lady's chagrin.

Kallian studiously ignored them both like they'd never spoken. "-but then we all ended up beating around the same bush, so to speak, and realized we weren't imagining things. So, let me ask first... Have you been... imagining a lot of music?"

"Wondrous symphonies and crescendos?" Leliana elaborated.

The man tilted his head. "Indeed I have. Why do you ask?" Not that he wasn't already forming suspicions.

"Because we can hear it whenever you happen to do it," Gwen explained, sounding like she couldn't believe the absurdity of those words she was speaking. "Usually it's barely audible, like it's not even there, but other times... it's perfectly clear."

"I think everyone else can hear you too," the city elf said. "And that shouldn't be possible. Hearing an entire orchestra as if you were sitting in an amphitheater, but it being actually all in your head... And coming from **someone else's** head."

Theron's eyes fell on the chain-like tattoo that encircled his arm like a spiral. That one chain covered his whole body now, but he was certain, somehow, that it wasn't the cause for this new development. He looked at them again, a new realization dawning."Hmm... perhaps this and the fact that I have had no more dreams of the Archdemon over the past days are related, though it might be merely a fortuitous, temporary reprieve."

The silence that fell then was broken only by the sound of Oghren dropping something on his bare foot and starting to curse.

It wasn't enough to lighten the serious mood. "Do you think..." Gwen started, "that this 'soul of Arlathan'... might not be a metaphor at all?"

Theron had, in fact, thought about it, to no real avail. He supposed he should have asked that entity some more questions, but it made no difference now. If anything, this all was a welcome change, if potentially disruptive. "I am at as much of a loss as you, I am afraid. If it is unwelcome, I will attempt to... think **less** of music and such-"

"-don't do that!" Kallian blurted at the same time as Gwen said "There's no need!" and Leliana said "But it is beautiful!"

Theron's eyebrows were much higher than his eyes compared to usual. "Does it not distract you?"

"I'd say it helps," Gwen said. "I'm not sure how to explain it. Whenever it pops up, especially when it's clear, it feels like I'm more..."

"Alive?" Kallian ventured. "In a better mood? Think more clearly?"

"What they mean to say," Leliana tried, "Is that this newfound ability of your is beneficial... Mostly."

Theron noticed Oghren finishing his packing from the corner of his eye.

The others probably did too. "One last question," Kallian spoke again. "Do **you** still sense us?"

The hunter allowed himself a single moment to check. "Yes, I do." he frowned. This was strange. The sensation was different and... oh. "Wait... this is peculiar."

"What?" Gwen demanded impatiently.

Theron looked in the dwarf's direction, then at Leliana and, immediately afterwards, at Wynne, who was smoothing her robes some way off. "It feels like some sort of intuitive guesswork but... I can sense the others as well." He stretched his awareness somewhat. "Even the golems. And Wynne and Oghren. Even you, Leliana."

There was a pause.

A fairly long one in fact.

One that Gwenith Cousland eventually broke. "And you couldn't mention this **before**?"

"I only now noticed," the man shrugged.

"You're impossible!" Kallian groused. "How could this stay unnoticed by you until now?"

"It is not something you easily spot without looking for it," the Dalish defended.

That only spurned Kallian Tabris on. "What, you mean you couldn't be bothered to try and test how that whole Cadash Thaig mess changed you?"

Theron only looked at the three shemlen women for a long minute, asking himself just why that was so hard to believe. Then, he nodded once.

The women gaped in shock.

And they stared.

Then, at long last, Gwen got around to the point where she finally got over her reeling mind, though she did not recover fully, and showed it. "I miss the good old days, when I didn't have to worry about the world having possibly lost its sanity at some point in the past."

"-. .-"

Thorval Blackstone both loved and hated his job as commander of the guard division tasked with keeping watch at the single tunnel that led out of the Orzammar Commons and into the Deep Roads. The bad part was that, with the mines closed off until a king's election, he was stuck in the most boring place in Orzammar. The good side was that the job was a fairly easy one, since he'd not had to actually deal with much of anyone, except some disgruntled miners, the few soldiers that had received a Deshyr's permission to venture down into the deeps and, of course, the Grey Wardens.

Speaking of Grey Wardens, those people had to have been remarkably bereft of any sense of self-preservation, to go down there like that. The roads may have been a bit clearer of Darkspawn, and the Legion of the Dead was doing its job well, not letting any of those fiends close to the city, but that still left a great deal of danger. Obviously, his assumptions had been proven right. It was 22 Drakonis (Nubulis) now, which meant that the Wardens had been gone for over a month and a half. If they didn't come back by now, they'd probably met the expected fate.

Too bad. They seemed like good people.

Thorval also lacked any sort of experience with 'speaking of the devil' but this facet of his life finally saw some progress when the faint sound of footsteps came from the passage he was guarding. Turning around and peering as intently as he could, he motioned at his four, fully armored underlings to stand ready in case those things were hostiles.

The voices he heard set him at ease and made him stare ahead in wonder. "Sten!" The voice was indisputably male, and a tad impatient. "You're carrying more than your share of the weight again."

"I am taller," another voice replied flatly, from higher up. "It is no fault of mine that your diminutive stature prevents equal weight distribution, kadan."

Thorval finally began to distinguish some silhouettes. "My height is so NOT the issue here!" The dwarf, as it was a dwarf that spoke, countered. "I know Leliana's been calling you a softie, but to see you try and make my life easier up close, just out of the goodness of your heart..." his tone shifted. "It's actually quite endearing."

The Kossith solemnly ignored that last sentence but Throval noticed him letting his side of the trunk (he and the other speaker both held a large trunk by one handle each) hang a bit lower than before. The container wasn't properly closed and there were some sheets of cloth hanging out.

The dwarf was wearing the Legion of the Dead armor for some reason, and had his head covered by the set's helmet. Behind them walked only one other man ."Ho there, Grey Wardens!" He greeted them. "We thought you wouldn't return after so long..." He then realized that no one was coming behind them. "Oh no. Forgive me if I seem a bit blunt, but just what did you run into down there? Is this all that is left of your force?"

"Well, there was one fatality," the dwarf said distantly, in a voice that never stopped seeming distantly familiar. "But no, we did not get annihilated. We are only the advanced force. The others are going to arrive around this time tomorrow." He adjusted his grip on the trunk. "Forgive us if we are a bit abrupt, but we will go to our enclave with all haste. We desperately need to clean up and rest. Just tell us something. Did anything change during our absence? Has Orzammar, perhaps, decided on a monarch?"

Thorval couldn't tell if the man was hopeful or wary. "I am afraid not, Warden. Though the assembly did convene on several occasions, nothing even close to a consensus has been reached. I dare say they are actually all waiting for your return." he paused, uncertain if he should ask, though he did it anyway. "Is... did you find any trace? Or perhaps the Paragon herself?"

"I fear we are not at liberty to speak of this," Alistair intervened. "Lady Gwenith Cousland will address the assembly tomorrow. We actually came a day in advance to try and get the Council of Dwarves to convene so that this all may be settled as soon as the rest of our companions return. We will say no more until that time."

"Of course," he half-bowed, though he wasn't at all satisfied. "Feel free to proceed to your quarters then, though you can be sure that the news of your arrival will spread like ale during the festival, as will rumors of all sorts."

"Good," Duran said. "We will say this only: The others will arrive tomorrow, with some... company."

"-. .-"

As soon as they'd reached the Grey Warden enclave in the diamond quarter and put the trunk down, the lid burst open and Faren Brosca pushed all the blankets and tent parts far away from him, taking a deep breath like he'd never taken before. He choked on dust and sneezed quite a bit before his lungs settled. Only after that did he chance climbing out of that chest that was never designed as a means to sneak someone into a city undetected.

He was actually surprised the guard hadn't demanded that they allow them to check the contents of the chest. 'Duran' did say king Ostor of house Mestor decreed that Grey Wardens never be subject to the same searches as regular people, but he wasn't sure about that until now. Serves to show just how much higher the status of Grey Wardens was compared to commoners and castless.

It also looked like no one in the city had learned of a certain someone's real identity, which meant that no one relevant form the Legion of the Dead had stopped by since they camped with them.

Good.

"How are you feeling?" 'Duran' asked him, taking him be the shoulders to steady him once he was fully out of the trunk. "Sorry about this..."

The brand coughed. "Well, it wasn't life threatening, just... really annoying." he finally regained his balance fully. "I never thought **I'd** fake my own death like this though." _My sister's gonna feel awful._

The thought must have shown on his face. Duran obviously didn't miss it. "It shouldn't take more than a day or two." He paused. "And you know you can always tell me to get stuffed."

"Hey, Caridin agreed to fake his own death permanently, and let's not even go into what **you** did. I think I can manage a couple of days."

Speaking of Caridin, Faren wondered how he was enjoying Gherlen's Pass (they'd taken them to the surface using the same passage as the one Duncan had taken them through the year prior). It was still snowed over at this time of year, especially in the Frostback Mountains. The brand imagined they might find him and the nine golems with him, completely frozen over and immobilized when they left the city. Shale would probably find it all really ironic.

The young dwarf thought back to the day they left the anvil chamber. Of the eleven Golems (not counting Shale), nine said they would go wherever Caridin went, while the other two shocked everyone by offering their services. They said that they were like Shale now, completely unaffected by control rod magic, so they didn't have to worry about getting taken by the Shaperate and ordered into confinement. Caridin hadn't given them any orders, they just wanted to keep serving Orzammar.

'Duran' took a big risk in accepting their offer. After all, Golems were very dangerous things without something to direct them, being nigh-invulnerable. Then again, Shale hadn't done anything overly psychotic since she'd joined, so maybe he was just being paranoid.

Since they were in the clear, two black mice wriggled out of the White Commander's small pouch and hopped down, disappearing in a cloud of gold mist and leaving only a longcoat-wearing, black magician and the witch of the wilds in its place. "I'll never get over how useful shapeshifting can be," Alim said. Morrigan just smoothed out her odd robes.

'Duran' smiled. "Right then," He said at last. "Faren, I want you to start checking this place for traps. Who knows what haters came in here and set up surprises for us." He took him by the wrist before he could start. "Check the bathing room as soon as you can. I need a bath. Badly."

"Aye aye..." the redhead obeyed tiredly. He knew this was coming, since the guy had to go see Trian as soon as possible and he didn't want all the grime and filth of the trip still sticking to him. "I'll get right on it, **commander**."

Of course, the prince-in-hiding nobly did the predictable thing and made a show of complaining about being given the cold shoulder.

"-. .-"

Gorim had finally left to act the part of Harrowmont's personal guard again, thank the Stone. Trian had grown to enjoy his company (usually), but the man had turned into a bit of a chore to deal with, since he always told him he should stop pushing himself so hard or he'll have another accident, and then he'll be confined in bed.

Again.

Fortunately, there was nothing he could do to stop him from working out as much as he wanted if he wasn't there to complain about it. Analytically, Trian knew Gorim was actually being the reasonable one, but he really didn't have any better ideas. He just couldn't sleep at all if he wasn't exhausted enough. His mind would automatically start to ask why his brother was taking so long, if something had happened to him down there, and so on.

Gorim's main complaint was that he put too much weight rings on the barbell. Well, he wasn't here to stop him now. Trian had actually been doing bench presses for the better half of ten minutes, with the barest of pauses between each set of thirty, and he hadn't reached his limit yet. He didn't bother counting the sets either. He was using his attention for regulating his breathing as well as he could. As for his eyes, they were closed, since he'd grown bored with what that ceiling looked like from staring at it for so many hours.

Trian began to feel his arms getting worn out, but he pressed on. Just a few more. Always a few more. He'd been surpassing his norm each day, and it was, quite frankly, getting annoying. Getting tired enough that the need for sleep outweighed concern (which shouldn't nag at him so much anyway) was getting ridiculously difficult.

Damn that brother of his, this was all his fault.

Right, the arms really were getting tired, but he figured he should be able to push a few extra, so he did, until he felt a second pair of hands gripping the barbell, right next to his own, though they didn't interfere with the up and down rhythm. Blast. Gorim had snuck up on him. No doubt he, the great prince and heir apparent of Orzammar, was now going to get chewed on for doing bench presses without a supervisor. Well, let him wait.

Naturally, Trian did the sensible thing and solemnly pretended he didn't notice the other person, deliberately keeping his eyes closed as well.

"You know, big brother, you're not showing any kingly sense of self-preservation right now."

Trian froze.

Mid-push.

His strength suddenly swayed and he failed to keep the weight balanced, and though the other one was holding onto the barbell, he was unprepared for just how heavy it was because he couldn't steady it in time.

Trian escaped a grunt of pain as his left bicep stretched to the breaking point, and then beyond it. "Guh!"

Fortunately, the younger one succeeded in alleviating the weight, though the effort showed on his face as he returned the barbell to its support. "Holy hell, Trian, just **how** much do these things weigh?"

Breathing like he'd just run a marathon, the eldest snapped his eyes wide and stared at the upside down image of his sibling, seeing some incredulousness in his expression. Gripping his strained left arm, he pulled himself forward and, wobbly, managed to stand and turn around. "You infuriating little-!" Naturally, he couldn't think of a good appellation, so he just grunted helplessly and crossed the distance, taking him by the shirt (he was clothed normally) and pulling him into the second and tightest hug he'd ever given him during the entirety of the past decade. "What the hell took you so long? I feared the worst. Do you **have** to always make me think you died?"

Raonar started to pat him on the back after a while. "Okay okay, I get it, but do you **have** to crush me to death?"

The bastard actually dared complain about this? "Oh, stop being such a baby." Nonetheless, Trian did, at last, pull away, though his left arm's muscles were throbbing. The ache didn't prevent him from inspecting his sibling's appearance though, and he didn't much like what he saw. "Look at you," he almost winced at how he sounded more concerned that he meant to. "You look older than when you left. An your cheeks are more sucked in too." He even cupped his face as he spoke. "Have you been eating properly?"

The exile blinked. "Wow... You asking me this ranked so low on my expectations list that I didn't bother preparing a reaction..."

Trian grumbled. "...I'm not that bad, am I?"

The younger one looked at him for a while. "I talked to Gorim. He says you've been having trouble sleeping."

Trian snorted at the blatant change of subject. "Not too much."

"And that you've been abusing your own body again," he continued with a frown.

"That is **his** opini-ack!" His words degenerated into a hiss of pain as Raonar grabbed him by the arm whose muscles he'd just torn. Brusquely, he pulled it away and rubbed at the sore spot. "This would **not** have happened if you hadn't surprised me."

Naturally, his protests fell on deaf ears. Instead of easily smashing through his argument, however, his sibling just sighed and took a ring off his finger. "Here." He took a hold of his own hand and slipped the gold band onto his own ring finger.

Trian felt like a jolt passed through him as soon as the ring was on. "What just...?" And just like that, he felt the pain lessen and he could tell his sinews were going back to their proper place and state. "What is this...?" He asked, wide-eyed.

"A badass relic I am not letting you keep," was the answer. "Anyway, we've got things to do besides me describing every bit of equipment I own."

"You do realize, I trust, that I'm not letting you out of my sight until you tell me everything that happened?" Trian was determined to see that things happened properly this time around.

"Actually Trian, there is something infinitely more important than that which must be taken care of first," his brother said seriously.

The eldest's eyebrow went up. "And what is that?"

Raonar tilted his head and stroked his white beard for a few seconds, before stating, with a clear undercurrent of 'duh'. "You need a bath."

There was a pause.

"Seriously big brother, I went out of my way to wash up before I came over, and you hug me at the height of your perspiration process? Talk about lordly manners." He sighed dramatically.

The time it took for Trian's mind to reboot was five seconds, at which point his gaping maw clicked shut. "I'm going to get even for this, just you wait," he promised.

"-. .-"

It was about ten minutes after 'Duran's' departure that someone pulled on the string to the doorbell of the Grey Warden enclave. The fact that Faren was supposed to not be in Orzammar but was, at the time, inspecting the entry hallway definitely made the timing horrendous.

The fact that it was Rica's voice that shouted "Hello? Excuse me!" from beyond the door made the whole situation even worse.

Faren bolted, not making any noise, behind the nearest door, biting back a curse. He knew there was little chance of Rica **not** showing up to ask about him, but she'd appeared a bit too fast. Going through what was about to happen wasn't something he was looking forward to. For a moment, he wondered if maybe he really should do as the guy had told him and just spare himself and his sister grief if he wanted.

No, he decided. He wasn't going to back down now. Besides, it's not like Rica was going to think he was dead for long.

Alistair finally got to the door and opened it. "Yes? Oh... Good day..." Either the man was acting or he was showing his discomfort with having to tell the girl the 'news.' Faren supposed he didn't even need to put effort into being convincing. After all, it was bad enough to know he'd be making her think her brother was dead when he really wasn't.

"Hello," Rica's timid voice sounded. "Forgive me for intruding like this, and so immediately after you returned, but I couldn't wait any longer. I needed to come and make sure my brother was fine. He... he **is** fine, isn't he?"

"Well..." Alistair hesitated before heaving a sigh. "I'm sorry, this isn't something I like doing, nor anything I'm used to." He paused, making Faren wonder what sort of face Rica had put on. "Would you like to come inside?"

"No," his sister sounded more faint. "No please, just tell me my brother is coming home and I'll go. I know one of you who came back is a dwarf..."

"I... I am sorry, that is not your brother. It is our other dwarven companion."

Faren didn't realize how hard he'd gripped the handle to the door of the room he'd hidden in. "But he's coming back with the others, isn't he?" No answer. "**Isn't** he."

"... I am sorry, miss, but... no." Faren gnashed his teeth but forced himself not to move. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news but... no... you will not find him among our peers when they return tomorrow."

"I..." The brand heard her draw a breath. "I... I see..." She said nothing more for a time. "Can.. can I ask... how?"

Faren could almost see Alistair cringing. "I am sorry, but I am not at liberty to discuss it. When the others return to us, you can ask our commanding officer directly, though I guarantee nothing." Well, the templar really did have discipline, he'll give him that. He hadn't outright lied even once, yet, either. All those lessons with that guy were paying off in force.

"I... see..." Rica almost whispered. "I... forgive me... I will go now... Thank you."

It took Faren a considerably longer time that was necessary to gather enough courage to leave that room. Things always seemed to get harder. He just hoped whatever happened once the assembly convened will make it all worth it.

"-. .-"

Trian judged that he must have set a new record in how fast someone could take a bath, though he did make sure he was as clean as could be. It wouldn't do to smell like some deep roads beast after all.

He found Raonar in his quarters, casually sitting on his chair and drumming his fingers on the desk. Trian noticed a bottle of wine and two golden goblets within his arm's reach. "Ah, that was fast," the second son remarked, getting up and grabbing the bottle. "I asked Harrowmont for his best wine. He may be the isolationist type, but even he knows a good surface treasure when he sees one." Uncorking the bottle, he poured some of the red drink in both goblets, set the bottle down and then took both cups in hand.

The firstborn tossed his towel onto the bed and accepted the chalice when it was offered. "This should be just the thing." Once they knocked, he took a very large sip of it, enjoying the flavor before swallowing in contentment.

When he looked at his brother again, he looked particularly pleased about something. "Alright, now get on with it. I expect you to tell me everything that happened."

"Oh, I know you'd definitely want that," was the reply full of mirth. "I'm not sure how detailed my storytelling will turn out to be but I **can** assure you it won't happen until tomorrow."

There was a pause.

Trian thought he was starting to feel a bit sleepy but it was probably the aftereffects of the bath steam. "Are you kidding? You think I'm going to leave you out of my sight without getting at least some sort of update? You've been gone for over a month and a half!"

"What I **know**," the white-haired one said. "Is that you need some genuine rest. As such, you are going to bed."

The heir apparent felt his mouth going ajar at his complete lack of logic. "Setting aside the... impertinence... of you telling **me** to do that that... What on Thedas are you going on about?"

"The fact that you are probably starting to see yellow spots right about now," came the amused reply. The second prince brought his goblet to his mouth and, once he drunk, he continued. "And now you are starting to lose feeling in your extremities."

"What..." It was true. _What in the... oh... oh no...oh no-no-no-no... that little...!_

Raonar had a brilliant grin all over his face. "This wine you just drank? Yeah. It was drugged."

In an amazing show of outrage, Trian didn't succeed in sputtering anything intelligible, and it was not an effect of the drug. The loss of balance, on the other hand, was, though the other one was quick in pulling his arm over his shoulders and beginning the trek towards the bed.

"Seriously Trian, after I drugged you last time, you'd think you would at least consider the possibility of me doing it again. Especially since I had a long time to put some powder in one of the goblets while you were not around."

The firstborn's memory cut off at that point, although he was certain he managed to say "You're horrible" at some point before falling asleep completely.

"-. .-"

The meeting with Trian had gone well, as in, nearly completely as expected, although the part where he got hugged and asked if he was eating properly was a welcome surprise. Now, the dwarven Grey Warden, wearing a silverite plate armor and with his head and eyes covered in his white headband, and a white scarf concealing the rest of his face, as befitting of the White Warden, was looking over the railing. Orzammar was going about its business, although the usual bustle was absent from the marketplace.

He'd been standing there for the past five minutes, just far enough from both the royal palace and Harrowmot's estate that it could be considered the closest thing to a neutral territory, as far as the Diamond Quarter allowed such a thing. And, of course, in the Diamond Quarter, this could also be seen as a challenge under the right circumstances. Circumstances like, say, supposedly neutral Grey Wardens returning to the city but visiting only one of the throne candidates (Harrowmont, who had been overjoyed at his return, even got misty-eyed, bless his soul), for hours, and not even showing an intention to see the other one.

He adjusted the Lifegiver properly on his finger again (he'd taken it off Trian once he'd fallen asleep) as a dark-haired dwarf, with a well-kept beard and moustache of his own, clad in green-tinted veridium chainmail armor, leaned against the railing just far enough from him not to look like he was invading his personal space.

Barely. "Quiet day," he said.

It was almost as if on cue. "Aye" Duran said from behind his mask. "I wonder if tomorrow will be the same." He didn't need to look around to know that several other people had taken position at various places. Having a sixth sense was useful like that. The newcomer's entourage was accounted for then.

"Well, you know," the newcomer said casually. "I understand there's going to be a big assembly gathering tomorrow." He crossed his arms and deliberately continued to not look at him. "A lot of things can happen."

"Good things, I hope," Duran said, matching his blandness and, likewise, not looking in his direction. He spotted Filda, who was again praying to the ancestors for Ruck's return. He decided to remember to pay her a visit.

"Yes," the other one said. "Good things, but you know what they say. One man's fortune is another man's woe." He fell silent.

"Oh, I know there might be one or two surprises," that should make more or less obvious what he was talking about. "But, surely, Orzammar finally gaining a king can only be a good thing, even if it isn't who people might expect." Yes that bold statement was what the newcomer was looking for. Duran wondered how hard it was for him to keep up this ruse. He even felt a bit bad for him, but he was performing admirably.

Bhelen's envoy, since that was what he was filling the role of, finally risked a glance in his direction, not that he saw anything of his face. "Funny thing about that, how the people claiming to finally have what it takes to crown a king have only bothered to visit the usurper." Duran figured he was laying it a bit thick. Calling Pyral that practically declared his alleged allegiance out loud. "Pardon, his Lordship Pyral Harrowmont."

Duran shrugged. "The visit there was not directly related."

"I'm sure it wasn't," the man said casually. "After all, no one would like to think that the **esteemed** Grey Wardens are making last-minute dealings behind closed doors. If they did, no one would like to see what becomes of whatever assembly meeting they attend."

Duran was impressed. The man was taking significant risk making such blatant allusions, henchmen in the background or no. It made it clear whose side he was on, all things considered, and it allowed him to make some blatant implications of his own. "Then it's a good thing the council members aren't allowed to bring weapons into the hall." _Except their ornamental staves and daggers small enough to pass unnoticed._ "Accidents would be unfortunate."

"Yes," the man agreed, idly picking at his nails. "It's a good thing deshyrs can't bring weapons to meetings."

_Guards, on the other hand..._ was an obvious enough unspoken sentence. Finally stepping back from the railing, the Warden turned to look at him squarely. Then, he took his left hand in his own and, with his right, gave one of those customary forearm shakes. "It was nice seeing you," he said sincerely, though everyone listening in obviously thought he was being purposely obstinate.

"Yes," the other one said with a challenging grin, pulling his hand back but shaking his once before breaking the contact completely. "You as well. Do try to take care of yourself."

Duran looked at him until he passed out of view around a corner, along with his not so discreet escort. After a while, he made for the Grey Warden headquarters as well, though it was only once he'd made it inside without incident that he opened his fist and examined the piece of crumpled parchment that Frandlin Ivo had passed him ever so stealthily while shaking hands with him.

"-. .-"

Bhelen Aeducan didn't like it when something was capable of making him feel anxious, but the Wardens had managed to do that quite thoroughly, especially now that some of them had returned. One of them, that not-really-blind dwarf, from reports, had even spend at least two hours in Harrowmont's Estate, all on the eve of the Assembly Session they had called, saying they could finally settle the throne dispute.

The prince of House Aeducan was confident that there was really a single possible outcome to this whole situation, but he still hoped his gaining of the crown would go smoothly. Even though he didn't much care about traditions, it helped if the easily impressed masses had a reason to see him as a chosen of the Ancestors. As such, he had bided his time, since it also served to show exactly which of Orzammar's nobles he would have to dispose of once he got the throne.

The Grey Wardens had actually seemed like a convenient enough gambit, especially after he managed to get that stunned reaction out of Rica's younger brother. With him as an influence on the order, he hoped they would swing to his side. Unfortunately, Rica had not long ago told him, quite tearfully, that she'd been over to the Warden enclave to inquire after Faren and was told that he was not coming back.

No matter how he looked at it, that Faren happened to die in the Deep Roads was entirely too unlikely, especially considering the time spent by this other Warden at Harrowmont's Estate. He hadn't even tried to make things seem discreet. It was possible that the order decided to support that damnable usurper and, when Faren disagreed with their decision, they silenced him permanently.

It wasn't any different from what he would have ordered done in case of such a complication. Fortunately, he'd accounted for the possibility of the 'honorable' Wardens not helping him.

The knock on the door finally came, so he looked up from his desk (he was in King Endrin's old study). "Yes?"

A guard pried the door open. "Frandlin Ivo is here to see you, My Lord."

Ah, not a moment too soon. "Send him in." he stashed away the papers he was looking at and leaned back in his chair, applying what he thought was the perfect expression of relaxation.

It was thus that Frandlin found him as he was led in. "Greetings, your highness," he bowed.

Frandlin had actually proven to be a very resourceful tool over the past months, ever since he helped frame that unreasonably noble brother of his. He'd tasked him with certain things as his 'left hand' after that, but he'd really come through when he disposed of those two traitorous prison guards. Granted, he didn't really have much choice in the matter, he made sure of that. As such, with Rolik compromised as far as the Wardens went, he was the next logical choice when he wanted someone to try and divine what the Wardens were up to, or at least confirm or invalidate his own suspicions. "What have you to report?" he asked once the door was shut.

"The Warden was..." he was obviously choosing his words carefully, but this could too easily, in his case, be mistaken for hesitation. It was the main reason that prevented Bhelen from considering him a viable candidate for the position of his second. "He was surprisingly adept at double speak."

Hmm. If Frandlin said this, there was definitely something to worry about. "Ah. And what impression did you get?"

"Honestly? I think they'll side with Harrowmont tomorrow, though I have no idea if they really can deliver on their promise that they have a paragon's support."

"I see," this was definitely not the most desirable of outcomes, but the situation was, as always, still salvageable. He would just have to take a more... forced approach if the time came for it. "Then we will have to use plan B."

"Ah. Very well, my lord," Frandlin said.

Pulling out a drawer, Bhelen took a stack of letters and tossed it over to the other side of the desk. "Visit Piotin first. Time for my dear old cousin to deliver on his ever so sweet family loyalty he takes such pride in." he narrowed his eyes. "And get your brother to pull his weight as well this time. After his... underwhelming showing in the proving, I'll expect results."

Tomorrow. The throne will finally be his tomorrow, one way or another. After everything, he deserved it. He always deserved it and, now, he was going to show just what a real king was.

"As you say, my lord," bowing deeply, Frandlin Ivo took the letters but lingered, as if trying to decide on something.

"Well," Bhelen asked, growing a bit impatient. "Is there anything else?"

The man scratched his head and looked at him with some measure of fear. "My lord... I wasn't sure before, since I hadn't heard his voice up close but... I think the warden might be the kinslayer..."

"-. .-"

Trian woke up to the sight of his younger brother sitting on the side of his bed with a tray of food in his hand. "Yo! How was your rest?"

There was stunned silence for a time, but Trian decided to react as one normally would, after getting over his feeling of deja vu. He glowered as intensely as possible but said nothing, not trusting his voice.

That only made his sibling grin. "I love you too, big brother." He put the tray with the breakfast in front of him. "You probably want to eat this fast." He got up and made for the door. "The Assembly session starts in five hours."

Trian gasped in shock and stared dumbly at his sibling disappearing form the room.

Catching himself, he used the utmost care to set the tray aside and get out of bed. Once that was done, however, he bolted towards his closet so fast he may as well have teleported. "You couldn't have given me a more decent forewarning?" he yelled at the door, frantically searching through his clothing. Mentally cursing, he realized he had no armor for the occasion. He did have good enough clothing, but he didn't much like the idea of going out into the world without any sort of protection.

At some point, his sibling must have crept back inside. "Hey. I said you should eat."

Trian spun around. "You drop this kind of bomb on me and you expect me t-" he flinched when the closet's doors slammed shut on their own. His tirade broken, he noticed some leftover light fading from those eyes. Irrelevant. "Don't think that just the fact that you picked up some tricks will impress me, young man."

Much to his surprise, Raonar smiled earnestly. "I did say we had five hours. That's plenty. Please, eat breakfast. After that, I'll give you your welcome-back-among-the-living present."

The eldest didn't know if he should be looking forward to any more surprises. "Should I take anti heart attack measures?"

The second son blatantly acted like he felt hurt when he really wasn't. "Trust me, Trian. It's badass. I'll even fill you in on what the Deep Road expedition was like." His gaze turned distant. "Fatalities and all..."

Whatever protests Trian had were killed as he thought he understood just why his sibling wasn't jumping at the chance to tell him his adventure story.

Once his brother left the room, he figured he may as well eat.

Quickly.

"-. .-"

Merrick of warrior house Ostvar was excited. This was going to be one of the most important days in Orzammar, if not the most important one during his lifetime. A new king was finally going to be selected, or so rumors kept saying, and he was going to be present, right there in the thick of it, as member of the Assembly Guard.

He'd groomed himself to look his best, even though he knew no one would see his face because of the full plate helmets that the armor uniform included. The main reason for this was that he'd gotten up a full hour earlier than he should have and didn't have anything better to do after he thanked the Ancestors for granting him the luck of being on shift on this particular day.

His excitement, unfortunately, made him take a shortcut through a rather out of sight alley in the Warrior Caste quarter. It wasn't derelict, per se, but there were a few points where it got dark. That wasn't enough of a reason for worry, however. Dark alleys with criminals were the stuff of the Commons and Dust Town. Only warriors, and sometimes their families of other, lower castes, were allowed up in his middle section, and since they were all provided for, there wasn't really any crime, beyond the occasional brawl between inebriated soldiers.

Yes, the Sword Quarter was mostly safe, which is why he didn't even consider it would be a big deal if he took that dark turn.

He barely had time to gasp before a hand covered his mouth. By the point he thought of struggling, a dagger had already sunk deep into his back, right up through his lung and heart. He only had time to feel confused before chill overtook him and his body began to go numb.

"-. .-"

The more massive than usual dwarf had been surprised at the unexpected prowess of this guardsman that he'd jumped. He really did live up to his status as veteran of many Deep Roads skirmishes. Unfortunately, the bad luck of having a home in the midst of a quasi-maze of streets in the Sword Quarter meant he was the only one eligible for replacement by him.

The man knew that Frandlin had managed to call in a few favors, enabling some infiltrations and making accomplices out of a large part of the Assembly guards on duty that day, but there were still those more set in their ways, harder to sway. Of those, only three or four were known to take roads deserted enough (which were already rare in Orzammar) for any attempt at overpowering them without being discovered to work.

This Ser Blackstone had managed to put up a decent struggle before he fell, though he supposed it made sense. After all, not everyone became an esteemed guard for the Deshyrs, and he was known to be almost on par with Frandlin himself. Good thing he hadn't given him enough leeway to call for help.

The warrior had been someone he disliked for a time, since he'd fought in Raonar's honor during the proving, before the latter's exile. Still, he eventually came to sympathize with him for going about his duty so well even after mysteriously losing his son.

Checking his vitals and making sure he wasn't dead, he dragged the fighter out of sight. There was no danger to his identity. After all, he'd said nothing and had his full helmet on at all times. Plus, House Blackstone had pledged fealty to Aeducan and would see that it is wise to maintain this stance once this was all over.

As such, deciding that just leaving him unconscious was enough, he, wearing the standard issue uniform armor of Assembly Guards, came out of the alley alone and proceeded towards the higher levels. Having most of the other guards as accomplices will likely ensure that his larger stature (Assembly Guards were chosen to be of a certain height) was glossed over this once.

The crown was not going to leave House Aeducan, definitely not by the machinations of outsiders and traitors.

"-. .-"

Orrik, the scion of Warrior house Turgon, was certain that this would tie his house to Aeducan and make his family become prominent among all other Warrior houses. This was the trial. Once he proved his allegiance, Prince, soon to be king, Bhelen was going to uplift him and his family to the top of the caste.

Neutralizing this Ingvar had proven surprisingly hard, though he supposed he should have expected as much, knowing the general standard prowess of Assembly Guards. Nonetheless, the man had fallen before his skill (and that of his aide). Now that his assistant had, as planned, strolled out of the alley like nothing had happened, all he had to do was slit Ingvar's throat to take care of this loose and and, after that, go to the Assembly chamber.

Sure, he had order to not kill any of them, so as to let it **look** like a mugging, despite how uncommon such things were in the Sword Quarter. Unfortunately, the guy had knocked his helmet off and seen who he was, so there was no other choice.

Slowly pulling out his dagger, he crouched next to where he'd stuffed the unconscious man, as hidden from view as things got. "Nothing personal."

Which was when he was grabbed from behind and a damp, foul-smelling cloth was pressed over his face. "Nothing personal," the unseen attacker whispered with undisguised disdain.

Consciousness went away quickly, leaving everything black.

"-. .-"

In hindsight, it was a bit amazing that he'd actually gotten a reason to feel more stunned than how all the insane things (down to that elf's temporary death) that his brother had relayed to him had managed to make him feel. Nonetheless, there it was.

"So?" Raonar asked eagerly from where he stood, some paces away from him, giving him all the space he needed to admire himself in the wall-sized mirror. "What do you think?"

Trian didn't trust his voice. It wasn't every day that he got something that gave him the impulse to gush like a schoolboy. As such, he ended up just staring at his reflection, eyes wide in wonder.

"Good reaction," the white-haired one judged. "Even if there wasn't enough time for the real enchantments to be added, the craftsmen did a great job."

"How... when...?" The dwarven armor was remarkable. Completely made of volcanic aurum, It fit him like a second skin, exactly as if it had been made specifically to fit him **and** accounted for the possibility of him gaining in muscle size, as well as wearing a nice set of clothes underneath. "This..." The pattern on the front gleamed in the lava and lyrium light, and the pauldrons and joint pieces were polished marvelously. The gold mail even extended until just above the knees, managing to not look at all like just a loincloth meant to cover the groin area. "When did you have this made?"

Raonar was affixing his own gauntlet, white but far less sophisticated. His equipment was more standard issue. "I ordered it right after we first saw each other, when I first came back." He stretched. "I drained Harrowmont's finances substantially in order to enlist the top houses for this project. Does it fit?"

"Yes," he was still amazed. Even as Heir Apparent, his royal mail hadn't felt so right. "Perfectly..."

The explanation finally came, in a totally innocent tone. "That would be because I took your full measurements after I finally got you to bed." He walked over and began to pull on the heir's side-belt, to give his appearance its final touches. "I had to make Harrowmont find some measuring tape for me. Amazing how hard it is to find some nowadays."

Trian grunted when his brother heaved brusquely on that belt. "Ugh. Easy! You're enjoying this aren't you?"

The younger one froze for some reason, before smiling. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't..." his answer sounded like it came form so far away.

Growing worried, Trian just had to ask. "Are you alright?"

"Huh?" That appeared to make him recover from wherever his thoughts had gone. "Oh, yes. Just part of a dream literally coming true, that's all." He gazed at him for a while, looking like he wanted to say something else. Eventually, however, he averted his eyes and went over to finish his own preparations.

Raonar hadn't fully explained what he intended, though he had asked him to only reveal himself when he told him to. Trian didn't really need any convincing and easily put on the large, grey cloak. He **was** going to have to be unrecognizable after all.

So now, with just a half an hour to spare until the Assembly started its session, Trian was finally standing at the doors leading out of Harrowmont's quarters. This was it. For better or worse, things were going to be shaken up. He also felt a pang of loss at how he was no longer going to have the convenience and, oddly enough, freedom of being considered dead.

"Don't worry, big brother," Raonar said warmly, putting an arm around him. "I'll take half of whatever venom they spew at us."

Gorim, who was some distance behind, snorted. He had his part to play as well and was fully armored, his face covered completely in that helmet of his. "Never trust what he says." He paused but remembered to address him properly. "My lord."

Trian ignored the near slip and glared at his brother. "You don't need to act like you're coddling me, you know. That's what **I **should be doing to **you**."

"Yes yes," Raonar waved aside and pushed the door open.

As soon as that was done, Dulin Forender, who was pacing around the office (his office was like a choke point between Harrowmont's quarters and the rest of the estate) whirled around in shock since he didn't expect anyone to come out, what with Pyral at the Assembly Hall.

Try as he might, Trian Aeducan couldn't help but smile at the flabbergasted look on his face. He did sympathize with him though. Seeing two people who were supposed to be dead popping out of nowhere couldn't be easy on the nerves, especially since one had supposedly murdered the other. "M-m-my Lord... How... what..." his mouth continued moving soundlessly for a time. "I mean, My... My Lords?"

Both Aeducan princes grinned at one another and, as one, strode over to him and, by one shoulder each, steadied him until he found a seat. "There there. It's alright, we're real, you're not going mad because of worrying over Harrowmont," Raonar said. "Come on, Trian, Gorim."

The eldest felt a bit bad for leaving Dulin like that, but they had to make haste. So, after putting that mask on (covered his lower face, including the nose), he pulled his hood well over his head and, taking care not to stride too widely and make a show of his golden armor, followed after the other two as they left the estate (Raonar had, meanwhile, put on his own helmet).

It was in front of the stairs leading up to the great building that they convened with the other Grey Wardens and their entourage. Trian gaped at the sight of three golems, one of which had strange, orange crystals almost aflame sticking out of its back and arms. His reaction was similar to that of the moderately-sized crowd that had gathered in the upper square. That human lady was there, armor and crimson velvet cape fully in place, as were the one he later identified as Leliana. A man in great armor, was at the lady's side and a giant almost as large as the golems stood solemnly farther back, also clad in strong metal. Wynne was there as well.

There were also three elves (two men and a woman), plus Oghren Kondrat, of all people.

"Right, before we get this show on the road, I want to make sure no loose ends are left," Raonar began from behind his helmet, silently enough for the not so small crowd to miss his words. "Here, in full capacity as Commander of the Grey, I decree that if I die or become in some other way incapacitated at any point from now on, Alim will pick up the position as Warden Commander of Ferelden."

The surprise was visible on everyone's faces, but Trian could swear he heard something squeak from somewhere on his brother's person. "Wait, what do you mean by that?" he let out.

The others, however, just nodded grimly and followed after Gwenith Cousland as she boldly strode into the Assembly Chamber. Not having any other recourse, he did the same, always one step behind his brother.

"-. .-"

As she walked through those double doors and made her way towards the center of the Assembly Chamber, flanked only by Oghren (he was the closest thing House Branka had to a deshyr after all), Gwenith Cousland was certain of one thing.

This was going to be epic.

Her excitement and anxiousness did not show on her face, however. She schooled her expression into the perfect image of absolute calm and inserted just a tiny bit of haughtiness for good measure.

Her warden sense told her that all of her companions had also entered the hall, though they'd stayed close to the entrance, on the outer ring. She couldn't sense Theron, of course, but he was there as well, as were Leliana, Wynne and Sten. Zevran had been left outside, as had the golems, including Shale. it wouldn't do to seem too ready for battle after all. If they did, things might not go as a certain someone intended.

"We have argued in these halls more than enough," Bandelor, the Steward, said solemnly.

"Then why these delaying tactics?" Bhelen demanded, pointing an accusatory finger at Harrowmont, who was just across the stariway from him. They were on the highest row, a fact which, coincidentally, made it all too easy to look down at all others, which the young prince seemed to be doing quite intently. "I call for a vote right now!" He was putting on a show of utmost confidence. "My father has but one living child to assume the Aeducan Throne! Who would deny him that?"

Gwen's expression almost cracked when she heard the words "Aeducan throne." Someone had forgotten to send him the memo that the chair didn't belong to any one house.

Harrowmont had probably grown tired of pointing that out because he didn't even bother. "Your father made me swear on his death bed you would not succeed him."

At long last, the commander of the guard who had led them over to the meeting broke their argument. "My lords and ladies. The Grey Wardens have finally returned. I bring them before you, as instructed." He bowed short and retreated to the background, just outside the door.

"Well Warden," Bhelen all too quickly addressed them. Gwen figured he probably did it to prevent Harrowmont from having the chance to utter another word. "Tell us what you've found."

This was the cue then.

Gwen removed the item wrapped in a cloth that she had under the arm. All too slowly, she unwrapped it and, once the covering was hanging loose, held out the crown with a dramatic flourish for all to see. "I bring a crown, forged by the Paragon Caridin on the Anvil of the Void." The crown itself seemed to shine with its own golden light.

Exclamations of surprise and awe rung through the assembly.

Oghren took his turn at speaking. "Caridin was trapped in the body of a Golem," his voice was rough but loud and clear. "These wardens granted him the mercy he sought by freeing him, though it was Branka that destroyed the Anvil as her final act, before allowing herself to be claimed by the Stone, much like the Anvil itself was lost soon afterwards. Before he died, Caridin forged this crown as his final act, a gift to Orzammar's king chosen by the Ancestors themselves."

Gwen looked around and noticed that some nobles didn't buy it. She also took the time to pinpoint all of the guards, stationed around that chamber. There was a fair number of them, no doubt because there had been so much wrangling in this place that it took more and more force to break up and restrain angry deshyrs. She wondered how many of them were Bhelen's lackeys.

"Forgive me for asking, Warden," Bhelen sounded like he was forcing himself to look at her and be amiable. His eyes sometime darted towards a certain other someone farther back. "But do you have some solid proof of this?"

Bandelor, who had walked over to inspect the object, answered. "This crown clearly is of Paragon make, as the Shapers present will no doubt confirm." Two shapers were, indeed, at the scene. They normally had the role of record keepers, but they served as authenticators when needed. "It even bears not one, but two seals, that of house Branka and the ancient sigil of House Ortan." He blinked in awe. "This is a momentous occasion! Not one but **two** paragons have delegated their will through these Grey Wardens. The ancestors must favor them indeed!"

"I see," Bhelen conceded, obviously not completely satisfied. "Then tell us, Warden. What is the will of the Great paragons?"

Gwen looked over everyone in her sight before speaking. "I would prefer it if we did not have to actually make this decision," she raised on hand to forestall any complaints. "We are Grey Wardens. It is our way to stay neutral from a political perspective, so I have a rather unusual request to make, mostly due to having only just returned from a very grueling journey and not having much patience and energy for extended debates or vote counts."

By now, the nobles were already shifting their weight and clearly asking themselves what she was getting at.

"So, with your permission, Steward, I would like to ask the deshyrs to come forward and form into two groups. Those supporting lord Harrowmont on my left and those supporting Lord Bhelen on my right. That way, though it is a vain enough hope, perhaps some sort of majority will emerge and we will not have to take this decision away from you." Gwen knew this was a really big thing to ask, but they **had** just been found to possess the favor of the ancestors and two paragons to boot.

"That is indeed an unusual request, my lady," Bandelor said cautiously.

Fortunately, Harrowmont made the decision for him. "I have no qualms about this request. It is actually quite a sensible one." He actually began to make his way down from his high position. That more or less started a chain reaction that had his supporters all gather behind and around him on the left.

Now, all Bhelen could do to avoid looking like a rebellious child was to quaintly do much the same, although it no doubt grated him that his supporters would no longer be spread amongst the other lords and, thus, would not have an easy time of backstabbing them if it came to it.

Yes, at least this step had succeeded. "I see my hopes are dashed," She said with an overly dramatic sigh which, she judged, was 'Duran's' fault she had even picked up. "it really is a perfect tie, isn't it..."

"I am afraid so, Warden," the steward said sympathetically.

"Very well, so be it." Then, more commanding. "Bring forth the writs."

The Wardens parted to make room for one dwarf to step forward, He held two slabs of black granite, smoothly carved and polished, with pure lyrium for ink. Even though the inscription was fine and thin, they still cast a pale light. After giving a short bow, the silverite-clad warden handed the first of those tablets to Bandelor.

Then man accepted it reverently, mirroring the awe in many of the others who were watching. He read through it silently once, his eyebrows moving up ever so slowly. Then, he spoke aloud. "I, Caridin, Scion of house Ortan and Head of house Caridin, hereby grant this most sacred crown, bearing the blessing of the Ancestors and all those touched by the Anvil of the Void, to the Grey Wardens, theirs to give to the king of Orzammar. And I, Paragon Branka, hereby add my full support to the decree of the great Inventor. To the Commander of the Grey we give the privilege, and, at the same time, the weighty responsibility, which he may delegate to whomever he or she deems fit, of choosing, once only, a king that, with our blessing, will, hopefully, steer Orzammar forward with wisdom and forthrightness."

The steward carefully allowed that item (which, ironically, was probably closer to unbreakable than much of the equipment in that chamber) to pass into the hands of Shaper Czibor, who scrutinized it closely. "The seals are authentic, no question. The right does, indeed, belong to the Wardens."

"That is good," Bandelor said. "Then, perhaps, we can end this instability at last. Tell us, Warden. Who will the Crown pass to?"

Gwen delayed her words deliberately, gazing upon both Harrowmont and Bhelen in turn, for quite a while even. The former had a shade of a smile and was looking forward, while the latter was just barely keeping his expression from turning sullen. "I am afraid I am not the best person to ask."

There was a pause.

"Excuse me?" Bandelor blurted, momentarily forgetting all semblance of protocol. "Ahem. What I mean to ask is, what is your meaning?"

Gwen smiled sweetly. "Merely that I am, in fact, **not** the Commander of the Grey."

That definitely left most everyone's mind reeling, except Harrowmont's of course. The lord looked like he was ready to burst laughing at any moment.

"You're telling us that **now**?" Bhelen looked shocked. "You mean to say you've been **openly deceiving** our entire city? You're **admitting** to that? So much for Grey Warden honor!"

Gwen blinked. "I'm sorry? I never said I was the commander. At most, I was referred to as the Grey Warden representative which, as a matter of fact, I was and still am."

"Then **who** **is** the commander? If you do not mind, we would like to see things through as quickly as possible," Bandelor requested as politely as he could manage.

A voice that some of the people in that hall recognized spoke the answer. "**I** am." Without further ado, he handed Bandelor the second script. Gwen wondered if he was amused at the stewards gobsmacked look.

Doing an admirable job of maintaining his composure, Bandelor read the slab, **without** first going through it in silence this time. "I, Caridin, would like to add that my beloved nation-state, as I understand it, seems to have gone even more downhill in terms of common sense, in these past 600 years, than I thought possible. I dare say I am glad I wasn't there to witness it. That being said, the things I **have** witnessed left me with a strong desire to write a decree that will fully exonerate Prince Raonar Aeducan-" gasps were heard all around "-of any blame he may have been weighed down with on his forced departure from the city of Orzammar. I would also dictate that his full rights and status be restored, just to make sure no technicalities can be exploited." By now, some of the deshyrs were already fretting. "**However**, as it is, I am told that such a decree is unnecessary.." Bandelor really had the expression of someone who'd chewed a whole lemon. "I **will**, however, say that I give my blessing to whatever he may decide to do next. Ancestors have mercy upon you."

Gwen fought bravely to keep the smirk off her face, she really did, but, ultimately, she failed. Seeing so many people, Bhelen included, so totally smacked out of their wits was just so incredibly hilarious.

The White Commander casually removed his helm and held it under his arm, silver eyes smiling and white hair and beard almost glistening in the light cast by the many braziers. "Greetings, my **fine** lords and ladies of the Assembly." He smiled his warmest smile and looked at Bhelen. "And hello to you too, little brother."


	59. Succession Arc 2: Assemble Before Me

A/N: Didn't expect this so soon, huh? Well, I decided to have this first climax spread over three chapters. Not sure I'll be able to get the next one out as fast, though. I had the advantage of a weekend this once.**  
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**Chapter 56: Assemble Before Me**

"-. .-"

Gorim had gone to the training room, knowing that those two would be there, in order to inform them that Harrowmont had left for the Assembly session. Of all the scenes he'd expected to find there, however, that was not one of them.

Quite simply, his lord Aeducan was on the ground, breathing heavily and barely managing to keep the tip of a practice, fortunately blunted, great axe from his neck, while the eldest of king Endrin's children stood **on** him, holding him pinned down. For a moment, his mind jumped into overdrive and he even thought that they might have reverted to how they were before. Maybe Trian had learned of something about his lord's plan that he didn't agree with.

Fortunately, his fears were unfounded. Once they noticed he was there, Trian stepped off and offered his hand, which Raonar accepted gracefully. Then, without any sort of warning, gave Trian the tightest hug he'd had in weeks. "That was awesome, big brother!" He gushed once the contact was over.

Trian ended up dazedly backing away, a flabbergasted look on his face, while Gorim resolved to persuade himself that scene had never actually happened.

"-. .-"

When Frandlin Ivo actually came out and said that, as outlandish as it sounded, his so-called brother might be the dwarven warden, Bhelen had felt a pang of dread so deep and searing that it took all of the willpower he had to prevent his bland expression from cracking. He only just barely managed to keep his composure. And even then, he only managed to keep silent for a while, and knit the fingers of both hands in front of him, elbows on the desk, before he succinctly sent his 'left hand' on his way.

Once he was sure no one could hear or see him, he almost started cursing, disgusted at that moment of weakness. To think that, even then, just the mention of him could stir such a reaction. He urged himself to keep calm and think of it rationally. The only way to conclude whether or not Frandlin's fears were founded was to use a standard process of elimination. As such, he sat and waited until his heartbeat settled and began to take things slowly, from recent to farther back.

In the end, he hadn't reached a clear conclusion, though he leaned towards the negative. There were just too many things that didn't really fit with the ever so 'noble' one, not the least of which was the fact that, if it really was him, it didn't really make any sense that he'd go through all the trouble of taking a disguise. And it implied that he'd even dyed his ever so precious, freakishly white beard.

Like he'd ever discard anything that could paint him 'saintly.'

It might have been more likely that this was the case if the Wardens had at least made a better effort of acting neutral up to the very end, but it became more or less obvious whose side they were leaning towards. Besides, there was no way Raonar would have kept an act flawless enough for him to not see through it.

No, Raonar wouldn't have snuck around. He would have brazenly walked through the front gates and acted as though he had every right of still claiming Orzammar as his home. He would have made some declarations that probably sounded clever to him and, once the prestige of the Grey Warden order had gotten him in the Diamond Quarter, he would have immediately gone over to that usurper to lament his misfortune while acting as though he was completely unfazed and self-assured. And Harrowmont would be too happy to oblige. The old fool always did seem to want to cradle him on his knee like a child.

Besides, there was practically no chance that he even managed to survive the deep roads, not to mention find the Wardens and then reach the surface safely. And then there was the actual surface to deal with. Simply, the mere fact that Raonar had not demanded Valos Atredum during that trial (that he should not have received) made it obvious that he wasn't confident enough in his ability to win even a single proving after all the he'd gone through that day. Sure, he'd practically boasted that he'd rather try the Deep Roads because he'd grown annoyed with the city, but that sort of bravado was never going to fool him.

Yes, it was just so. He'd chosen to die against darkspawn, or those prison rats he seemed to be getting along with so well, instead of falling to the blade of his accuser. Too bad, Bhelen thought. If there would have been a proving, his victory would only have raised his own reputation substantially. After all, not everyone could defeat the great Raonar Aeducan in combat.

In the end, it was most likely that Frandlin had imagined it, having grown paranoid enough that he was afraid Raonar might show up out of nowhere and kill him for his betrayal. Bhelen hated admitting it, but the guy had, unfortunately, had enough allure during his life that it was very possible to leave such a strong impression on someone.

He didn't completely discard the possibility, however, though he reached the conclusion that there wasn't really anything to worry about even if it was true. Simply put, with everything else argued away, the only reason Raonar would have hidden his identity was so he would be spared the treatment that kinslayers would rightly get from everyone in the city.

Bhelen didn't see any reason to worry over someone as pathetic as that.

As for possible interference in case things didn't go in his favor with the assembly, well, he was more prepared for that than anyone could ever guess.

Yes, he was prepared.

And that bastard had **still** managed to drive a wrench in his plans, even if it wasn't a crippling one, when he got the assembly members so cleanly divided into two groups.

But more than that, the whole act of those wardens had been good enough that even **he** was surprised when the bastard finally revealed himself.

The silence that fell over the chamber was beyond quantification, though all those fools in the council did first allow themselves the time to gasp or gape like the bunch of impressionable sheep that they were. Harrowmon't own supporters had the same reaction as his own too.

Interesting. He could use that.

The guy had such a loathsomely smug look on his face, like he'd won some kind of prize for hiding and skulking like the thief and murderer he claimed not to be.

"You've got some nerve showing your face here like this," he almost growled. Only Frandlin's warning of the previous day enabled him to settle for just a narrowing of his eyes. _Keep calm_ he urged himself. _Just the fact that he managed to sneak into Orzammar and hide in plain sight doesn't mean he really is any sort of threat. He never actually was. Not really._

His 'brother' actually dared act like he was confused. "Like what? I don't get your point. Or should the Warden Commander fear to enter the halls of his Order's old friends?" He gave a sweet smile. "Besides, you don't really look that surprised to see me, unlike everyone else."

Bhelen felt most of his anxiousness go away in an instant. While trying to sound confident Raonar had actually given him everything he needed to gain the upper hand in this talk already.

The first question would have been a bother on its own. By writing him off their records, house Aeducan had practically turned Raonar into a clean slate, so that the later generations would never know of the shame he caused the house, not officially anyway. The problem was that, officially, it was like he'd never existed and, thus, now that he was a Grey Warden, they had to treat him with every deference he was due, even more so that if he had been convicted without being stripped from the records.

But in his rush to sound on top of things, his dear old brother had made it all too easy to gloss over the need to exhibit that respect. Bhelen could jump straight to where he could attack him head on. "Oh please, as if there weren't more than enough signs to suggest who that" he air quoted "masked silver warden' was. You're not nearly as subtle as you think, **brother. **You never were." He gave an appropriately hard glare. "If you **had** been, you would have known what a stupid idea it was to seek the death of your elder brother, the **heir **you were supposed to be sworn to. I guess you had about as much brains back then as you did honor." He applied the perfectly scandalized look of a brother that expected better. "None whatsoever."

Before Raonar could respond, someone else came into attention by snorting in the background. Bhelen looked around discreetly, taking in the situation while looking for the source. That human woman had retreated to the outer ring, next to that man and qunari.

No big problem.

The other woman, a redhead, looked nothing special, though the older one next to her did seem a bit familiar for some reason. Farthest back, right next to the doors, were two elves, a man and a woman. Neither of them had produced that sound, though.

No. The one who'd made that noise was some big, brawny, thug-looking dwarf. There really was no other way to describe him. He was bigger, not much taller, just bigger than even that drunken sot Oghren was. The difference was easy to tell, what with them having ended up standing next to one another, just at the edge of the circle that had formed around him and that annoying, white-haired sibling of his. He even had one oversized cloak, not looking too well, hanging over him, covering him more or less completely, with the hood drawn. His eyes were cast in shadow, what with the bowed head, but there was a slightest glimpse of something covering his face.

"You'd know all about honor, wouldn't you little brother," the guy said back, eyes hardening into what he probably considered an intimidating expression.

That had sounded strangely similar to what he'd said during his trial. Bhelen idly wondered if his sibling really had always had such a narrow collection of replies. He wasn't used to speaking to people, apparently, only **at **them. "Someone has to," this was the time to act his role as only honorable Aeducan head member left. "After that scandal you caused, **I** was the one who had to persuade the other houses that not all of us were like you. And though I hate to give you credit, I obviously was unable to undo all the damage you caused."

Raonar's eyes narrowed further. "My morality is not in question here," he said. The nerve of him to actually say that in front of so many people. "As it is, I just so happen to hold Orzammar's fate in my hands, just because you thought it a good idea to accuse me of that crime. How's that for irony?"

Oh, he did not just go there. Well, he asked for it. "No indeed, why should morality matter in anything? Nevertheless, you got me there. Morality never seemed to matter with you. Still, there is something else that is called into question here." He Addressed the crowd. "I hereby issue forth a vote of no confidence against the assumed credibility of the Grey Wardens!"

The sheep finally got over their shock at seeing that guy. Bandelor finally found his voice again at least. "What exactly is your meaning? Slander aside, this... development may have come as a surprise but-"

Bhelen didn't feel like listening to more judicial nonsense. "Members of the assembly, hear me!" He called out as grandiously as he could. "It is obvious to me that we have all been deceived!" He made a point of looking at Harrowmont's side as he said that. This was bound to actually get him more allies. "There was but one person in this hall, save the Wardens themselves and their aides, that expressed no sort of surprise at this most disruptive development!"

"Do not attempt to sow discord in the eleventh hour," Harrowmont, the self-righteous old sot, demanded.

"Oh, I don't need to, you seem to have done that well enough yourself, since you obviously have known about," he made a flourish, indicating his 'brother' and the others "**this** all along. How quaint, deceiving those whose trust and loyalty to expect to receive. Not very kingly, is it?" Yes, some of the nobles were throwing Harrowmont suspicious looks already.

"It's alright, Pyral, I've got this," his 'brother' intervened with an annoyingly accurate imitation or calm. He addressed him next. "Whether he knew or not is inconsequential, unless those backing him are doing so because of certain... compensation they expect to leech from him once this is over instead of the faith they have that he will rule wisely and fairly."

That did it. Even Bhelen couldn't prevent his mouth from going somewhat ajar, though he supposed if there as anyone crazy enough to say that out loud, it would be him. Turning to Bandelor, he asked "Are you seriously going to stand by and let him slander the entire assembly?"

Raonar intervened again. "What, like what I just implied isn't the same thing as what you've had your town criers yell about for the past two months? Don't tell me you're going to take their side now."

Bhelen had a hard time not shaking his head in disbelief. Did that guy actually think he was doing his cause any good by enforcing **his** arguments? What kind of thinking did he use? Or was he just that stupid? "Maybe I should just let you talk and do my work for me," he said.

"Ah, that would make it too easy for you, I think," the guy jested (jested!) back at him. "Do go on, say what you will."

Time for some bait. "Your arrogance makes me wonder how you ever managed to become the commander of anything, not to mention of the Grey Wardens. Makes you wonder just how low they've fallen. Or are they all like you?" He looked at Gwen and met her glare. "Are you? Because I weep for how rotten the order has become if that is the case. Accepting kinslayers?" He made sure his face suggested he'd just had a realization. He addressed the 'commander' again. "Actually, how **did** you become the commander? What happened to the previous one? That Duncan man?" Yes, his tone made it clear what that question really was.

Raonar shifted his weight and looked like he was barely managing to not clench his fists. Maybe he started to realize it hadn't been such a good idea to put himself on the spot like that. Practically everyone in the assembly was looking at him, some of them openly glowering. "Are you suggesting something? Are you so unable to actually say out loud what you mean?"

So he was trying to dodge the question already? "Sorry, you must think I'm some fool if you believe I'll fall for that obvious trap. Let's talk about something more recent instead, like that supposed comrade of yours that didn't return from the Deep Roads with you."

As if on cue, some of the other wardens made as if to move forward, but they held their spots. "I will kindly suggest that you do not bring the name of our comrade into this," the exile said, making it sound like a warning.

"Actually, I most definitely will," he shot back, acting faintly outraged. "He **is**, or should I say **was**, the brother to the mother of my son after all." Some nobles, both on his and Harrowmont's side, reacted with the expected level of shock. "I have every right to speak of him!" There were murmurs among the many nobles now, and the guards lining the walls were throwing each other looks and fingering their weapons.

What Bhelen didn't notice was that female elf glaring at him like she wanted to punch him.

Seeing that no one was actually going to say anything, the Aeducan House head continued his assault. "He gained membership of the Grey Wardens through sheer skill. He survived against the odds and, upon his return, showed just how great his favor with the Ancestors, and his prowess, was by winning the Grand Glory Proving that was called in my king-father's memory! He defeated everyone easily, even Piotin, while you, since I now realize who really tried to distinguish himself there, had to be helped when it came to walking out of that arena!"

"..." The kinslayer crossed his arms.

"I wonder, was your intention to boast about having the Ancestors' favor? It just goes to show you don't, doesn't it? I was concerned for him when he dedicated his win to your 'memory', but I was, fortunately, able to resolve his confusion when we finally met face to face."

"Is there a point to this rant?" Raonar asked tiredly.

"Oh, there most certainly is!" Good, he had everyone's attention now. "You're telling me that, even with the darkspawn thin because of the Blight, and despite the valor of the legion of the Dead, who've managed to keep the roads mostly clear of those filth, you still managed to lose one person in your expedition? And that it just **happened** to be the Grand proving champion who wiped the floor with someone you barely survived against?" Piotin would just have to live with it if he considered this an insult.

"If you have something to say, little brother, say it upfront." The bastard had the gall to act all commanding. "Or are you not man enough."

Oh, he was just asking for it, wasn't he? Maybe he realized he'd dug his own grave with this stunt and was just going forward with the idiocy for the sake of principle. No matter. "I think it's all a bit too convenient. Prove to me. Prove that you didn't just silence him because he saw the justice in my claim and disagreed about who you were going to choose as king." Yes, the more monumental the lie, the bigger the tendency of everyone was to believe it. That's how it had always worked.

A deep, long silence fell over the Assembly chamber, broken only by the dutiful scribbling of the shaper scribes and the occasional weight shift. His 'brother' was staring at him now, like he didn't know what to say next.

Score one for him. No one had ever managed to shut the guy up so cleanly before. "What's the matter, **brother**? Truth so hard to cope with that nugs ate your tongue?" He didn't even bother suppressing his winning smile. "I suppose this is also the reason you disguised yourself in the first place. You just couldn't take the idea of being told to your face, by everyone you met, exactly what you deserved for what you did. So you just hid under a false identity. Maybe I'm reading too much into this, but isn't that a bit, I don't know, pathetic?"

Which was when the dwarf thug in the background burst into what was a poor attempt at concealing laughter under a forced coughing fit. Score two, Bhelen thought. His own subordinates were laughing at him now.

"Quiet back there!" the kinslayer ordered impatiently.

"Your own minions seem to find this all hilarious, dear brother," Bhelen resorted to taunts. it was the next logical step after all. Besides, though half of the others didn't know it, he was the one with the power here. He always had been. "Though I can see his discipline is sorely lacking compared to these others. Who is he anyway? Not one of the wardens that came with you, surely." The dwarf in question finally managed to calm himself. "By the looks and manners, some carta thug, I suspect." The cloaked one tensed and was probably glaring at him. "Why else would he be wearing a mask but to hide the brand? Ah well, considering that you went to Dust Town on your feast day just to hire some of them to kill Trian, I am not surprised. And that was a stupid move if ever there was one, I mean how obvious can you get?"

The dwarf thug looked like he was going to say something, but he was silenced by a quick motion of Raonar's hand. For his part, the exile had not moved his gaze from him. "I asked this before, but I'll ask this again. What is your point?"

"My point?" Bhelen asked in disbelief.

"Yes, your point," he said with an undercurrent of 'duh' that was all too grating. "Whether I actually murdered Faren because he wanted you to be king and I don't really doesn't have any bearing on the situation at hand."

"..." Bhelen didn't expect that. It left even him speechless, and most everyone gaping. Even Harrowmont was looking at the guy oddly, as were some of the Grey Wardens. "My apologies..." swallowed. "I find it hard to actually get over the unbelievable stupidity of that statement."

"Ah, well things really are very simple really, as Bandelor here will confirm." He acted all at ease. "The simple fact is that the Warden Commander, warts and all, was given authority by the Paragons to choose whatever king he or she wishes." He smiled at the old man amiably. "Isn't that right, Steward?"

Bhelen couldn't believe the guy's cheek. "You're delusional if you think-"

"Actually," Bandelor cut in, sounding weary. "The Shapers have already confirmed his words. He is, regardless of how absurd it might seem, completely right. The Wardens have the authority to choose who the crown goes to. Even without the writs they provided, the crown would have been more than enough on its own. And before you ask, yes, they really aren't forged in any way." He looked like he'd just eaten something bitter. "We have argued in these halls long enough while our people suffer."

"You can't just accept that proof at face value!" Bhelen protested. "Who knows what he did? What if he used some underhanded means to deceive the Paragons? Though I hate to admit it, you know he can be really persuasive and act all honorable when he needs to! He'd been pulling that act for years and Trian, Ancestors bless him, was the one who ended up paying the price for it! What if he forced it onto them the same way he killed his companion just out of spite?"

"Whoa whoa!" Raonar made a placating gesture with both arms. "Aren't you laying it a bit thick, giving me so much credit? I suppose I should be flattered, but you do realize you just said I was resourceful enough to force not just one, but two Paragons, those are living gods mind you, into submission, right?" _Never mind that this is, ironically, exactly what happened_ was not said out loud.

Bhelen noticed the fidgeting and murmuring among the nobles getting a bit intense. "I won't stand fo-"

"Keep in mind that I never said I'd decided on making either one of you king," Raonar said, idly picking at his nails... which in itself made no sense, as he had metal gauntlets on.

There was a pause.

"You're deluded if you think **you** have any chance at it, **exile**," Bhelen said, almost sneering.

The thug in the background palmed his face.

"Oh, nothing like that," the kinslayer said. "I definitely can't put forth a motion without actually being considered a citizen of the Orzammar noble caste, now can I? Still, that doesn't mean I'm ready to choose between the two of you."

That stopped Bhelen short. Just what was he getting at?

What Raonar said next stumped him and most everyone else by the looks of it. "Make me an offer."

The silence was deafening.

"What..." That was more or less the reaction of everyone else as well, save some of the Grey Wardens.

"That **is** how it works, doesn't it?" he asked. "There's always a price, isn't that the modus operandi followed here? The Grey Wardens are supposed to be politically neutral, so they can't really claim to know what is best for Orzammar can they? You would probably call it arrogant if they did, no? The Wardens will do what they must to stop the Blight, however. That said, I'm waiting. Give me a reason that would make it seem for the order that choosing you is worthwhile."

Bhelen was openly gaping now, and he wasn't alone in that. "Is he actually demanding a bribe?" a random desyr asked in shock. "In the open like this?" "What in Stone's name?" "He's mad."

His mouth finally clicked shut. "I sincerely hope that you're not being serious, brother, because I'm having trouble believing you could possibly be so stupid as to say that in the presence of so many people, let alone the noble Assembly."

"Ha! Like you care about them so much," Raonar challenged. "Don't act as though you didn't go to the Shaperate to research how you might repeat the precedent established by Paragon-King Bemot when he dissolved the Assembly altogether. Setting aside how clearly that shows that you lack originality, that was some discretion. You'd think you'd have enough brains to actually wait until **after** your election to practically say you intend to shaft all your voters."

Seeing that he was the new target of the Assembly's ire, the Aeducan prince scrambled for a save. He managed to find it before too much time spent in silence. "Yes, I researched that, it's true," he admitted. "The same way I read about 20 other great leaders of our past," Blatant lies, all of them, but they didn't know that. "Let me guess, Czibor here," he glared at the man "saw fit to mention only the part about Bemot. I suppose he would, seeing as how he's related to Harrowmont and everything."

"This is not a trial," Bandelor stepped up, frowning at him. "And I strongly suggest you mind whose credibility and honor you question, lord Aeducan. The Shaper's neutrality in matters of the state is inviolate."

"Of course," the prince reluctantly conceded, though he passed the man on his mental list of possible enemies. He'd called him Lord Aeducan instead of your highness after all. "Let us, then, return to the matters of the Grey Warden Commander so bluntly demanding a boon from the would-be kings." He supposed the word 'bribe' wasn't graceful enough.

"Oh don't sound so sullen," Raonar chided. "Think of it as an investment to help stop the Blight."

Harrowmont finally said something. "Child, I am absolutely shocked that you actually came out and said all this. I grieve that your state of mind and heart made you feel as if it was necessary for you to degrade yourself in such a manner."

That made Bhelen wonder just what the usurper's deal was. He hadn't sounded chastising at all, more like sad.

Huh.

"Perhaps not necessary," the exile agreed thoughtfully. "But enlightening nonetheless."

"Enlightening," Bhelen scoffed. "Since you said that, it makes me realize something."

"Oh?"

"The fact you asked this made me wonder if, perhaps, there is something specific you had in mind. What exactly are you after?"

"Well now, that **is** the question of questions isn't it," he stroked his white beard. "Maybe I should just slam it here, like I did everything else. What would you do if I told you I had a son whose noble status I want restored?"

For the briefest of moments, Bhelen imagined a big vase full of water shattering against his head.

Practically **everyone** was staring in unveiled stupefaction at the two of them. Or maybe it was more accurate to say that they were staring at the amazingly insane Warden Commander.

"What did you just say?" Gwen, of all people, asked before she caught herself and, clearing her throat, looked at a random spot on the wall.

In his failure to catch up to his mind, Bhelen actually started counting the gaping maws of those around him. Finally, he reasserted himself, took a deep breath and pressed his fingers against the bridge of his nose. "**Please** tell me you're pulling my leg."

The guy only looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"A son," Lord Meino Asked. "Whose status you want **restored**. You mean the mother has... no status of her own?" "Castless" another gasped. "When did this happen?" "Is he serious?" "This is a travesty!" "He's mocking the assembly!"

Bhelen idly wondered if his 'brother' had grown to loathe his life. There wasn't really any other explanation for why he would dig his own grave like this. "You're actually bringing this out in the open **now**? **Here?** All this was already bad enough, but now you're saying you had a bastard with some castless **whore**?" He noticed the barest of grimaces on the implacable man's face. Good. " Not to be a prude or anything, but if some sort of trade was what you wanted, you couldn't have just come before me where you wouldn't make such a fool of yourself? Forget honor and common sense for a minute, don't you at least know anything about politics at all?"

That had the effect of making the aforementioned thug, still facepalming, shake his head in what could only be mortification.

The exile let things weight down for a while, but, finally, he grinned from ear to ear. "Got you!" There was a pause. "Hah! I can't believe you bought it! Oh boy, you should have seen your face!"

"This is unworthy!" one of Bhelen's supporters snapped. "He's turning the Assembly into a mockery of what it should be!" "This is outrageous!"

"Yes yes, outrageous!" Raonar waved aside. "Fine, I'll stop things here, before someone actually believes I fathered children with anyone. My decision is, then, as envoy of the Acestors and Paragons themselves that you, dear little brother of mine," he pointed straight at him, causing everyone to widen their eyes in shock, "aren't getting, stylistically speaking, anywhere **near** the throne as long as I'm alive. And since, as the Shapers so cleanly put it, the authority is fully mine, you'll just have to live with it." He lowered his hand and only gave his most self-assured, smug look. "Like a good little boy."

Oh.

Oh he did **not** just cal him that.

Bhelen had done his best, he really had, of not giving the hand signal for plan **B** to start, and it wasn't because he thought the Wardens present there might fight his agents off. They didn't really stand a chance on their own after all. He'd now reached his limit, however. Seeing that bastard come out of nowhere and try to make a mockery of all his efforts was the one, big, final straw. "You're crazy if you think this will just end like this, because I won't abide by it!"

"So you'd just openly defy the Assembly and even accuse the Grey Wardens of dishonor to boot," Raonar almost whispered, not tensing or moving from his sport in the slightest, even as chaos began to erupt around him. "Stand down, Bhelen. Don't do something stupid."

"Oh, I'm definitely not the stupid one here!" he shot back. "If Orzammar doesn't know what's best for it, I'll just have to show it by force, after I barely save half of the Assembly from the bloody attack Harrowmont and your rogue faction of the Grey Wardens tried to administrate!"

"Ah well, so much for any hope that you'd exhibit some originality," the exile said resignedly. "I suppose this is where we're **shocked** to discover that you've hidden agents among the Assembly guards?"

That made him freeze. Then, he noticed that the Grey Wardens had each turned to face one of said guards."What?" a noble gasped, whirling around in panic. Indeed, what? "Treason!" "treachery!" The gap had widened between his and their deshyr groups, but the ones on the usurper's side abruptly stopped backing up when they heard that.

The kinslayer began to look around with curiosity. "Which one of them is Piotin? I really think he wants a rematch after he got so thoroughly humiliated the last time." He looked at Bhelen again. "Or did he finally get his foot out of his mouth and realize that there is no way **you're** the honorable Aeducan if you'd plan a bloodbath of this kind."

Bhelen didn't have time to come up with a witty reply because Piotin actually took and threw off his helmet. That **idiot**, doing things on his own."You've gone too far this time, kinslayer!" Oh, he'll have to have a nice heart to heart chat with dear old cousin about following orders after this was over. Fortunately, his slip didn't damage his plans. If anything, the rest just took their cue to start.

The welcome song of swords being drawn filled his hearing from all directions as the men he'd replaced the sentries with made their move. With a predatory smile he said "You know, if you'd come to me and offered your assistance, and shown the proper remorse and submission, I might have even restored your place in this house!" He drew his dagger from the holster hidden under his gauntlet. "No chance for that anymore, though. You turned your back on this city when you killed Trian, but you've betrayed me and Orzammar for the last time!" He held out a hand. Having memorized the distribution of the guards and, by extension, the replacements he'd arranged, he knew Orrik Turgon was closest and was tasked with throwing him a weapon. "You will not leave this city!"

"Look out, they brought weapons!" one of Harrowmont's supporters shouted when he spotted a few of the others palming daggers. Other deshyrs revealed that their ceremonial staves doubled as sheathes for swords.

"-. .-"

Wojech Ivo had barely, just barely managed to keep himself still and not break his cover during that whole stint, but it had been hard. Just seeing little lord Aeducan was enough to make him want to smash his face, but hearing him talk and boast just made him detest him all the more. It was a literal blessing when the signal was given and they finally charged in to do what they had to. By chance, he'd ended up positioned just to the right of the smug bastard, with a clear line of sight, due to the way the nobles had split.

He took off at the same instant as the one on his left, both of them aiming at the same target. then, when he was just a few leaps away, his accomplice abruptly changed trajectory and jumped in his path, impossibly blocking his thrust with the side of his wide saw sword. "Men, in Orzammar's name, stop at once!" the apparent traitor shouted.

His charge broken, he managed to keep his balance, barely, but just stared in shock, invisible though it was because of the full helmet, at just who he knew was in front of him.

Then, a flash of gold was seen, and then something like a thunderclap overcame his vision and hearing.

"-. .-"

Piotin Aeducan had his purpose clear in his mind, to finally subdue the one who had caused his family so much suffering. He'd had the misfortune of being across the crowd of Harrowmont supporters from he who was no longer his cousin. Fortunately, the men and women had promptly jumped apart and made a path for him when he charged forward, battleaxe coming loose of the strapping to his back. It seemed like no one was going to intervene between their rematch.

Then, that big thug of a dwarf rushed in his path. Not much brain on him, was there? That, or he didn't know who he was.

No matter. Either way, facing him without a weapon of his own was foolhardy at best and suicidal at worst.

Marshalling his will and roaring, full and unhindered now that he had no leftover shoulder wound to sap his strength, he commenced his final blow that could even kill Ogres outright. First a horizontal slash, then stop mid-way and turn the axe on its side, smashing it into the enemy's body. Then, if he's on his back, bring the weapon down in a chop or, if he's still standing, he'll be dazed, which is when you bring the big weapon in an ascending diagonal and cut him apart.

The move was executed as he'd always intended, but he never got past the first step. Moving as though he was expecting it, the thug crouched on all fours, letting the axe pass harmlessly above him. The next phase would have nailed him, that was the point of turning the axe on its side, because it covered enough space that even crouching didn't help.

The bastard pounced forward like an animal, getting within his guard in an instant, so when his axe followed the predetermined path, he was in his face and had grabbed the weapon's shaft.

Piotin's world exploded in pain as the strongest, most straightforward of headbutts smashed into his face, crushing his nose and sending his head jerking backwards, brain feeling like it was a ping pong ball.

He didn't feel when he'd lost grip of the axe. Before could recover, the unknown dwarf had taken his weapon completely and, instead of backing off, allowed himself to move along with the momentum of the returning great axe, spinning in place and swiping his legs from under him when the weapon came around in an arc.

Piotin Aeducan gasped in shock and pain as he banged his head against the stone hard floor, his body following with a metallic thud soon after. The gasp that escaped his lungs became a grunt, and then a choke as the pommel on the far end of his own double axe came to press against his throat. He wanted to kick, but the enemy was standing on top of his knees. As for his arms, it was all he could do to push against the axe, struggling to keep some leeway for breathing.

He glared at the one standing over and on top of him with undisguised hatred, seeing only what might have been blue eyes looking back down at him. Then, one hand detached from the weapon shaft. Piotin thought this was his chance, but the thug was, as absurd as it sounded, strong enough to keep the pressure on his chocked neck even with just the one hand.

The now free hand went up, to the mask. Then, with just the index finger, whatever was covering his lower face was pulled down.

He who prided himself as the strongest of Orzammar's warriors almost forgot to keep pushing against the axe when he saw that face. Impossible. It was just impossible, but his mouth moved on its own. "C-" the instantaneous increase of pressure on his throat at once put a stop to that attempt at speech. He wheezed some air and redoubled his efforts, again staring upwards in shock and awe.

The one above him quaintly pressed his index finger against his mouth, suggesting that he should keep silent.

He did so, even if it was only because he had enough trouble even just when it came to breathing.

And then the explosion of magic came.

"-. .-"

_What the hell had just happened?_

Bhelen's mind was reeling, unable to comprehend how all of his efforts could have ended in failure so spectacularly. He'd planned for everything, set up every plans and infiltrators...

It started just as he'd finished speaking and he noticed the distinct lack of a weapon being thrown his way. Chaos erupted as expected, guards charging forward, his deshyr accomplices puling whatever weapons they had and almost attacking the other side. But the sword he was supposed to get never came, and he wasn't keen on lunging at that damnable usurper with just his dagger, silverite coat of heavy armor or no. There were Wardens between he and him after all.

He'd had barely enough time to see something small and black emerge on Raonar's head before it jumped high, right for the center of the Assembly chamber. He saw what it was for a moment. A mouse, of all things.

"Men, in Orzammar's name, stop at once!" Two swords crossed, though he saw them for just a moment. He barely registered Piotin getting his behind handed to him. He was bothered by something else.

The voice... It couldn't be, that **traitor!**

And then, whatever jumped off that kinslayer disappeared in a flash of gold and a cloud of black and grey, before the low end of a staff slammed into the hard granite with both the sound and force of a thunderclap.

The ensuing explosion threw everyone within five meters off their feet, which, unfortunately, included him. He sailed through the air, until he crashed, bodily, into where Orrik was supposed to be. Amazingly enough, the man didn't topple, instead stopping his flight with both arms, practically hugging him awkwardly.

Doing his best to blink away the spots in his eyes, and to get the buzzing in his ears to go away, he squinted and stared ahead, finally seeing just what was left of his attempt. Many people had been thrown over. Piotin was on the ground, barely breathing from how the thug standing on top of him was pressing his own axe against his gullet. Two guards had their blades crossed, while the rest were either immobilized by the Wardens, confusedly staring at each other or screaming in pain at.. oh... oh Stone, the buzzing, he wasn't imagining the buzzing, there was a swarm of insects tormenting three men as they writhed, slowly falling to their knees and going limp as their voiced fled them.

At the center of it all, the elven black magician stood solemnly, red steel staff with crimson orb casually held in one hand. His long pony tail flowed in the air behind him, much like his dark suede longcoat fluttered magnificently in a nonexistent, but suitably dramatic breeze. Motes of magic hovered around his person and a light was in his eyes. "Morrigan. That's enough."

The swarm of insects came together and, with a flash of gold light, solidified into the form of a human woman. "It was only paralyzing venom regardless."

Bhelen now realized that only his supporters and the guards had been knocked over. Four guards that were supposed to be on his side were, instead, holding their swords aimed at his accomplices. The other wardens and their aides had weapons at the ready, expressions blank or bland. He saw Piotin trying to mouth something, looking, for the life of him, like something had shocked him out of his mind. The thug made short work of that and motioned for him to shush (a second time, though he hadn't seen the first).

As for that smug brother of his, he'd not even moved from his spot. He was just polishing the nails of his right hand by rubbing them against his chest plate. That bastard. He looked at that cloaked guy. "A headbutt? **Really**?" And he was still polishing his nails.

That smug bastard!

His body acted on its own, trying to reassert what was left of his dignity by standing straight and tall. Unfortunately, his intention was denied when he realized that the one behind him had put an arm around his neck and had a dagger's tip uncomfortably near the side of his neck. **Another** traitor? Just where did they all come from? How was this possible?

And then it hit him. That traitor. It was that little snitch!

Wojech Ivo finally gave both of their outrage voice. He vainly tried to push him out of the way "What is the meaning of this, little brother?"

"Frandlin, what are you doing?" Their father, Lord Ivo, asked from where he'd been thrown on his backside. He didn't ask anything more when one of the loyalist guards brought the tip of his longsword closer to his neck. One man was already dutifully disarming them all in turn.

"Making a choice," the youngest one said calmly.

One single guard had maintained his post near the wall and refused to move. He did have a crossbow trained on his supporters though.

Bhelen didn't pay attention to him, though. Frandlin had all his attention. "You'll answer for this, traitor-grrmph!" the arms around Bhelen's neck tightened.

"Ah yes," Raonar finally spoke again. "Step one. Piss Bhelen off enough that he so blatantly reveals all of his secret conspirators: success." He looked around critically then. "And optional step: Avert bloodbath. Also a success." The shapers, fortunately, were just near the walls and had gotten away unscathed, though their shock was no smaller.

Harrowmont had taken the chance to Help Bandelor to his feet. "Apologies, Steward, for your unfortunate experience."

"Oh, believe me, it is far better than being dead," he said quickly, looking around in awe. "Will someone explain what in the name of the Ancestors just happened?"

"Oh, little brother just tried to pull a coup," Raonar said absently, since he was more invested in examining a parchment that **another** guard had brought over to him."So he planned this with his deshyr minions and tried to replace the Assembly Guard too for good measure."

"Of course, it makes sense he would," Frandlin said as Wojech was taken hold of and disarmed. "Since it was he that tried to engineer his brothers' downfall, though the attempt does start to look a bit outlandish now that I think about it. Anyway, I was tasked by prince Bhelen with doing the guard bit, so, naturally, I did more than was asked of me."

"What he means," one of the 'guards' who'd neutralized the traitors said, making to take off his helmet. "Is that he's been on our side all along. As for this, I called in some favors of my own." Baizyl Harrowmont wasn't looking smug at all. More like he was looking every bit as scandalized as anyone would at having to actually deal with such a mess.

"You've been consorting with the enemies of Orzammar all this time!" Bhelen snapped at his 'left hand' in anger, though he couldn't find any way to shake his holder. He also wasn't seeing how he could have possibly been so completely fooled. Or had the guy turned turncoat within just the past day? And if he had been done either, why did he actually warn him about his brother being the warden?

"Oh, that's a bit harsh," Raonar chided him like he was a five year-old. "Especially considering that I do, in fact, possess more than just a bit of evidence as to how you arranged for the attempt on Trian's life." He accepted a stack of papers from the guard next to him. "And I don't just mean this letters that show you gave the Carta orders and everything else." Shock made itself heard among all nobles, both his and Harrowmont's.

"I can vouch for those papers," the damnable usurper said. "I have seen them and can attest for their authenticity."

"The shapers may take them and compare them with any other document written by his hand, or that of his seconds," the exile held them out for a wary Czibor to take. "I am certain you'll find plenty, what with him being the 'only' one of our immediate family still alive and running for kingship."

"The king is old," the one holding Bhelen finally spoke, but the voice was unrecognizable. "His rule won't last much longer."

The blonde elf looked at him and smirked. "Ah yes, you can do voices."

The man continued, in a rough, female voice this time. "Prince Bhelen is far more sympathetic to our interests than Trian."

Bhelen felt like he'd been dunked in a pool of cold water when the man slowly let go of him and took a couple of steps back, his voice making it all too clear who he was.

"You see, funny thing is," by the sound of it, he was removing his headgear. "Alistair said that I wasn't going to return with the others, which was absolutely true. It is your own fault that you never considered I might **already** be in the city." He stepped to stand to his side, sword against his neck again, held in a reverse grip. "It wasn't cool that I made my sister think I got killed again. But damn straight it was great not having to worry about you using her as blackmail material. That said, maybe I should let everyone here in on a little secret, the same one I told you. **I'm** the one your brother went to save in Dust Town."

"Yes, and the one who helped me with everything the next day," Raonar added, though he looked at that parchment from the unknown guard again. "This list is incomplete. You forgot to add dear Dugan Lantena and Ostor of House Arrat." He scribbled the names himself. "There. Now the list of would-be murderers is full!"

"Well, maybe we should finally get this over with, my lord. It's been a busy day," Frandin mused sadly. "Though I guess it will only get more grueling."

"You're no longer my brother!" Wojech spat at Frandlin now that his helmet had been forced off him. The spittle landed on the face of the man, since he, too, had removed his headgear. Closing his eyes, he stoically wiped it off with his free hand.

He didn't need to actually say anything, however, because the exile just walked to Wojech's side and delivered a clean right hook to his face, sending him sprawling to the ground. After that, he approached, took a handkerchief from a pocket and wiped the leftover spit off his face himself. "I am sorry. Causing discord inside your family was never my intention." He finished and let his hand fall to his side. "I know first-hand how it is, but know that it can be mended."

"Thank you, my lord Aeducan," Frandlin made as if to bow, but a pat on his shoulder stopped that well enough.

"None of that, my friend." Raonar walked back to the center, now vacated by the mage. "Now then," he looked at the thug, who was still standing over a flabbergasted Piotin. "I think you should come see this."

The man stepped off and, much to everyone's shock, offered his hand. Piotin, amazingly enough, accepted it, dazedly looking at him as he wobbly got to his feet, still wide-eyed. He started to alternate between staring and him, looking shocked, and then staring at Raonar.

Looking shocked.

What the hell?

The thug made his way to stand between the exile and that guard. Bhelen thought he spotted the faintest glint of gold when he stepped forward a bit too wide, but only for a moment.

Silence reigned for a time.

"Yeah, it's fairly long," Raonar said sheepishly. "And some of the people on that list aren't scum per se, or at least weren't when I left the city. I suppose my betrayer's act was just too convincing."

"You know Irony is the law of this world, my lord Aeducan," the unknown guard told him in a dangerously familiar voice. Why did it sound so familiar? "Anyway, can I take my helmet off now? I really want to see their faces, among other reasons."

"Of course, my friend."

Bhelen didn't know what to expect, but even if he'd been given a whole week to think about it, what happened next would not have been one of the possibilities on the list. Nonetheless, despite how his brain screamed it was impossible, it really did happen.

There, ever so quaintly, Gorim Saelac took off his helmet and shook his head, loosing his hair and scratching at his beard. "Ah, that itch has been bugging me ever since we came in!"

No. No-no-no, impossible! He was dead!

"Gorim!" Oghren gasped in shock. "What the sod? Ye're supposed to be dead!"

Utter silence filled the chamber, and Harrowmont was the only one who wasn't shocked. Bhelen distantly wondered if shock was going to be the new normal now that the smug bastard was back.

"And **you** were supposed to be banned from the diamond quarter after that last time I threw you out of the palace," the other dwarf said back, frowning, before looking at his lord again. "Seriously, my Lord. Oghren?"

"Don't you talk about me as if I ain't here!" the berserker demanded sullenly.

The thug standing between the exile and Gorim was palming his face again and muttering.

"Fine fine!" Raonar said with a sigh. "Since you seem to be growing impatient, we'll get back on topic." He addressed the assembly, half-arrested as it was. "I did say I had more to show than the letters, yes? Well, technically, it isn't me that's going to show you. So let's just hear it from the man himself."

No.

Oh no, no-n-no.

Oh no-no-no-no-no, he couldn't be serious, there was no way! Both he and Gorim, who was supposed to be dead, smirked, but there was no way!

There was no way, Stone dammit!

"So tell us, **Trian**," the exclamations of shock were loud and went from center to edge of the chamber like a wave. "Did I kill you?"

Utter silence filled the chamber.

There was the briefest of pauses before the man undid the clasp on his cloak and threw the purposely shaggy garment off, the light of the braziers momentarily reflecting in the pure gold of his armor. An unreal shine seemed to bounce off that metal as Orzammar's Prince Prime and House Auducan's Heir Apparent stood tall and gazed upon those assembled with absolutely no haughtiness in his expression.

Then, he brought his hands to his face, then felt around his neck and, seemingly satisfied, finally spoke. "Hmm, apparently not." Still none dared react, as though they feared the shock of the realization would make their minds shut down if they allowed it to slam them all at once.

Ironically, this is exactly what happened when Trian Aeducan finally seemed to notice that everyone was staring at him like he'd just come back from the dead. "Come now, don't be taken aback **that** much! Honestly, you look like you've just seen a ghost."

The second son looked scandalized. "Careful, big brother," he cautioned, "You're stealing my lines."

Trian shrugged. "It's your fault if they're good ones."

"I believe you both are missing the obvious point here, my lords," Gorim said solemnly, for the life of him not realizing or caring what a breach of protocol it was for him to do so. "They aren't looking like they've just seen a ghost. They're looking at us like they just saw **three**."

"Point," Trian admitted (!).

Wait what?

Did Trian, of all people, just **do** that?

As if to underscore the utomost absurdity of it all, his eyes finally met his, those of the younger brother that had sought to kill him, and instead of anger, hatred, or even the tiniest bit of resentment, there was just pure, undiluted amusement like Bhelen had never remembered seeing on his face before. Smiling warmly, another violation of natural order in and of itself, the eldest looked at the second child of the king. "Have to hand it to you, brother, you were right. The look on his face is priceless."

Three female deshyrs, and a man, promptly fainted.


	60. Succession Arc 3: Deconstruction

A/N. Apologies that it took so long. Bhelen proved to be a really aggravating tyke to write, and I'm still not sure I grasped his reactions well enough, especially since this is also from his point of view. I **think** I managed to avoid derailing his persona because of my personal bias, but it's hard to tell since the situation here is not something he was put through in the game.

**Be warned, especially people who love Bhelen for some reason or other:** The protagonist is NOT nice to him at all during this chapter, but there is a good reason for this. You may, or may not, understand until you reach the final 3-4 paragraphs/sentences of the chapter. The next two will, finally, shed full lgiht on this clusterfuck. There is more than one Xanatos Gambit in play right now (and that is understating things).

* * *

**Chapter 57: Deconstruction**

"-. .-"

Bhelen Aeducan only dimly registered that three female deshyrs and a lord, had, in fact, promptly fainted, and it wasn't just because they weren't in his immediate field of vision. He was too busy staring with his mouth open at the one who could completely and utterly destroy everything he'd worked for just by existing. At the moment, his mind had been reduced to something akin to a broken record, unable to believe what his eyes were showing or comprehend how it could be possible.

_Trian was supposed to be dead!_ his mind helpfully supplied.

To his credit, he didn't actually forget to breathe or otherwise become incapacitated, not completely at least. His mind was not faring any better than that of everyone else, however, and it was completely visible on his face. Trian had said as much.

_But he's supposed to be dead! _Bhelen screamed on the inside, shock still as strong as before. _I saw him! I saw his body! Gorim's too!_

And yet they were right there in front of him and everyone else. He wasn't just imagining things and dwarves didn't dream so this couldn't be any nightmare either. This was real. Real enough that three female deshyrs, and a lord, had promptly fainted as soon as Trian spoke.

The only reason the silence didn't become thicker was because it was already as deep as it could get.

It didn't last for long though.

Since his body and mind had lost all ability to do anything else, Bhelen just stared at Raonar as he pointed at the fainted ones, his face the ultimate expression of indignation. "Now **that** is just unfair!"

Bhelen could do naught but keep staring in stupefaction as the guy spun on his heel and poked, well, more like pushed Trian right on the nose, so hard that the huge man was sent staggering back.

The heir apparent produced a sort of unholy crossbreed between the snorts of two distinct deep roads beasts as he staggered a step. "What the-" He barely had time to start rubbing his primary breathing organ before he was cut off again.

"It's the nose isn't it?"

There as an awkward pause.

The firstborn's own mouth was half-open now but his bewildered look was all the question he relayed. He was too busy rubbing his nose after all.

"This is so unfair," the second son repeated, more to himself, his face the utmost picture of dejection.

At last, Trian couldn't hold it in anymore. "What in Stone's name are you going on about?"

If Bhelen had managed to get past the point where he was still in denial about Trian being alive, he'd have probably been shocked again just from seeing him ask that without any sort of anger. The eldest really was just confused and, for some unholy reason, not even thinking about starting to lecture the guy about proper behavior and protocol.

"Three!" Raonar said archly, holding three finger up for emphasis. "Three, Trian! Three women just fainted at the mere sight of you! Why don't **I **ever cause that reaction?"

The firstborn just stared at him.

"Paragon's blood, it really **is** the nose, isn't it?" the second child asked of the gobsmacked crowd. "Dwarven women have a giant nose fetish... I never stood a chance, did I?" He went ahead and muttered to himself something that sounded suspiciously much like "What the hell do women think men are supposedly capable of **doing** with those big noses anyway?"

"..."

Faren said it all. "What..."

Trian at least could think enough to ask the obvious question. "Brother, are you, ah... feeling well?" Not that his mind wasn't still reeling like everyone else's.

"Obviously not!" Raonar said, annoyed. He shook his head and looked almost on the verge of falling to his knees, so overcome he was with how unjust the world was turning out to be. "Look at them. I never managed to cause this effect, and I'm visibly more handsome than you!"

"You wish," Trian blurted before thinking it over. Then, he blinked and cleared his throat. "Ahem. "

"Are you sure you aren't overreacting, my lord?" Gorim asked cautiously.

Raonar threw him a betrayed look. "Hell of a time to go turncoat on me, Gorim. Thanks a million."

"Not at all, my lord," Gorim said back, trying to placate the situation with a wave of both hands. "What I mean to say is that I actually do seem to remember a certain merchant having just this reaction on the day of your feast. Surely that counts for something."

The exile looked at his second for a moment. "That was a **guy** Gorim. He doesn't count. I know some people are into that sort of couples, but same-sex relationships really aren't my thing."

As if him declaring his sexual orientation (in front of the Orzammar Noble Assembly) wasn't already absurd enough on its own, Gorim made everything even more awkward by sighing in what looked like disappointment. "Oh, my Lord, if you only knew the fantasies, aspirations and hopes of how many brave and strong and... ahem... resilient... men you just dashed..."

Hearing a pin drop during the time following that statement would have been eardrum-shattering.

Trian carefully took one step away from the soldier.

Raonar did too.

At the same time.

"Umm..." He looked unsure of how to phrase it. "Gorim... I suppose it would be my fault for not noticing something like this during the many years when you served as my second... and when you said you'd always be my man, which gained a new set of connotations all of a sudden, but... is there something I should know?"

The **normal** reaction, Bhelen's still addled brain considered, would have been for the man to start trying to assure everyone that no, he didn't mean it like **that**, maybe waving his hands in borderline panic. Instead...

Gorim's calm gaze did not abate. "If by that you mean to ask if I am nursing romantic feelings towards you, my lord..." He pressed his finger against his chin and looked thoughtful, much to everyone's renewed shock. By the time he spoke again, Trian was looking at his immediate younger sibling, and the latter looked like he was ready to beg Trian to save him from this madness. Then, Gorim sighed long and deeply, as if in disappointment. "Apparently not." Yet more silence.

"O-kaaaay! That will do!" Trian intervened hastily, stepping between them, though it was the middle son that he looked at reproachfully. "Seriously, brother, stop playing with everyone's heads. You are distracting people from the truly important matter here."

The exile scoffed. "I didn't plan this!" Utter silence greeted him. "Not exactly... Well, so maybe I did set it up... sort of... But I didn't plan on Gorim... revealing... what he revealed," he lamely tried to amend. "Besides, it's not like it worked. You being alive obviously shocked everyone beyond even **my** capacity to assuage the reaction. Seriously, I mean," he made as if to indicate the while gathering, "look, even though it's been a while since the shock set in and the explosion threw them on their rears, Bandelor, and half of everyone else, **still** haven't regained enough of their wits to realize that they've been rubbing their sore backsides for the past five minutes."

The men, and one woman, in question brought their hands in front of them or to their sides as if burned.

Trian didn't bother looking at them yet though. "That is not the important matter I was talking about."

"Eh?"

"What I meant," the firstborn Aeducan prince said sagely, "Is that this is probably the first time in the past decade when the two of us go out in public at the same time but people pay **me** more attention than they do you." He surveyed everyone critically, which was why he didn't immediately notice the incredulousness on the faces of his brother and his second.

At this point, Bhelen's brain still refused to believe what he was seeing, probably because that just wasn't Trian's behavior. _And he was supposed to be dead, dammit! How did this all happen? And just what the sod is happening now, because I have no idea!_

"Well, shocking as that admission is, coming from you, I guess you're right," the second son admitted. "Though Gorim's outlandish words did kind of steal your shine in the end."

Bhelen shook, more like jerked, his head in an effort to dispel the surreal reality in front of him, but he only managed to make himself notice Harrowmont covering his mouth with one hand. The damnable usurper looked torn between mortification and the impulse to drop and roll on the floor laughing.

"I'll have you know that nothing I said is provably false...!" Gorim protested in yet another breach of conduct. "...my lord." He cleared his throat but, apparently, couldn't resist adding something extra. "Besides, you think this is too much, but imagine if you'd asked me that and had been born a woman-"

"AHEM!" Trian gave Gorim a harsh glare which, at last, managed to quell the man.

"I will interpret that as an order to shut up now, my lord," Gorim relented with half a bow, bland expression still fully in place.

"Thank the Ancestors for small mercies," Raonar said, rubbing his forehead.

"Indeed, but a small mercy is not enough in this case," Trian added. "Steward. Since we're all here, I propose we vote on making sure this... conversation... doesn't make it into the records. **Any **of them. It, uh... would not do for the later generations to have such a strange precedent of how things should be..." He almost glared at Raonar and Gorim but, instead, just coughed in his fist and looked at a random spot on the wall. "Aye, that is a good reason, yes?"

Bandelor, for his part, was able to gather his feet under him surprising well under the circumstances. "Well, technically you aren't, officially, House Aeducan's deshyr at the moment, which is required to call a vote, but," he outright glared at Bhelen before continuing. "You **are** the head of house Aeducan by right, so you can change your house's representative whenever you so wish."

Bhelen felt like a big bucket of ice-cold water had just been dumped on his head. Everything he'd worked towards, everything he had was so unfairly being taken away.

"Then again," the second eldest intervened. "There isn't really an assembly to take that vote at the moment. After all," he indicated the ones surrounded by swords, "Half of them are under arrest, and the rest are, well..." He shrugged. "Not exactly capable of coherent thought at the moment."

"Such impertinence-" One of Bhelen's minions blurted before he became the subject of Baizyl's attention.

"My lord Trian, how..." Anwer Dace at last uttered. "How is this possible? I... I was there when... when the king, your father, turned your body over..."

"So was I," another one said. "What miracle is this...? What does this mean?"

"Before that," the second son intervened. Bhelen realized that he must have exchanged some words with Gorim or someone else in the meantime, because he was holding a new piece of paper. "Let's see, who was supposed to be on today's Guard." he paused and Bhelen wondered if he was imagining it or if the air really had grown unnaturally still. "...Oh." Raonar eventually uttered.

Trian finally looked at him. "Is something wrong?"

The white-haired one slowly turned around, face-to-face with Piotin, who was just a few meters away. The usually proud warrior tensed when a very intense, hostile glare fixed on him. "Piotin, you'd better hope to the spirits of the Ancestors that you can honestly tell me that Ser Blackstone is alive or I'll **personally** throw you out of the city!"

"He is!" He was visibly sweating with dread, reminding Bhelen of just how vulnerable to fear even the most self-assured of people were if they experienced a big enough shock beforehand. "He is, I swear! I only knocked him out-"

"You'd better hope your story checks out," was the warning. "Because if not, I'll make sure your face gets very well and thoroughly acquainted with the surface snow."

"Cousin, I was just-"

"Don't!" He cut him off. "Don't even **try** to weasel your way out of this by invoking family loyalty, or saying you were only following orders," the voice hadn't even risen, but it sounded very chilling anyway, enough that it made the man swallow his words. "Willingly participating in high treason? Murder of this sort? I expected so much better from you." Piotin actually cringed and looked down, looking more chastened than Bhelen had ever seen him. Even the king hadn't ever managed to so completely put him in his place.

"I'm afraid I will have to agree with brother here," Trian said gravely. "We will need to have a very... serious... discussion about this soon, you and I."

He looked on the verge of protesting but he obviously thought better because he clapped his mouth shut and looked down again. "I understand."

"I'm not sure you do," the middle son said blankly, "but that will be decided later."

"Since we're on the subject, your highness," Frandlin Ivo unexpectedly piped up, sounding concerned and hopeful at the same time. "Should I risk a hope that you ran into Ser Blackstone's son and his friend?"

Son and friend... why did that strike a cord, Bhelen wondered.

Raonar's answer felt like a boot to the head. "If by that you mean the two prison guards that were on duty at the time of my imprisonment-" _wait, what?_ "-and whom Bhelen sought to have removed not too long ago-" the audience's reactions were as expected as they were similar "-Then yes, they're fine. At least they were a few weeks ago."

Frandlin visibly sagged in relief. "I'm glad. If I didn't do something about them, pri-... **he** would have just sent someone else. It was a long shot, but since the last of the caravans were being cleared up the next day..." He grabbed the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes. "Then again, I suppose some might see being sent to the surface as worse than dying."

"Hey, whether by luck or Ancestors' favor, they ran into me," he assured him. "I was able to find them some honest work. We can send for them once this is all over, for good or ill." He passed a warning glance over those assembled. "I'm quite certain there will be few objections to righting this wrong." Bhelen hoped he only imagined the multiple gulping sounds coming from behind him. "After all, Piotin isn't the only one who screwed up so monumentally." The exile's eyes searched over the bunch of would-be traitors. "Lords Voldin and Gherlon. To think I actually risked having a higher opinion of you than most everyone else in this chamber. And people wonder why my expectations are so low."

"My Lord Aeducan," house Voldin's not too aged patriarch tried, possibly spurned by how he was still on his feet, unlike some of the others. "I assure you I-"

"So **now** he's Lord Aeducan!" Gorim spat, not caring he wasn't even of high enough status to do so. "No longer the **kinslayer** that, even **before** his trial, you-" His outburst cut off at once when a certain someone's hand set itself on his shoulder.

Bhelen almost sputtered in disbelief when he saw it was **Trian** that had done it and not his other brother. "Settle down, Gorim. They are not worth your rage." If his words were meant as an order, the soft voice he used sure as Stone didn't suggest it. It was enough to make Bhelen wonder if he wasn't hallucinating all over again.

"As you say, your highness," Gorim barely managed to force his anger down, though his glower did not go away.

"Besides, Gorim," Raonar added. "Though they could have gotten their foot out of their mouth sooner, and I could have gone on rightfully living as an upstanding citizen of this City-State, in the end things happened because I** deliberately** framed myself for fratricide."

At once, almost everyone in that room that was not acquainted with the events took sharp intakes of breath. Bhelen's eyes were as wide as saucers, and he almost didn't notice the trembling in his hands and the throbbing in his chest. The words he'd just heard were so far outside the sphere of what he thought possible that it almost blew away all the focus he'd managed to regain since Trian had revealed himself. Trian wasn't frowning, but he was looking right at him, Bhelen realized. Right into his eyes. The third child forced himself to meet that gaze, though he never was able to wipe the disbelief off his face even then.

The middle son let those words stew for a while, time that the others with him let him indulge without interference, until some of the tension was dispelled by Oghren, of all people. "I'll never have anything close to a normal life again, will I?" The words were muttered, but it was the nature of the Assembly chamber to propagate sound. Not that the fighter paid much mind. He just walked over to the far wall and flopped down to sit, back leaning against it. "Don't you all mind ol' Oghren. I'm not doin' anything. Definitely not meddling in your noble craziness."

Bhelen's mind was stumbling in its efforts to reassert itself and somehow make sense of all this madness, but he hadn't yet crossed the distance between being flabbergasted at Trian being alive and actually thinking if there was anything he could do about it.

It was Theron Mahariel that moved things along, after heaving the sigh of sighs, propped as he was against the side of the door. "Will you get on with it? Are all you durgen'len so pointlessly dramatic?"

"There's **nothing** pointless about it!" the Warden Commander shot back in mock outrage. "Nonetheless, I suppose it's time I-"

"No, brother," Trian cut him off, almost smiling. "I have this."

Raonar nodded, smiling back. "Alright then. Still, you'll probably want to do something about them," he gestured at the nobles. "Though it's the least they deserve, you probably don't want them getting distracted by aching legs or rears if they have to keep standing around or sitting on the floor with swords at their necks."

Trian continued to fuel Bhelen's bewilderment at how he was actually being **reasonable** and, even more shockingly, **amiable**, by acknowledging Raonar's point with a thoughtful nod. Again. What the hell? That was supposed to be anathema for him. What did Raonar **do** to him? Brainwashing?

And just how in hell was he alive?

"They have all been disarmed, yes?" Trian asked Baizyl, who nodded in confirmation. "Good, then perhaps you all should find some seats again, though I would appreciate if you remained thus divided into camps." The deshyrs just barely refrained from grumbling as they either walked or were escorted. A couple of the loyalist guards helped carry the one woman who had yet to wake up. Most of the others resumed their posts. Only the one holding the crossbow moved over from where he was and positioned himself some way to the right.

Right behind Bhelen in fact. How nice to know he had someone watching. He could only assume that Frandlin had deliberately not sent anyone to try and take the place of this Merric Ostvar fellow, since he didn't seem to be one of Baizyl's friends but wasn't on his side either.

Once the Wardens had all more or less spread around the outer wall, Trian glanced over to the scribes, who managed to find themselves and get ready to write everything down. Bandelor was the one who spoke though. "I believe we are as ready as can be, Your Highness. Now... if I might ask... what was that about deliberately..." He trailed off, looking at the second son and obviously not believing what he'd heard.

Bhelen finally noticed that Faren was no longer next to him and holding a sword at his neck. The brand was near the wall on his left, hand on his throwing knife holster. How very **thoughtful** of him. Trian didn't look that ready to start though. Instead, he was looking at him as if expecting something. Right, if he expected him to come clean, he was clearly dreaming. He'll not give them the satisfaction of breaking down under pressure.

His oldest brother actually looked disappointed for a moment. "You had to know things weren't going to turn out as you wanted them to." Bhelen almost bit his tongue to prevent himself from flinching. That was almost exactly the same thing Raonar had told him from behind bars. It was his other brother that the guy addressed though. "I suppose your efforts didn't net any desirable outcome?"

The exile was standing somewhat to the side, not quite beyond the center of the chamber. "Unfortunately..."

Bhelen would have wondered what the sod those two were on about, but Trian began his exposition. "Though it shames me to admit that my house has fallen so low, the fact is that Bhelen did, indeed, plot my demise." Only silence greeted that statement. "And that of my brother." That got the nobles exchanging looks and finally finding their voices. "So it **was** true!" One of Harrowmont's damned sycophants gasped. "Ancestor's blood!" Even some of Bhelen's so-called supporters were eyeing him strangely, those who'd actually bought into his story about Raonar being the bad vein.

_How did they pull this off?_ the youngest Aeducan asked himself again and again. _How? _

"As I understand it," the heir went on "the so-called plan Bhelen had in mind was to either have us ambushed during my brother's first military commission, and if that failed, to get one of us to murder the other, leaving it to him to 'warn' the king about our 'evil intentions' and be just a bit too late to stop the tragedy from happening, after which he would frame the survivor for fratricide. He set this up by 'informing' each of us that the other planned to murder him." It was then that Trian looked at some of the lords in the assembly with a glint of steel in his eyes. The strange part was that one of the people he looked at was in Harrowmont's camp. "For some reason, there were quite a few mercenaries among the troops of the lords who were accompanying me. Most of them weren't branded, which probably meant they were from the surface, the carta most likely, but some did have the mark, though they hid it with 'war paint'" He air quoted. "And they 'happened' to be under Vartag Gavorn's command."

"And, of course, Dugan Lantena and his men ambushed me and my troops," the exile added. "Not that it worked out or anything, with that scout being such an obvious spy."

Bhelen almost didn't realize that the noise he heard was coming from how he was gnashing his teeth.

"But how?" Anwer sounded especially scandalized. "How could prince Bhelen have amassed so much support? Why was he even able to?"

"It wasn't **that **much support. Just a couple dozen men or so, and two lords stupid enough to go along with such blatant treason. Not really impressive at all." Raonar said blandly. "As for how he got those, well, he'd been making deals since nearly two years ago. One year, ten months and 16 days ago to be more precise."

_Wait..._

_Wait, what?_ "What?" The word escaped Bhelen's mouth before he could think, and he promptly cursed inwardly.

Trian continued with his story. "That was the plan, such as it was. What actually happened was something that I am... not very eager to relate..."

"You don't have to go into every detail, Trian," the white one said.

"No, some details have to be said," Trian insisted, taking a deep breath. "A few of you were present when brother barged into the throne room and basically kicked everyone out, were you not?" A couple of lords nodded and glanced at the warden commander. "That was because he chose to come forward and reveal that Bhelen had 'informed' him that I planned on killing him the next day. Well, he actually came to perfectly spell out Bhelen's murderous ploy and how he'd seen through it but I... reacted poorly... because I..." the man visibly cringed but said it anyway. "Because I had, in fact, bought into Bhelen's act."

Utter silence filled the assembly chamber. Even the scribes stopped what they were doing for a moment that seemed much longer than it actually was. Gorim and Raonar looked at each other, both of them showing some surprise on their faces.

"It was my undeserved good fortune that brother here decided to take matters into his own hands... Again." the eldest continued, sounding sincere and heavyhearted. "Once he thwarted the ambush against him, he called off the search for the Shield of Aeducan and, instead, brought his men to the rendezvous sooner. I'd... also gone there early, expecting a trap. In the end, Vartag and the men he suggested I'd bring with me were the ones who tried to literally backstab me and it was only by Raonar's intervention that we both escaped with our lives."

"Aaaactually..." the second son intervened. "That's more Melec Medra's merit. He **did** take an arrow for me and practically ordered me to take you and retreat while he held the attackers off, even outnumbered as they were."

"Outnumbered yes, but they still won," Gorim added.

"My lords, but..." lord Meino spoke, frowning. "If you survived that, how was it that we still walked on that scene of carnage?"

"The fight hadn't left me in a condition fit to travel. We had to stop along the way, where we were ambushed again." Trian said, not missing a beat. "Since Bhelen had probably eavesdropped on the 'revelation' that brother made the night before, he pulled out all his cards and hired goons he could send. Fortunately for us, Faren here had decided to infiltrate the so-called search party and took care of it for us. Unfortunately, by the end of it all, I'd been... incapacitated."

"You're making it sound like you were weak and helpless," Raonar said. "You do realize you probably defeated more enemies than me through that whole day, I hope? And I do recall a distinct lack of memory of those last events, seeing as how I was unconscious even before the thugs walked in on our hiding place and everything."

Bhelen took a break from feeling shocked to consider just how totally unconcerned the guy was with other people's opinion of him if he so casually related his most embarrassing failures. What the hell kind of attitude was that supposed to be?

"As I said, I was injured," Trian repeated. "So brother ordered Gorim, Baizyl and Faren to sneak me into the city undetected while he and Frandlin stayed behind, to make sure that the latter-" He paused and looked at the man, unsure if he should go on.

Frandlin took the weight off his hands. "To make sure I did as Bhelen instructed me to and framed His Highness for fratricide." At once, everyone in the hall stared at him like he'd just grown a second pair of eyes. "I had been... constrained into becoming a pawn in his treason. I would have probably done it for real too... unless his highness hadn't given me a way out. Well, more like talked some sense into me."

_Wait... Wait what? That far back? He was in league with him __**that**__ far back?_

"The bodies you saw belonged to the would-be murderers that were sent after us," the exiled prince revealed. "It was a simple matter of dressing them in Trian's and Gorim's armors and then burning them with one of those exploding potions until they were unrecognizable. Ironic really. If Bhelen hadn't been so overzealous in hiring all the second-rate help he could, this part of the plan would have had to be dropped." He began to untie the bindings that held his gauntlet in place.

For the second time, Bhelen felt his shock being briefly pushed aside by the constant jabs the guy was throwing his way. He acted like he was so much better, but he still took every chance he had of demeaning him.

"So, all this time you've been..." Bandelor was lost for words, staring at the Aeducan heir.

"In Orzammar, yes," Trian confirmed. "Biding my time until I could be certain of what fate had befallen **him**-" he pointed with his thumb over his shoulder "-after he got himself ostracized on purpose." Remembrance played on the dwarf's face.

The silence that followed was an obvious indicator that Raonar was expected to say something, but he did not. He just met the eyes pointed at him with a very solemn air on his face.

When the quiet became too long, Gorim coughed in his fist. "Ahem... so then. Any questions?" He didn't even add a 'my lord' or 'lords' at the end, even though he did give Bhelen a look that was just slightly short of taunting.

Bhelen stared at the man. There were so many things going on through his head, but one of them nagged at him the most, and that was the fact that there were suddenly so many people that simply knew so much more about the situation than him. It made him feel like fate itself had conspired against him, and even though he was finally putting the pieces together, the emotion simmering inside him kept boiling over from how clearly he could see the satisfaction on Gorim's face.

His own face almost a sneer, he glared at that damnable brother of his, fully expecting to see the same emotion, but he was denied. The man appeared... strangely expectant... though it could have very well just been his imagination. The white of his beard and mustache, and that hair that hardly ever obstructed light made it hard for shadow to fall on him, so it was hard to say if his face was brought together into any sort of expression unless he made a point of showing it. Overall, it was as if he was studying some sort of natural process... or looking at a domino row after knocking the first piece over.

The domino piece finally found the tapestry, and as the pieces all fell in quick succession, he finally reached the conclusion, one that escaped his mouth unbidden. "You let me win..." He would have bitten back the words if he could think of doing it, especially since he'd practically stated the horrendously obvious, but the words evoked something else. Something far back. A game he'd lost on purpose, and what Raonar said immediately afterwards.

"Ah, and here is the beginning of our problem," the manipulator said calmly. "You see this all as some sort of game. Let me guess. You automatically thought about that one game of chess we had, a year and a half ago, didn't you?" He shook his head. "You haven't grown up at all."

Oh yes, whatever shock was still left was pushed aside instantly by simmering anger. Bhelen didn't immediately realize how his hands were trembling, nor that he was gnashing his teeth together more tightly than before. The gall of that bastard! "Don't you dare look down on me..."

He didn't smirk condescendingly as Bhelen expected, but his words cut deep regardless. "Ah yes, stoke that infernal wrath of yours." Each word just made the rage boil over more and more. "You look like you want to strike at me. Well then!" He spread his arms wide. "I'd be a poor older brother if I didn't at least try to assuage your needs."

The youngest of the three really started to wonder if all the guy was doing was try to keep him off balance. If he was, it was working perfectly, because once again disbelief overcame rage, though it didn't really make him gape again until the guy's cuirass clattered to the floor and he kicked it away. The gauntlets and arm guards had come off some time earlier, so the man only had his leggings and boots on, as well as a thick but otherwise regular shirt.

Gorim needed but a glance from his lord to understand he should pass him a sword. The odd part came when he actually took two of them from the pile of weapons taken from the apprehended guards and gave them to the exile. He only opened his mouth for a moment, as if to say something, but reconsidered and backed away.

"Mind the sharp edge," the second son cautioned, suddenly throwing a sword in his direction.

Bhelen almost didn't catch it and he nearly stumbled, but his grasp found the hilt somehow. Not for the first or last time, he bit back yet another curse, gripping the handle tight enough to almost overstrain his muscles. He damned the situation for making it impossible not to spot the disgusted gazes of those nobles that were in his field of vision. He mentally cursed it more for how the sight of that infuriating sibling of his was the only alternative.

Trian had stepped aside. Trian, of all people, had **stepped aside** to let Raonar do whatever he wanted next. What the hell had he done to him? When he thought about brainwashing before, he supposed it was just shock playing its part, but now he wondered...

"Are you just going to stand there slackjawed?" Raonar taunted, something he'd never actually done before, not so upfront at any rate. "Or perhaps you're finally having an epiphany of some sort? Let's make this easy. I'm more or less unarmored, to make up for your addled senses. So come, little brother. Relieve your frustration!" He pointed the tip of the sword straight at him. "I **will** continue to look down on you otherwise. All day if need be." His eyes narrowed as he uttered the final, infuriating insult. "Immature child."

The sword were standard issue, nothing special really, but they clashed so hard that sparks flew off and the deadlock either caused the deep dents or came as a result of it. "Don't you **dare** call me that!" He lashed out.

"Immature child," he drawled even more blandly than before.

Bhelen attacked again, only to be parried just as cleanly. He somehow managed not to bare his teeth in disdain. "I'll make you eat those words. Don't think you can just come here and spout your self-righteous nonsense when you're doing nothing but sealing Orzammar's fate with your interference! Everything you do is just proof that I was right to do everything I did!"

Raonar stared at him, his eyebrows quite high.

And then he laughed.

Bhelen swore to himself that it was the shock of the reaction that caused his stance to loosen. The guy couldn't have so easily pushed him, almost thrown him, back otherwise. The exile's was a bitter laughter, one tinted with disappointment. "Your delusions actually run so deep?" He shook his head ruefully. "Oh, my brother, you understand nothing. Even after all this time, you are such a child."

Objectively, Bhelen knew attacking him again probably wasn't the best reaction, but he just couldn't help it. Right now, his mind operated on the principle that he had to shut him up somehow. "Don't act like you're so much better!" He pulled back for another attack. "You come here, pretending to be so much more honorable, so noble, when you're nothing but a manipulator, a user of others yourself!"

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Raonar asked him, sounding sincere while still blocking his every hit with no visible effort. "I won't hesitate to deconstruct and crush your every conviction. I said it before, but I'll say it again: don't do something stupid."

"Spare me your preaching!" He lunged with all the strength he had, only to be blocked again with a loud clang. "You think you're better than me? You would have turned against me in a heartbeat, like you're doing now!" He tried to slash him on the torso, but he was denied yet again. "So **noble** of you, to so thoroughly want to see others humiliated! You hypocrite!"

"Look who's talking," was the flat remark.

Even through physical exertion, he still smirked disdainfully. "Takes one to know one, doesn't it?" He made as if to kick, but it was caught underfoot, adding to his frustration. "You may have managed to shock these fools, but I can see what you did! Who's the worst manipulator and the bigger liar, I wonder?"

"Don't go there, Bhelen. Don't dig yourself deeper."

The gall of him, to dare make himself sound sympathetic. "I see what you did," he stepped back and readied himself again. "I'd ask what you did to Trian that he became so embarrassingly meek, as opposed to the pompous bluster bag of before," he couldn't bring himself to look at the man for some reason. "But it doesn't make much of a difference, because it's not really an improvement, so it's irrelevant." He paused, listening for movement behind him, where he knew Trian was, but he heard just the deshyrs' mutterings. "So let's go farther back, to your so-called day of command."

The atmosphere gave off the impression that it was getting colder for some reason, but Raonar didn't move at all, except for turning his head to keep him in his sight as Bhelen paced in front of him.

"You faked Trian's death and deceived me and everyone else. I suppose you expect congratulations? Sorry, but I'm interested in something else." He intended to smirk but he sneered instead, angered by the lack of visible emotional response. "Tell me, did you enjoy bringing father to tears?" There an opening! "**Did you**?" He timed his attack perfectly, but it was just as futile as before, to his growing chagrin. Nonetheless, he did not relent. "Did you enjoy seeing him on his knees?"

The stony mask began to crack and there was the faintest sensation of his stance loosening.

That was all Bhelen needed. Seeing that emotional mask crack was all he needed to again get the confirmation that he was right about everything. "You're no different from me." He attacked again, aiming for the arm, and the swords got dented further as they screeched against each other. "In the end, all you care is about proving yourself to be superior, even if it causes suffering to everyone around you!" Two more of his attacks were blocked, and the blades looked almost like saws now. "You realize what I'm getting at, don't you, **brother**!" He did his best not to let his exertion show on his face. "You realize what this means."

"..."

"You can try to persuade yourself I poisoned him all you want," there was no way he was going to let him savor his so-called victory. "But the truth is that the one who killed father was **you!**"

All motion seemed to die out once that final word was spat.

Raonar was outright scowling now, pure disapproval the only thing visible on his face. Nonetheless, so calm that look was, even then, that it made Bhelen doubt he'd actually seen that emotion seep out earlier. And that only had the effect of angering him even more. Still, it wasn't enough to cut his words off. After all, he knew he was right. He'd always been. "I wonder, this stint of yours with the self-framing, did you do it just so you could enjoy the suffering it caused to the whole city?" He lunged again, locking blades yet another time. "Did betraying everyone's belief in the 'great' Aeducan prodigy and destroying their hopes and dreams make you feel powerful? Did destroying **father** feel wonderful to you?"

Movement resumed, explosively and suddenly. Bhelen felt the muscles in his hand and arm strain as a mighty shove threw him off his feet. He fell on his side with a metal thud, his left arm under him, and the edge of his pauldron, polished as it was, sunk into his cheek deep enough to draw blood. He scrambled to his feet but didn't manage to do it gracefully at all and he backed away on pure instinct, bringing his sword up to bear, dented and jagged as it now was.

The man stepped forward once.

Bhelen scrambled back another half a meter instantly, not understanding why he reacted that way until the realization dawned on him that, until that moment, Raonar hadn't moved even an inch from his spot.

The youngest had barely a fraction of a second to parry the now dented sword that came up diagonally. "Foolish little brother." Impossibly, the weapon broke through his guard and shoved his sword-arm aside. What Bhelen felt next was his wrist and forearm rattling from a clean hit against his weapon that send tremors up his arm, even through his gauntlet. The feeling made him shut his eyes and cringe, and that was all he knew before it was knocked from his grasp and he fell on his back.

Trying to get to his feet, he rolled over, but before he could push himself up, something heavy was on his wrist, pinning it down. Glaring up, he saw his so-called 'brother' holding it underfoot. "Your grip on the situation is just as weak as the grip on your blade," he said flatly, crouching down and palming a knife. "These gauntlets don't seem to be doing much to help with that, do they? Maybe we should lose them." Cutting the leather straps, he pulled it off and tossed it away. Bhelen would have struggled, but a certain sword was rather precariously balanced on the stone floor next to his head.

He did try to clench his fist when the man moved to the other one, but he ever so slightly sunk the dagger into his elbow. "Nnggh.."The electricity that discharged from it made his whole arm go numb briefly, enough for the metal glove to come undone and be tossed away as well.

"Get up," Raonar said brusquely, walking off to where his sword had slid off. "We wouldn't want the wannabe king to look like a slithering snake for too long, would we?" He gave the sword a kick and it slid over near his hand even before he was halfway up.

Bhelen tried to look dignified as he made ready, he really did, but it worked about as well as one would expect after that 'epithet.'

"Hmph," the exile let out, brandishing his weapon in a surprisingly economical fashion. "Your stance is sloppy, just like your mentality, not to mention your inflated ego's grasp on reality."

"Spare me your mind games!" He lashed out.

"Idiot!" It was the first time Raonar outright reacted emotionally. "This is no game! Look around you! No one is buying into your ravings, but even though you stand nothing to gain from it, even though al you are accomplishing is self-destruction, you still only spout venom left and right!"

The youngest showed his disdain openly as he let his eyes wander. A tight knot twisted in his stomach when he saw the faces on many of them. The bastard of a usurper even had the nerve to look pitying. And Trian, **there** was another piece of work! With his arms crossed as he kept his distance, he somehow managed to let only some incredulousness and mild surprise project outward. He looked at the second son again, narrowing his eyes. "Don't put me in the same category as them." He wished he could block out their angry mutterings of 'traitor' and 'murderer', 'kinslayer' but, worst of all, 'fool.' How dare they call him that?

"Do I **really** have to point out that is not what I am doing?" The wannabe king clenched his jaw tight at how perfect that impression of a concerned elder the guy put up was. "Or is it that you are afraid to look everyone else in the eye?"

"Don't even think about it," he snapped. "Don't say it, brother, or I **will** start telling things like they are!"

"Hahaha!" It was obvious that the laughter wasn't heartfelt at all. "Say what like it is? That your words are empty? That you have absolutely no idea what all of this is? That you're acting like a petulant child?" Bhelen could feel his blood rushing to his temples. "That despite your bluster, you are a nothing but a hypocrite and a **coward**!" The ring of metal on metal resounded even before that word had been fully spoken. "My, and what an explosive reaction that was!"

Bhelen Aeducan was seeing red. So unfairly losing everything he'd shed sweat for and seeing that smug bastard trample his every accomplishment turned out to be the perfect recipe for disaster, but he'd be damned before he let him call him a coward when **he'd ** been the one who ran away, again and again. "**I'm** the coward?" He put everything he had in pushing forward, but the infuriating man didn't budge an inch. "Not these **fools** that only know how to follow whoever shows some nerve? Not Harrowmont who locked himself in his estate for fear of me?" He vainly tried to push forward.

"..."

The lack of reply was like fuel to the fire, as was the fact that the normally gruff and self-assured man had still not said anything for some reason. "Not **Trian** who hid from me all these months, like a worm would curl up under a rock!" Ah, the noise behind him made it clear that struck home. Good. if he was going to be executed, he'll strike back as much as he could. He won't be the only one humiliated.

Raonar minutely widened his eyes as the angry grumbling of the assembly intensified around their frantic duel, but he said nothing and, at long last, faltered and stepped back.

Good.

Bhelen seized on the moment. Whether because he thought he was going to back off or because he was just too shocked by the truth in his speech, his 'brother' lowered his weapon, so he was completely unguarded.

More than half the people in that hall gasped in shock when Bhelen Aeducan swung his sword in a horizontal arc, cutting through fabric and flesh as if it was butter and painting the floor with an impressive streak of blood. Since his sword was all dented, looking like it had teeth, the gash inflicted across Raonar's chest was quite impressive. After all, even if the clothing, cut as it was, didn't really put the wound into into view, the blood rushed out quite quickly and stained it red with acute haste. And that was all the assurance he needed to come out and say the rest. "Not **you** who didn't even dare challenge me to an Honor Proving even though that fool of a fighter was able to scare these sheep into calling you before them?"

Bhelen would have fully expected people to rush to the man's side, scrambling to dress his injury. He would have been pleased at the outcome too. Anything to shatter that implacable facade. He supposed some would consider him petty for acting like a sore loser, but it was Raonar's fault. He'd not even given him his due credit when he went to visit him in prison, so why should he do it for him now?

The shock went away easily though. The man didn't even lose his balance, even though he did have his free, left hand over the injury and had shut one eye because of the pain. Then, ever so slowly, it opened, and Bhelen felt his brain go on alert again. There was absolutely no reason for him to look so pleased, but the predatory gleam in his eye was downright scary. "Why didn't you aim for my neck?"

Bhelen Aeducan felt his blood become ice.

"It is a serious question," his brother said calmly, resting his hands one on top of the other on the sword pommel as he held the weapon like a cane in front of him. He seemed to not even feel the pain in his torso anymore, despite the cut reaching across his whole ribcage. "You had the perfect opening, so why didn't you go for the kill?"

There was a long, long silence. Even the most outspoken of deshyrs had respectfully, or warily, decided to go silent.

"What do you think, Trian?" the second son asked the eldest. The very concerned but even more stunned eldest of the Aeducan main family. "What brought this about?"

"I am afraid I... am not the best person to ask right now, brother" Trian said numbly.

Bhelen wondered if his words had a stronger effect than he expected. It was certainly a pleasant surprise if that was the case. As victories went, this wasn't a major thing, but still good under the circumstances... not that the question he'd been slammed with let him ponder on that much.

Regrettably, Trian's follow-up line, just as bewildered-sounding as before, completely obliterated his thoughts yet again and wiped his face clean of any nascent smirk. "Right now, I am still trying to wrap my mind around the fact that father predicted everything Bhelen said up to now almost word for word."

Only two people refrained from turning their heads in the man's direction fast enough to strain a muscle. One was Raonar, who just gazed at his younger brother. The other was Bhelen himself who ended up almost bowled over as he stumbled in his confused attempts to catch the sword that shock had enabled to slip out of his bare grasp. Ultimately, he failed and the blade clattered to the ground, noise louder than it should have seemed. It was only a short while later that he retrieved it and stood up, finally turning his wide eyes in the heir's direction. "Wh-what?" The reaction was more shock at learning that father had died knowing everything instead of being told his words had not surprised anyone relevant. "F-father... father was in on this?" It couldn't be. It couldn't be... Why... why would father do something like this to him? "No! No, you're bullshitting!"

"He said you'd say that too," Trian remarked.

Bhelen seethed.

"He didn't know about **all** this up until he took refuge in Harrowmont's estate, but I was with him, you know," Trian continued somberly. "During his last days."

It took an embarrassing five second for the pieces to click together. "You!" the youngest whirled and pointed at Harrowmont. "You're the one who..." He immediately regretted the slip. All things considered, it was damned obvious his estate was where Trian had spent the past several months... but then why did it take him so long to figure it out?

"I was in the room when that concubine of yours was allowed in too," Trian put in, crossing his arms and frowning. "Nice kid by the way. Lucky one, by the looks of it. After all," he didn't smirk, but the tone filled in for it, "he looks nothing like you."

Bhelen practically sputtered, though it was his other 'brother' that piped up. "For Stone's sake, Trian."

The big man inhaled deeply. "I am sorry... But you are asking for a lot, you know. Telling me not to interfere, especially since I **am** starting to understand just what you are trying to do... and I don't think it sits well with me at all."

_What the sod are they rambling about!_

"You look like you can't believe you've been so utterly fooled," the middle son's words brought his attention back.

He could only latch on to his convictions now. "Still doesn't change the fact that Trian was too afraid to come out of hiding all this time."

The dwarf in question palmed his face.

Raonar took one step towards him. "Is there no end to your delusions?" He went on the offensive this time. "You were a much better liar when I left." The blades resumed their contest.

"Why else would he hide!" he spat back, gritting his teeth from how hard it was to keep blocking those blows.

"Fool!" the swing behind that word made Bhelen stumble back. "The only reason he stayed hidden was because he knew how he'd react to everything you were doing!" Bhelen's block was swatted aside like a fly. "Because he was concerned he would snap and break your sorry neck!" The pause in the attack was only as long as it took him to find his balance again. "Because even though our laws would completely justify such an action on his part, he still didn't want to act in anger!"

"Gah!" the young prince hugged his left hand close to his chest. The bastard had struck it with the side of his sword hard enough to almost break his bones.

"Your eyes betray your every move, and the will behind your blows is **weak**," the damnable man assessed. "As is your reasoning!" He assaulted again, just ferociously enough to make it impossible for him to say anything back. "You **have** nothing of your own, you have accomplished **nothing** and yet you have the gall to presume that others cower before you?"

"Bah!" Pain in his hand be damned, he brought the sword down in a chop, no longer caring about appearances. "Maybe I haven't accomplished much yet, but it's still more than you **ever** did!" He brought the sword down again, ears dimly registering the noise of the force eating through the metal. "And I was going to accomplish more than all these others, more than you and Trian put together, if only you'd just stepped aside when you were supposed to! But now this stunt of yours has doomed Orzammar!"

"Well, isn't **that** a swollen ego. Tsk tsk tsk," he forced the deadlock apart again. "I take back what I said earlier. You're not a bad liar. You're a very good one, but the only person you lie to is yourself."

"Don't claim to know anything about me!" Bhelen charged in again, anything to make him stop spouting his rot. "Not when you yourself hid in Harrowmont's home so he could cradle you on his knee like a child!" He began to put everything he had in the fight. "Not when you do things your way without caring or knowing how the world really works! Not when you don't even know what being a king means!" He began to fight with reckless abandon, ignoring the sweat pouring down his face.

The exiled noble kept deflecting his every hit, face impassive, save for the slightest scowl.

"A king has to be ruthless!" He mentally cursed how wild his voice had grown from the exertion. _Damn his battle prowess!_ "He has to tell the assembly to snap or to shut down!" Parry, and parry again. "Neither you nor Trian, nor Harrowmont is that king!"

The two paused in a sword lock.

Then, Raonar pushed him away like he'd done so many times before, with the notable exception that he guided the hilt of his weapon upward, just fast enough to almost nick Bhelen with a punch in the face, though only the pommel of the hilt struck him. "I meditated long and hard on this day, to make sure my patience was closest to limitless as it could get, but you, brother, oh... you're amazing in your ability to wear it thin. You think the people actually love you? The 'love' of your fanatics is a cheap imitation of the reverence people had for me." Almost each blow made his bones rattle now. "You wanted power, so you resolved to steal the real heir's status." The ferocity of his onslaught left Bhelen backpedalling like crazy. "Tough you only ever wanted the attention he got due to it. And even your condescending attitude is **completely** ripped off the ass that Trian once was."

"Hey! You know I'm standing right here!" the heir apparent pointed out sourly.

The white-haired prince paused in his strikes and pressed his fingertips against his forehead before looking at him. "I used the past tense, Trian. In other words, I was practically making you a compliment. Do I really have to explain myself every time?"

"Do they have to be so backhanded?"

The exile sighed. "Are you seriously going to make this about you?"

The head Aeducan let out a deep breath. "I suppose not." He turned his eyes on the third son who, secretly, wished they'd keep talking for a bit longer to let him catch his breath. "This is about our foolish little brother and how he seems to be completely missing the point."

"Don't accuse me of missing the point!" The words left his mouth before he could think. He supposed it was the strain of the fight that made him so emotional but he sure as hell wasn't going to accept being told that by someone who was self-absorbed enough that he never even realized when people were ridiculing him. "I won't take that from you!"

"Hmph!" The elder brother grunted. "Like you have much say in the matter. Know your place, boy."

The nerve of him, to act all high and mighty. "Don't judge me! Not when you only made it this far because someone else decided to bother dragging you along!"

"Oh for the love of!" Raonar palmed his face. "Are you seriously going to keep up this infantile tantrum?" He hadn't raised his weapon back yet. "I get that truth hurts, but this is becoming embarrassing."

"Not as embarrassing as the fact that the two of you were forced to team up and still only **barely** managed to best me."

There was a pause.

"Wow..." Trian sounded honestly amazed. "Even after I so clearly said I had absolutely no idea what was happening until **after** my death was faked, you **still** haven't caught on to the fact that brother here did all this himself?" He was amazed.

Bhelen took a moment to be shocked at how easily he'd just said that. Where the sod had all his pride gone?

"I see you still need more... nudging," Raonar assessed.

"No matter what you say, I'm still right!" He willed his hand to stay on his weapon instead of rubbing the lingering pain in his face away. "I always was! But because of you-" he went on the offensive with everything he had "-father never acknowledged that. So don't think I'm just going to lie down and let you trample everything I've worked towards, you smug son of a bi-"

The next second, Bhelen and his weapon were independently airborne.

The jagged sword clattered uselessly away by the time he slammed face-first and hard against the rock, grunting at the impact, though something else stung and hurt a lot more than that. Dazed and shocked, he tried to crawl back to stand but he lost his balance and he just barely got his knees under him. He was shakily holding himself half-way up with one arm, while the other hand pressed against his right cheek which was outright burning.

He hadn't even seen it happen, but Raonar had backhanded him across the face so hard and so fast that he'd been sent flying, even if only a short distance. This was... this... this was just like... what the hell...

"Yell at me however much you want," the source of the voice was moving. "But don't insult mother, indirectly or otherwise." He kicked the worn sword his way. "Pick it up."

He did, if only because the man strode to him, weapon raised and began to rain blows on him even before he was on his feet again.

"Does your ego really have no limit?" The bastard was moving completely different from before. "You dare presume to preach like this to others? Even though you are nothing but a petty **thief**!" He drew back for a massive hit. "You dare act like the victim, even though you did all this to yourself! What the sod was father supposed to acknowledge in you if you **deliberately** acted the unassuming, incompetent third child!"

The youngest could only do his best to fight, but the staggered back and just barely avoided a fall. When he reacted again, it was almost too late and he began to try and back off on instinct. He thought the guy was fighting hard before but now Bhelen Aeducan was finally understanding that it was only now that Raonar was fighting for real. He'd lost count of how many times they'd circled the center of the assembly hall as he kept stumbling back.

The gall of it. Why was he so strong?

"You think you're clever?" He sounded really incredulous even as he kept up his humiliating barrage. "When you're really so egocentric that it took you so abysmally long to deduce that Trian had been in Harrowmont's estate all along! You were so deluded into considering yourself so above Pyral in terms of intellect that you saw him as nothing more than a traditionalistic fool! Well, the fool is you!" The side of his blade hit Bhelen's left arm and made it hurt even through the thick mail. "You didn't even suspect anything of my own maneuvers? Even after I so **blatantly** and **deliberately** dropped you so many hints?"

_Wait..._

_ Wait_ "What?"

"Wasn't it strange that I never outright said Trian was dead during our little talk?" Blow after blow he pressed him. "Wasn't it strange that I didn't demand Valos Atredum during my trial? Because it was obviously not for fear of you, as is rather obvious at this point." He 'magnanimously' gave him a breather.

Bhelen found himself lost for words during that whole reprieve, his treacherous mind looking back on those events.

"But before that, when you so thoughtfully got father to that scene, I said I'd waited near those burned corpses for **hours**, and you never even stopped to consider how massive were the implications of that!" He assaulted him again. "Wasn't it strange that I'd done that, when I could have easily not stuck around? Wasn't it strange that I'd gotten there so early in the first place?" He almost smashed his sword away. "Wasn't it odd that only Frandlin was with me, even though Baizyl was well and truly fine? Why did I send Baizyl away instead of having him there as an even more solid witness than Frandlin, knowing what you had planned, did you even ask yourself that after the day was over?"

The youngest Aeducan hissed in pain and cursed his mind when he realized he'd frozen in shock and forgotten to pay attention to his continuing beating. Again, the exile allowed him time to recover.

"And that so-called plot of yours, Stone's mercy, it was so incredibly outlandish that a five year-old could have poked holes through all of it. "You're my elder, I'll respect whatever decision you make" you said when you tried to goad me into killing Trian. If **that**'s the driving force behind your actions, isn't Trian your elder too? Makes your words a huge red flag, doesn't it? The only reason I so quickly made you think I agreed to the whole kinslaying was because I didn't want to risk bursting into laughter if I accidentally made you say something like 'Of course I'll help you kill our brother, you've **always** been there for me'."

Belatedly, Bhelen Aeducan realized he was nearly hyperventilating for reasons entirely unrelated to physical exertion.

"And just what the hell were you thinking when you sent that stupid scout spy? What was he supposed to do, start a violent confrontation when I finally ran into Trian? Just how stupid do you think soldiers are to listen to the ravings of a lunatic? And speaking of armies, how in **hell** were Frandlin and that idiot supposed to have any credibility when it came to framing me if my soldiers were **right there**, especially since Dugan, that idiot, and his ambush were so obviously not part of your initial plan?"

Despite his best efforts, Bhelen couldn't seem to catch up to what he was being rammed with.

"Do you even realize how many sodding coincidences your so-called plan actually relied on, even not counting how big the possibility was of any of your 'moles' getting killed in that expedition? Or how the chance of you actually timing your arrival properly was so absurdly infinitesimal! You speak of politics and planning, but don't you even know that **any** plan which relies on more than 2 or three things going right is **doomed to fail**! I put more effort into making that scheme work than you did!"

The exile was done waiting around, so the youngest son of the king was snapped back into the present by the very real threat of physical harm.

"Your plan was idiotic! And through your delusions, you have the nerve to act like some sort of great savior?" Each word was punctuated by more dents on the blades ad metal chips covering the floor like a tapestry. "You dare act like all this is just a **noble** sacrifice? Setting aside that all you tried to or would have destroyed does not belong to you, has your ability to lie to yourself truly reached such acuity?" He shoved him hard, never letting up, and then he smashed his sword against his, hard enough to make his bones ache a second time.

"Guh!" Bhelen struggled to keep his anger alive, to help him cope with the absurd drive behind the attacks of that monster of a man, but his emotions kept getting more conflicted the more the guy's words sounded like their father's.

"What were you going to do?" He asked, dripping with sarcasm, settling in yet another deadlock. "That town crier said some interesting things, but they were mighty distorted weren't they? Were you going to offer castless more freedoms as long as they were willing to go die in your wars? That only means that Orzammar's citizens will just have to more actively shun them, doesn't it?" He broke the contact and began to circle around him.

"It's more.." he gasped. "It's more than... than anyone here would have done!"

"It is absolutely **nothing** and you know it!"He sharply countered. "More freedoms doesn't mean more rights, doesn't it? Rights would have to be enforced! So you'd just fool them into thinking you're more fair, when in truth, save for maybe less trouble from the guards, they'd just be forced to keep doing whatever it is they've been doing for generations! How **dare** you think of exploiting someone in such a filthy manner!" He brandished his tarnished sword. "And remember how disdainful you were towards the 'outsiders' tasked with helping with Trian's mission. Oh yes," He narrowed his eyes to the limit. "You don't give a **shit** about the castless, just like you don't give a shit about Orzammar as a whole."

"Shut your mouth!" The clash of steel was like nails on a blackboard. "Stop twisting everything I tried to do, you snake!"

"But it's true. You don't give a shit about Orzammar!" He smashed through his guard. "You only see it as your own personal playground!" He swatted his weapon aside yet again. "And if you were to improve it, you'd only do it so long as you found it more interesting!" Again the damnable man slammed him aside. "And even then, it would only be your wretched illusion of what is appropriate!"

The third son couldn't find words to shout back, despite how he tried. He was out of breath and it didn't help matters that Raonar sounded more and more like their king-father with every word that left his mouth.

"What were you planning on doing? You keep painting yourself the benevolent reformer, so what was your plan? Were you going to take advantage of the Blight drawing the darkspawn on the surface to retake a Thaig or two, just to prove you were so much more competent than everyone else?" He didn't sound amused at all. "Never mind that our people are declining and we can barely hold on to just this one city! Never mind that there is no **way** we'd be able to hold onto those Thaigs once the darkspawn retreated back underground. And even if we did, we'd end up losing so many good men and women that it would never be worth it!"

"Don't! You... damn you!" Bhelen was lost for words, and it wasn't because he could barely hold his balance properly or because of the blisters and torn skin of his palms.

"Did you plan it that far?" The self-righteous exile asked derisively. "Take back a few Thaigs, maybe bully some shapers into writing a nice book and your name is known as a mighty reformer and conqueror in the annals of history, followed by incompetent fools that couldn't hold onto your glorious conquests. And once or before that was done, were you going to hire some assassins to 'narrowly fail' in their attempt on your life just so you'd have an excuse to dissolve the Assembly altogether?" His next sentence was completely flat. "I am not impressed."

There was a shriek of exasperation as the youngest prince tried to cut off his words with violence. It worked no better than before. "You would have done **nothing**! You never did anything and-"

"-and Trian would have handed Orzammar to the darkspawn with his stupidity!" Raonar finally shouted for real, cutting him off. "He was weak and you know it! As long as he was alive, no one could ever hope to actually do something worthwhile for Orzammar! And still, you kept saving his sorry hide! You were weak! You still are! You'll never be able to make the tough decisions that our city needs in order to survive!"

Bhelen's mouth was hanging open. Hearing that so clearly said out loud promptly shut down his brain. He didn't notice it, but most everyone else had been stunned into silence as well.

"At least, that's what you came down to the dungeon to spit in my face after my so-called trial," the man said evenly. "That, and what you said just now, is it what you tell yourself every night, just so you can go to sleep?" He didn't smirk, but he did look down on him. "I imagine being denied your ultimate goal for so long can't be easy on the nerves. That **is **why you hate Harrowmont too, isn't it? Along with the fact that he'd make a better king than you would."

"Why you-"

"Oh, I can see it on your face that you'd just **love** to have the power to have him executed!" He moved in again. "It's downright **pitiful** that you've come to measure the worth of your existence in the number of dead bodies and destroyed lives you leave in your wake!" Damn him for pushing him so hard that he didn't get the chance to say anything back. "I wonder, was ordering his execution going to be your first act as king? Your disdain for him really suggests that."

Barely, he was able to shout something back for once. "It wouldn't be an-any different from what you're doing now!"

"More lies, eh?" He backed off. "I suppose I'd come across as a bully if I didn't let you speak your mind. So go ahead, speak."

Bhelen stared at the man for a long while. "Why... why you..."he couldn't think of anything, and it wasn't because of how exhausted he was growing._ Say something, dammit! _He cursed his traitorous mind.

"Aye, and there we are!" The white-haired prince said grandly. "Kind of hard to keep slandering Harrowmont now that you've realized the fact that he's actually **better** at-" the noise made by two worn blades was earsplitting "-all this that you are."

"Stop spouting your garbage, Stone damn you!"

"I think not," he said calmly, smiling. "You see it too, don't you? You claimed that Harrowmont turned father against you, and that it was for that reason you despised him, but it's obvious now that reason is void. Though you exhibit a remarkable ability to lie to yourself, even you can't be **that** deluded. And still your hatred is all too apparent, and the reason is, stupid as it is, painfully obvious." The metal screeched. "That's the problem with people like you and me. The simple fact is that we can't easily believe our own bullshit. The simple fact is that the reason you hate Harrowmont so much is because he, even more than me, more than Trian, he's the living proof that you're **wrong!**"

Bhelen cried out as he vainly tried to swat his sword aside.

But there was no stopping him now. "You wormed for months, **years** to secure enough support in the Assembly to give weight to your claim to the throne," the blades, or what was left of them, clashed again, "and when father passed on, Harrowmont just piped up and matched, even eroded your support in like what? A day? Two? And he gained Houses Dace **and** Helmi, just like that, without any sort of blackmail or underhanded means, even though they used to be Aeducan's closest allies!"

"Shut up, damn you! That means nothing!"

"Why doesn't it? Because you got **these** worms to back you?" He titled his head at his supporters. "You think having these minions makes you important? You think a bloodbath like the one you were planning makes you strong?"

"I did what anyone here would have done if they'd had the guts! And regardless of what you say, this all is still more that you could ever brag about!"

"Bah! As if this is something that warrants such a thing. I'm not even going to **mention** what rumors were running around before this mess started," he sounded infuriatingly detached. "But these would-be murderers you have backing you, you don't even know what kind of mindset they use to justify everything they do, do you?"

Teeth were gnashing again.

"You **think** they're backing you because you impressed them with your resourcefulness, but that is far enough from the truth to seem downright ridiculous." He went on the offensive again. "You may have fooled some of them into coming armed by telling them Harrowmont planned the same coup as you. Some others might have done it in a desperate bid to finally end this feud. Some may have been swayed by promises of wealth, but in the end, the vast majority of them only support you because they, consciously or not, see you as nothing more than trash!"

"Bronto shit!" Bhelen sputtered as he blocked. "You're mad!"

"Hah! Maybe yes, maybe no!" The swords were getting mighty narrow near the guard. Dwarven weapons were tough, but not unbreakable. "But that doesn't change the truth in my words. I can see well that your opinion of them isn't any higher than mine! Did you never even wonder what the implications of that are? Are you so self-centered that it never even **crossed your mind** to ponder on it?"

The young prince wasn't sure what he wanted to say, but all that was heard was a growl that cut off prematurely because of the constant beatdown he was getting. Even without actually hitting him, the damnable exile was totally cleaning his clock.

"These fools revel most in seeing other people destroyed!" the weight behind his strikes increased gradually. "They would give anything to feel powerful, especially at the expense of others. Their greatest satisfaction is to see others on their knees!" He advanced like a moving mountain. "It gives them the illusion of superiority and of control! But because they are just too insignificant and **weak** to accomplish any of that personally, and because they are too rotten to get over themselves and do something productive, they look for what in their minds amounts to the next best thing!"

It was hard to breathe and harder to keep fighting, even though the sot was pulling his swings.

"They search as thoroughly as possible for the lowest, most undeserving of their cohort, and when they find him, they elevate him to the highest possible rank just as a sort of misguided revenge on the world!" He knocked Bhelen's sword out of his grasp. "They will then pick out his greatest flaws and set them on a pedestal to worship as virtues." He walked to where the sword had stopped on the ground. "And as they do, they will be on the lookout for whoever their latest project see as an enemy, or choose one for him, after which they will proceed to put everything else they have in ensuring defamation!" He kicked the weapon his way and grimly advanced yet again.

The wannabe king just barely picked it up in time to resume getting systematically thrashed, numbly listening to everything else the guy said. It wasn't so much **what** he said but the way he said it... The bastard spoke so clearly and bluntly that you couldn't help wondering if he was right even when logic screamed he wasn't... he just couldn't be...

"**That** is what stands at your back, **fool**!"

At last, their weapons smashed against each other hard enough that one of them did not take it. Shockingly, it was Raonar's sword that failed, but Bhelen was the frozen one, staring at the hilt-less blade as it fell down. So stunned he was, in fact, that before he could get a hold of his new advantage, the bastard had already caught his wrist, tender as it was from all the shocks it had suffered, in an iron grip. "NnngaH!" His wrist creaked and he couldn't keep hold of his blade either.

"Congratulations!" came the words as his worn tool of death clamped uselessly. "You have become the first among Orzammar's dregs!"

The young prince of Orzammar felt his head snap back as Raonar cleanly, directly and remorselessly punched him in the face, truly punched him for the very first time since they had been born. He didn't fall, but that turned out to be a bad thing because the next thing he knew was that the hand that was previously holding him by the wrist was now holding him firmly by the throat. The look on Raonar's face would have appeared frightening even just from the anger in those unnatural eyes. Yes, Bhelen was overtaken by real fear for the first time in that whole day. As he uselessly tried to pry the hold on his neck apart, choking on the little air he had in his lungs, he realized that he'd never, ever, **ever** seen his brother angry before.

And then, the searing glare softened. "I admired you, you know."

The assembly hall grew quiet like a tomb.

Bhelen collapsed on the ground, coughing and wheezing as the other one let go but did not step from him. He couldn't believe what he'd heard, and what came next blew his mind away completely.

"I used to think your birth was a miracle," he spoke down to him, sounding tired and sad. "I still do."

"..." _Wh... what?_

"The women of our race seldom have more than one or two children, so it was nothing short of amazing that mother actually managed to give birth to all three of us herself. Yes, I always felt like you were the miracle of our family."

_That... this... is he serious?_ The young one really had no idea how to react to that. The fact that he was still on his ass, looking up at the somber man made that clear for everyone.

But the sadness began to drown in the steel that showed itself in those bright eyes once more. "But even now, you still don't realize what you've squandered. You are still blind to the fact that you've lost **nothing** because, when you started all this, you'd already thrown away everything you had that could truly be called your own." He shook his head. "I hoped I'd find something but... I'm not sure I can help you after all..."

Bhelen Aeducan felt his blood draining from his face and he glowered at the man, getting to his feet. He'd been shocked at first but now... now... "You... you sadistic bastard! You do all this, and... and now you act like you want to **help** me? Is no amount of humiliation enough for you?"

"For the love of the Ancestors, how many times must I call you a fool before you get it?" The outburst made Bhelen finch back in spite of himself. "Where in Stone's name does me getting myself turned into a sodding **pariah** fit if all I wanted was to humiliate you! If that was all I wished, I could have just demanded an honor proving and wiped the arena floor with you back then!"

"You... you're lying!" _He's lying! it doesn't make sense, not after... _"Damn you and your mind g-"

"I'm not playing games," he said, repeating what he'd proclaimed earlier. "I don't play games with people's lives, and that includes you, whether you like it or not."

"You... you two-faced bastard!" The third prince really didn't know how else to react. "You dare say this, after you..."

"After I what? Told you to your face, from behind bars, that I found you absolutely disgusting?"

One could practically feel the weight of the atmosphere. It was one thing to expose all the rot in a high noble house in front of the entire assembly, but to do it the way Raonar had done it... And to think Trian had allowed it.

"That **is** what you can't reconcile with what I said just now, isn't it?" The way he could guess his thoughts was terrifying. "Well it's true. The you in front of me right now disgusts me!" The right hook caught Bhelen cleanly in the face, splitting his lip and showing just how affected he'd been by this latest revelation. He stumbled back but managed to keep his feet under him, for all the good it did him. The scary bastard was slowly walking in a circle after his retreating form. "Because you've utterly trampled that incredible **freedom** that you had!"

"..."

The way he paced was a clear indication of his frustration. "Trian was the firstborn, so his role had always been predetermined. He never had any choice in anything he did. Sure, he bore it with a humbling aplomb, but it bothered him sometimes and his gruff manner was the only indication of his hidden wariness. You don't have that discipline and dedication." He stopped walking a few paces in front of him. "And me, I was conceived as the spare, 'just in case' something happened to the heir. But you, you were unique. You had all our freedoms and privileges but none of the responsibilities, and you **still** aren't satisfied?"

Bhelen just felt like he had to say something. "You have no **idea** why I really did what I did!"

"Oho?" the glint in those eyes made him regret that statement even before Raonar's next words left his mouth. "There's really only one other relevant factor I haven't mentioned yet, so let me guess: you decided to believe those old rumors that father arranged uncle's death in that proving, for the sake of the throne, so you figured you'd get his approval if you did the same."

Bhelen's brain seemed to shut down again, so he almost didn't register the gasps of the surrounding deshyrs, and he grew more and more terrified by the man's absurd ability to read... was he reading his mind?

"Hmph. In the end, you put so much at risk, you hurt so many people, just because you thought it would get your some approval from daddy. Sorry for copying what you said earlier, but isn't that a bit, I don't know, pathetic? How long will it take for you to start acting your age?

The third son could only seethe impotently, his traitor of a brain unable to come up with any counter.

"And since we're on the subject, and you seem determined to metaphorically dig your own grave, let me ask you this: What if I told I knew for certain what happened back then?"

_No..._

_ No no no, it was impossible, he was bullshitting!_

_ He was lying, he had to be lying!_ "Bronto shit!"

"Why would it be? Look around, I did all this," he waved his hand to indicate their surroundings. "Is it really so incredible that I may have managed to uncover the truth about that as well?" He looked at him from under those thick eyebrows. "Or that father may have simply told me?"

"No! You're lying! Father said he'd never talked to you of it!" Yes, that surprised him a bit, so Bhelen abandoned all restrained at just yelled. "I checked everything! Every possible lead, every piece of hearsay and murmur!" He really had done it, to just show his father that he wasn't so different from him at all when the king began to really shun him. "There's no way you can know for certain what happened back then! Not after so long!"

There was a pause.

And then Raonar smiled. "Eeeeeeeexactly!"

"... What?"

"There is no **way** to know what happened then, but you **still** choose to believe father committed fratricide, don't you?" The way he just uncovered everything he sought in him was chilling. "Yet another of your delusions! Anything to justify your actions! The latest means you found to ruin everything, all the greatness that mother gave birth to!" He closed in on him so fast that there was no time to block the left hook, so the third son felt his lip split again. "You've been squandering," another punch "everything you were given" and another "without even realizing just what kind of greatness you had inside you before you murdered it all!

He was not laying off at all. "If cowardice is not the reason behind your actions, then the only other reason I can think of is **stupidity!**" He punched him again, once for each word. "Complete. And utter. **Idiocy**!" The last hit sent him to the ground. "Not being intelligent is one thing, but having it and still pulling this shit makes you the worst brand of moron there is! and you still curse your fate and try to rob other of theirs? Instead of cursing your fate, you could have embraced it. We are what the Ancestors make us, right? And even then, it's just as possible that we actually **choose** where and how we are born, as well as what we would do good in our lives, did you ever think of that?"

Bhelen looked up in shock, one hand over his aching cheekbone. He was too dazed to stand, but not enough to miss what else his brother said to him. "Bhelen's most notable trait is his ability to stay out of trouble," Raonar uttered. "Father said that once, but even he didn't realize the enormity of that statement." The young prince tried to scramble away from the terrifying presence. Fortunately, his brother didn't approach, though his words cut deep. "You could have been the **greatest** of us. Having everything you needed to turn into one of these snakes, but not doing it! You could have been a shining example for all of us, one I would have been happy to cheer for, and instead look at you now!"

... Bhelen had **not** expected that. He'd... he'd not expected it, it was completely beyond the realm of possibility but, then again, so was Raonar being alive... and Trian being alive... and the two of them **getting along** and Bhelen realized that there was just too much reality smashing into him to ignore.

The first reaction of anyone to something like this was denial, and he was way past that. The second step was anger, but he was so tired now that he passed that too. So he found that he was just confused and that his mouth, hurt as it was, spoke almost without him wanting it, in a pathetic voice that he damned himself for. "What do you **want**, damn you!"

"Ah, and there is the question of questions!" The second son clenched his fists and scowled. "I want to see you grow up!" His advance resumed. "You weren't always this snake. You were something far greater once, before you submerged yourself so deep into this cauldron full of venom." Bhelen started backing away himself, though the man kept hammering him with those unbelievable words. "I want you see you climb out of that boiling cauldron until you're no longer drowning in it! I want to see you soar so high above it that even the drops from the bubbling poison can't reach you any longer!" He stopped and showed clear frustration. "I want what any big brother wants, dammit! I want to once again have a reason to feel proud of you!"

...

_Did..._

_Did he just..._

Bhelen had stopped to stare in shock like never before. He thought he'd been shocked before, but this... this... he didn't know what this was. He didn't know how to react either, and all he could think, all his mind played again and again, like a broken record, was _dammit, dammit, damn him for saying all this!_

The next thing he knew, he was choking again, that steel left grip crushing his throat. "But I still haven't seen anything that would suggest that's still a possibility!" The rage was all too apparent and even the air simmered with it. "I got myself exiled, went through hell just to lead to this situation, where you can finally no longer run from the truth, but things are too out of hand. Spout your venom at me all you wish, I'll take it all!" The grip only got tighter as Raonar's other hand slowly came up. "But too many people have suffered over this, and will suffer if this doesn't end today."

Bhelen started to wheeze and see spots, but he didn't miss his brother's free hand forming into a fist. "I'll keep trying to knock sense into you all week, all month, all year, all my life if I must. But if you endanger anyone else, if your venom infects others, if you won't stop causing such suffering, if you **dare** make me choose between you and the rest of the city, then mark my words, you little, spoiled** brat**. Brother or no, I **will** choose the rest of the city, and no matter how self-important you carry yourself, no matter how tall you try to stand, make no mistake: I **will** crush you, **and **your minions!"

As soon as the man was finished, something dark slammed into Bhelen's foggy vision and he knew no more.

The next sensation was a strange wave filling through him, so he blinked, noticing spare motes of blue light dissipating into the air around him. Bhelen realized he was lying on the ground, prone, and it took a moment to make sense of where he was and why he was there.

The memory came all at once, which wasn't too easy on his nerves. He did notice a distinct lack of physical injuries, though he didn't feel any less tired. Struggling, he pushed himself up as well as he could.

It was just his luck that the first person he laid eyes on was Trian. A shocked-looking man but, for some reason, he appeared oddly sympathetic for an instant, short enough to make him wonder if he'd just imagined it. Upon removing his hand from the floor, he noticed it was healed. One of the mages accompanying his brother must have cast a spell on him after he blacked out.

How very 'noble' of them.

He managed to stand, making a point of not looking at anyone until he turned around to where he supposed that exiled brother of his had to be. Even then, it took a lot of effort to meet his gaze, but once he did, he just stared into those nearly colorless eyes, wondering just how much of what he'd said was the truth, if anything. Bhelen supposed he should feel humiliated at getting so completely mauled and even knocked senseless, but he was too mentally and physically exhausted for that. The clothing beneath his armor was soaked in sweat too, as was his hair and beard.

Damn, He really was a mess. "Now what?" he finally asked, thought it came back as a grumble.

"You tell us," Raonar shrugged, his composure restored as if it had never disappeared in the first place. "This doesn't have to end badly, Bhelen, but you have to back down."

"No," the answer came a lot more easily than he'd expected, but he realized there wasn't any alternative. "I... I can't... I won't... I can't... can't back down now. Not after all this." No matter what he said, he was going to die anyway. If he had to choose between braking down and holding onto his initial course while doing it, he would choose the latter, even if... even...

Damn...

_Damn him!_

_ Damn him for being so much like __**and**__ unlike father!_

_ Damn him for saying 'again'!_

Confirming that everyone else around them really was right there, and that this wasn't a horrible hallucination, Trian addressed his other brother, in a strangely somber tone. "I'm sorry, brother."

"I wonder if not being surprised by this is better than the alternative..." the returned prince of Orzammar sighed. "No surprises for me I suppose. Gorim."

"Right away, my lord," even the fighter was unbelievably subdued now, as he brought his master another sword.

the white-haired, but somewhat more ragged-looking man touched the hilt as Gorim held out the new weapon, the remains of the others being still scattered about the place, not that they would do any good. He hesitated, but slowly drew it out of its scabbard, eyes on him all the while. "If that is the case, than all this has been a complete waste of time."

So, this was finally it, was it? Fine then. Whatever. It just went to show that the man wasn't so convinced of his path. After all, since he was going to kill him, it just made him as much of a kinslayer as he was.

Bhelen blinked. Where had that thought come from?

Shaking his head, he decided to put up as solemn a face as he possibly could, since Raonar was now preparing to swing and...

And then the distinct noise of metal grinding on stone filled the area, until the blade stopped sliding on the floor against his boot. "Then pick up that sword, and cut my head off."

Nothing could be heard.

Until the third prince escaped a "What?" _What?_

Raonar shrugged. "I didn't get myself exiled just to become a kinslayer now. Besides, if this is all my actions have led to, that I did more harm than good with all this, regardless of how clever I am. So here it is. You wanted to win? Here's your chance. Pick up that weapon, and cut my head off."

This...

This was unreal.

"WHAT?" almost everyone in the assembly chamber gasped in unison.


	61. Succession Arc 4: Demolition

A/N; Apologies for taking so long. I'll do my best to bring the next one out a bit sooner. Here's hoping I don't die by falling brick in the meantime, yes?

* * *

**Chapter 58: Demolition**

"-. .-"

It was like the whole room had been reset to the state immediately after the whole assembly had finally realized what sort of crap had gone down, only the reaction was less hostile, albeit every bit as intense. If provoking a reaction was what the guy had wanted by suddenly doing and saying that, he'd gotten a reaction alright. Pretty much everyone was gawking at him, utterly stumped at how he'd just tossed the sword over and said those words.

Just like that, he'd gotten the entire assembly to reach a consensus in a single instant, even if it was on the matter of whether or not he could be serious.

Which he wasn't.

He couldn't be. There was no way anyone in their right mind would just up and throw everything away, including his life. Not after everything, and especially not after _winning._ He was planning something, he had to be, this just didn't make sense otherwise.

Not realizing that his mouth was ajar, Bhelen glanced over to whoever came into view first, expecting to find some indication on at least the Grey Wardens' faces that they saw this coming, that they were in on whatever that infuriating brother of his was doing now. Faren caught his eye first, as it happened, but, much to the third prince's mental disarray, he looked even more taken aback than he was.

Bhelen's brain allowed itself an idle moment to be surprised that it was possible. Was the world going mad? Was he? Were both?

That brief attempt at gathering himself left him realizing he'd ended up looking down at the sword at his feet. He also noticed that he wasn't feeling so exhausted anymore, which meant that the shock had lasted quite a while, long enough for him to catch his breath, before someone finally got a grip and asked what in Thedas he was thinking for the third time.

"What?" Trian asked, sounding outraged. "Are you insane? Do you actually think he won't do it?"

Bhelen distantly thought that was the exact same question he would have wanted to ask. Not that he'd actually have brought himself to speak it aloud.

"I think we're past questioning each other's sanity at this point," said the exile blandly, never moving his eyes from the thirdborn. "As for an actual answer, you do realize you can never expect my response to be reliable if I'm the one whose sanity you're questioning."

"Oh for crying out loud, can you put your riddlespeak aside for five minutes?"

"My lord, you can't really want this," Gorim said from a bit farther back on Trian's left. His voice failed miserably to hide his alarm. He even looked aghast, as if he was begging Trian to figure something out, like physical restraints or something.

"That's what I was going to say," Trian admitted. He was seething with frustration, though he'd managed to only come a few steps forward instead of walking up to the guy's face and dropping into his lecture mode as Bhelen would have expected him to. "I suppose my first question should, indeed, be if you're serious, but your brutal honesty thus far would make it obsolete to go in that direction of questioning." And he was much more level-headed too, apparently.

"As I said, if even after all this he's not going to get a grip, then everything I've done was a complete and total waste of time." Raonar was _very_ annoyed. "Retribution is, at this point, the only outcome with any degree of fairness to everyone involved."

"What the sodding wraiths is that supposed to mean? Retribution? How the hell does this count as his retribution?" It was like he was speaking precisely what Bhelen was scrambling to understand.

"Not his," he calmly answered. "Mine."

That stopped Trian short.

But not for long. "This... this is turning into a morbidly familiar situation, brother, please tell me I'm hearing this wrong."

"Can't do that, sorry," the second prince shrugged.

"But... I still don't understand! This doesn't make any sense."

"No shit on that," Faren blurted out incredulously.

"Do I really have to spell it out for everyone?" The exile practically glared at the firstborn. "Too many people suffered, even died over this attempt of mine to make him get a grip on life, but I _failed_. I may not have expected things to spiral so badly out of control, but I don't have the right to do anything less than them. At least if I'd succeeded in even the slightest measure, their sacrifices, willing or not, would have had some meaning, but apparently that is not the case. That's really all there is to say on the matter."

"The hell it is!"

_"And my grip on life is just fine,"_ Bhelen would have said, but he didn't trust his voice. To think they were talking about him as if he wasn't even there.

Trian frowned. "You do realize I'm in no way about to just stand aside and let this happen, don't you?"

"Oh, you'll have to do more that that actually." The tone was sarcastic but honest somehow. "After all, you're the one who has to make sure Bhelen isn't stripped from House Aeducan's records after this."

That promptly left the one in question gobsmacked.

And Trian boggled. "_Now_ what are you on about?"

"Just that. This'll soon be over, for better or worse. Once that is done, you'll have to make sure this entire mess gets accurately entered into all the appropriate the records. _All_ of them." Bhelen almost didn't get through the staredown. "Make sure all later generations know what kind of shit they shouldn't try to pull."

The eldest narrowed his eyes dangerously but didn't move otherwise. It was a while before he spoke again, enough that the thirdborn had enough time to recover part of his wits and realize he was likely fighting to keep his anger in check. "And why should _he_ have a better fate than yours?"

Immediately, it was obvious that was the wrong question to ask. Or the right one, depending on one's view. "Bah! Orzammar seems to have a skewed view of what is a good fate and what isn't," the exile scoffed, showing clear disdain. "How exactly is it bad to be erased from the records, in other words having your crime erased along with your name? Does it matter after you're dead? Or after you're exiled? You should have realized by now that getting erased from your family's records isn't a punishment, it's said family's way of turning a blind eye to their own idiocy. Why do you think Orzammar is such a filthy backstabber's nest?"

Quite a few deshyrs, and even some of the other people present, winced at different points in his speech.

"Look at him," Bhelen realized a bit too late that it was him he was gesturing at. "His mind can't even compute what I just said, so certain he was that he'd won when he got me exiled and supposedly forgotten. Like that was ever going to phase me." Somehow, the guy managed to stand taller than ever. "Stripping a name from Orzammar's records only manages to make our children more stupid than the previous generations. After all, if we do not consign our failures and mistakes in history, there is no way for the later generations to learn from them and not repeat them, is there?"

Predictably, there was no reply to that, and it wasn't just because of the rhetorical nature of the question. It really did seem as though no one in that chamber, save but a measly few, had ever considered the situation from that perspective.

"Since we're on the subject, lord Shaper, tell us," Raonar continued, looking at the man. "When this so-called law was set in place, did the lords of the time even think of this? Or did they deliberately institute it, convincing themselves that their notion of "shame" was something they had the right to escape so easily, regardless of the fact that it was basically _sabotage_, in other words_ treason _against our whole race?"

The high shaper started to fidget. "I... To answer that, I would have to..." Czibor was talking with a clear quaver in his voice, no longer the calm, clear tone he usually sported.

"My lord, sabotage and treason is taking things a bit... a tad bit too far!" Bandelor nervously said, possibly to give the man some thinking room.

The warden slowly locked his eyes on his. "Oh really? And when the people in this room so easily decided to convict me without a trial wasn't? After holding me in the highest regard even? Was that hypocrisy not going too far? Or the way you all pretend to be just and true just for the sake of appearances, while you plot and kill behind each other's backs? Look at what this place almost turned into." He brought his arm wide. "This is the result of so many centuries of always sweeping this sort of rot under the rug."

The steward made as if to say something else, but reconsidered.

So Raonar turned to Czibor again. "You still haven't answered my question."

The old man swallowed. "It... would take an extensive analysis of the records of the time to say... and even then there might be no answer, and some records aren't available because they were never brought from Kal-Sharok, and the records we do have don't seem to suggest that-"

"-that anything of this sort ever happened before, or that anyone ever thought of changing this inane rule." Raonar finished, with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "But let me guess, there _are_ a lot of entries about houses getting exiled, or missing entries where people would be if you looked close enough, but which would go overlooked by most people. And apparently, there is no explanation as to why those blank spots appeared, are there? Only that 'they were found unworthy' in the eyes of the ancestors."

"I... yes, that is the case..." Czibor admitted. He was frowning as well now, as if it had finally dawned on him.

"And there it is," the prince shrugged. "Each and every transgression more serious that a small theft, as long as it was made by a noble, was gleefully erased as if it had never happened. Thus, the ages passed with no lesson being taught to our descendants, except how to evade responsibility which, in turn, led to sabotage, blackmail and murder, each time the crime being erased from the records along with the one who committed it or, more often than not, the one who ended up framed instead. Truly, we dwarves are a magnificent bunch."

It was like he never ran out of things to smash everyone's beliefs with.

The warden looked at Bandelor again. "Quite the dilemma, isn't it? Either our ancestors made the law deliberately to dodge responsibility, or they just didn't bother or didn't have the brains to think of the consequences. Neither is the sort of 'insult' one should ever dare send the way of our forefathers, so everyone ignores it, despite all the damage it has been causing. Am I going too far, steward?"

"I... that is, well... What I meant was that you speak of things that happened too long ago to have a bearing on the situation at hand."

"Hah! And who says _this_ situation is the only one I am referring to?" There it was again. "You say it was too long ago? Tell it to all the blank spots that shaper scribes have to gloss over. Tell it to all the dwarves on the surface that are descendants of the ones we falsely accused and threw out. Tell it to all those who left Orzammar willingly because they were too disgusted with us! Orzammar is the only place in the world where you're likely to be killed by another dwarf. You'd think this wouldn't mean much, until you realize that the surfacers almost outnumber us, did you know that? And don't even _dare_ tell me to my face that they aren't dwarves anymore."

There were distinct murmurs among the nobles now. Bhelen even noticed Gorim looking down from the corner of his eye.

"And if you _must_ have more specific examples," the prince went on gravely "maybe I should remind you all about Garen Tethras, who was made to walk the deep roads after murdering his sister, only it was later discovered that the Carta had actually done it. Does it sound familiar?"

This time it was the Grey Wardens' turn to glance at each other in surprise.

"Oh wait," Raonar smirked mirthlessly. "You all probably don't care because House Tethras was exiled just about a year after I was born, for supposedly fixing proving matches during the tournament held in my honor on my first birthday celebration. Then again, we only know this because we remember it. The records don't mention _why_ they were exiled because Orzammar must not be 'tainted' with the shame of knowing their alleged sin, am I right lord Shaper?"

It was astounding how he could make even the most polite appellations wound so deeply. Bhelen himself felt his blood grow colder with each new thing his brother said. He knew the man had spent lots of hours reading, but the extent of his history knowledge was proving to be beyond what he expected.

"And that's not even the half of it, though I am not sure I should really go into what lies at the heart of Ortan Thaig." The Grey Wardens all looked chagrined in some measure or another. "Or maybe I should. I haven't yet decided. Oh wait," he glanced at Bandelor again. "You'll probably say it happened to long ago to matter anyway."

Bhelen stared at the man, mouth open wide. He knew, dimly, that the question was rhetorical, like so many others of his had been, but Ancestors... The way he just drew attention to so many things was bewildering. He supposed this was where he was supposed to start questioning himself, but instead he felt his ager sparking anew. For all his claims, that so-called brother of his was just so incredibly arrogant to think he could judge everyone like he was doing.

The sneer must have shown on his face, because the damnable man looked at him and grinned mirthlessly. "Ah, that look again. Getting angry are we?" He grunted. "Come now, little brother. Speak your mind. I've heard many stupid things today, one more won't be that bad."

"Tch. You pose and bluster," he grumbled. "It's a bit late to say all these things, isn't it? You boast of how loved you were before, but you never did _anything_. Why say these things now? Why didn't you speak of them before you disgraced yourself?"

"Ah, judgmental aren't we?" The nerve of him, to accuse him of judging other when he was doing it so much more thoroughly. "I suppose you would be, since you're _obviously_ so much wiser and smarter than we are."

"Don't start projecting your own arrogance on me!" Bhelen snapped. "You did nothing, _would_ have continued to..." He struggled to keep the words flowing "You just went about and didn't do anything to the people plotting behind our backs! No matter how many plots you boast about foiling, you always hid and never did anything to stop the schemers from trying again! Don't think you have the right to throw inaction accusations around now!"

"And what was I supposed to do?" he raised his voice at last, though his anger was barely visible otherwise. "Should I have just killed them?"

Bhelen found that he couldn't answer. He wanted to shout yes. He was sure many of the nobles in the room were thinking that the answer was yes but, like them, he couldn't gather the courage to say it to his face.

"I know that many thought yes just now," the exile said evenly. "And I say they are all fools."

Bhelen's words left his mouth on their own. "Well to that I say you're naive." Trian's head jerked around to stare at him in outrage. Good. At least he reacted, if not the other one. "Morals never had a place in politics. You're naive if you think that's ever going to change." The third prince noticed, with some relief, that his words had managed to stir some murmurs into the crowd again.

Finally.

Bhelen knew he'd been caught. He didn't expect to get away at this point, but if he could die while being _right _then it was still his victory, in a way. He'd been denied the right to speak during his thrashing, but if that was no longer the case, he'd say as much as he could. Serves his 'brother' right for...

Bhelen's train of thought cut off. There it was again, that predatory gleam in his eyes.

"Who said I even took morality into account?"

Every single murmur abruptly died.

Raonar snorted in apparent disbelief. "For all your assumed brilliance, you don't seem to have even the most basic understanding of cause and effect. So let me ask this more properly. Should I have just killed them? And when that awoke deep hatred into their families and made it fester over the years, causing their descendants to seek vengeance, we'd be back at square 1, wouldn't we?" He paused. "Either that, or they'd be driven to seek justice, which would lead to much the same thing. In order to prevent that cycle of revenge from continuing should I have killed their children as well? Should I have killed their children's children? Should I have _killed their entire sodding families 'just in case'!"_

Bhelen was starting to feel numb.

"Is that what YOU want to do?" Raonar asked sharply. "After gaining the crown, were you going to execute Harrowmont and his entire family? Maybe hire the carta to murder those members of his house you couldn't legally reach?" No answer came. "Ah, apologies, I forgot that doesn't apply to you, since _your_ reason would be petty jealousy."

Bhelen felt one of his molars get chipped from how tight he was gnashing his teeth together.

"So let me ask something more in-line with your supposed argument. Assuming I decided to 'get rid of the problems' so to speak." His lips came close in a thin line and his gaze was piercing. "When I first learned you were courting the assembly, should I have killed _you_ as well?"

When he was a toddler, Bhelen had been taken over to visit the grand forges. The place had a huge cauldron that filled with lava and emptied on a regular basis. He still remembered the scorching heat it gave off.

Raonar's glare burned about as much as that.

"And make no illusions, compared to all this, it would have been stupidly easy. Well?" The infuriating man pressed. "Aren't you going to answer?"

"You.." he thirdborn scrambled for something, anything. He knew he was right, he was sure... Why couldn't he find something the guy wouldn't be able to dismantle? "You could have demanded honor provings-"

"Pah!" He scoffed. "As if people wouldn't seek to get even for those as much as for everything else. Or is it that you wished I demanded duels and maybe ended up like uncle?" He waited for a while, then glanced at the sword still at Bhelen's feet. "You haven't picked up the blade. Will you get on with it? We don't have all day."

"Alright, that is enough!" Trian broke in sternly, walking over to stand in front of him. "Regardless of your reasoning, I am not going to let this madness come to pass." he turned and crossed his arms, facing Bhelen directly.

The third prince almost stepped back for some reason, even though the man was unarmed (he'd left Piotin's axe with Gorim). For all he'd mocked his elder behind closed doors, Bhelen now realized he'd never actually seen Trian so willing and ready to resort to physical violence against anyone or anything that wasn't a darkspawn or deep roads beast.

"Trian, get out of the way," the second son requested, politely but impatiently, from behind him.

"No. This has gone on long enough. If he wants to kill you, he'll have to lop my head off first." That shocked the whole assembly even more than ever. "That is, assuming I don't rip his arms off instead. You speak of the retribution you claim to deserve, but don't think I'm going to let everyone forget about _his_."

Raonar rolled his eyes. "I fail to see how wanting to give him his due conflicts with what I'm doing."

There was a pause.

Trian didn't bother speaking aloud. He just half-turned to stare.

"What?" Raonar asked, shrugging. "Really Trian, the answer to this dilemma of yours is simple. You let me finish whatever I'm doing and then you can administer punishment all you want. It's not like I'll be able to stop you." He stepped around Trian until he was in Bhelen's direct line of sight again.

The eldest almost reached out to grab Raonar but controlled himself at the last moment. "There's more to this, isn't there?"

A snort. "Captain Obvious is in the house." Bhelen was really trying to keep up, but seeing Raonar deliberately trying to antagonize Trian like this made as much sense as everything so far. "Isn't there always something more?"

Trian's reaction should have been a scowl, any sort of annoyance or rage, maybe some rougher attempt to assert control. As such, seeing his face twist in grief and his voice start to sound almost pleading was another huge shock on its own. "You don't have to throw your life away, not for this. Not after everything you managed to do."

"Hmph," the exile grunted. "Everything I managed to do? Like what? Setting the stage for things to start tumbling until Orzammar is ready to break into a civil war in the middle of the streets?"

"Oh no, I'm not about to let you start blaming yourself for this mess." Trian was as determined as Bhelen had ever seen him. "I succeeded before in making you stop thinking stupid things and, come hell or high water, I _will_ do it again."

There was some silence as the second son and everyone else processed that statement.

And then Raonar chuckled bitterly. "Ah, if _only_ it was guilt that I was feeling. If only I still could feel it." He shook his head. "No, I'm not blaming myself Trian, even though I should. But it doesn't matter. We're making little brother stand and wait around, and that's not polite."

Trian scoffed. "I _will_ resort to brute force if I must." Gorim and, for some reason, Piotin straightened up at that declaration. Faren did too, fingering his chain. "I can see well enough that you still think there might be something worthwhile in him," he pointed a finger at the third son "but I do not see it."

Bhelen gaped and stared at Trian in shock. He shouldn't have felt so betrayed, or so hurt, but dammit, those were the exact same words. The _exact_ _same words_.

At last, the first two princes were facing each other. Though none had ever said it, many people in the diamond quarter expected, for years, that Trian and Raonar would end up opposing each other in some way. And now, here it was. But the circumstances were nothing anyone could have possibly imagined. Those two were basically arguing over Bhelen. They were arguing over him and, Ancestors, that was just such a big brotherly thing to do.

The staredown was long, until Raonar spoke again. "I wonder if this is the part where I'm supposed to regret telling you to do whatever you want."

Trian didn't skip a beat. "Even if father hadn't made me swear on his deathbed to follow your lead in this," the reactions were as one would expect "I'd _still_ be interfering now. So no, you don't need to start regretting that."

"You can be remarkably pigheaded Trian, you know that?"

"So I've been told," the eldest said dryly, almost grinning for a moment. Only for a moment though. "Come on, brother, stop this. Father wouldn't have wanted you to-"

"Don't." Bhelen was shocked to see Trian bite back his words yet again. What sort of twisted world had he landed in? "That argument was one of the worst you could have summoned, Trian."

The heir groaned, almost cried out even, so exasperated he was becoming. Then again, it was admirable he'd managed to last so long without snapping. "Fine. I'm done arguing anyway! I am_ not_ letting you throw your life away and I_ will_ stop you forcibly if I must."

Raonar palmed his face. "If people knew everything I put your through, Trian, they'd be shocked to see you care about this so much."

"Put me through-" Trian sputtered, eyes wide. "You saved my life!"

"Sooooo _what!"_

No one moved, some people even refused to breathe.

"Wh..." The Aeducan leader was staring, mouth ajar. "What... What do you mean so what? This is no small matter!"

"Oh for the love of!" The second prince really glared this time. "This is no small matter, he says. Do you even hear yourself? You speak as though that's so extraordinary, for someone to actually care about their siblings enough to decide to help them out. Why in Stone's bloody name is that so shocking! What the sod is wrong with this place?"

Bhelen... had not expected that, really he hadn't, and Trian looked about as surprised (again) as he was.

"A whole damned lot, apparently."

Everyone in the assembly chamber looked at Gwen, since it was she that had uttered that. Wincing, the lady cleared her throat and focused on a certain spot on the wall.

For his part, the heir ignored her. He and the other one were still staring at one another. "Gorim, go get that sword."

"Gorim, stay where you are." The man twitched and stayed put.

"You know I can just get it myself," Trian pointed out.

"Trian, can you, for once, accept the fact that I know what I'm doing?"

"Oh, I know you know what you're doing, I just don't agree with it at all."

"I am asking you, then, please, don't interfere, just this once."

"I am afraid I will refuse to acquiesce your request."

Maybe it was because of how the situation just seemed to drag on, or how Bhelen was starting to realize that Raonar had guided that situation into this whole argument so as to throw all those things out in the open. Either way, he just couldn't stay silent. "Oh, Stone's mercy, will you two-?"

"YOU STAY OUT OF THIS!"

The thirdborn almost jumped back when two men turned, glared, pointed and shouted that at him with uncanny coordination. He barely managed to restrict his cowering episode to just a few seconds.

Everyone else in the chamber winced at the sudden explosion in volume.

"Oh bloody nugs," the exile rubbed his forehead. "We did _not_ just enact that cliche."

The third son numbly asked himself what strange turns that mind was taking now.

"Why would it be a cliche?" Trian wondered aloud. "What in the deeps have you been reading?" He stopped. "Wait, don't answer that. It doesn't matter."

"No indeed..."

"You Aeducans are mad!"

There was a deathly silence as Bhelen cringed and wondered just how stupid that deshyr had to be to blurt that out while being held at swordpoint.

Once nearly the entirety of the hall's attention was on the foolish lord, Raonar asked what should not have come as a shock but somehow did anyway. "And your point is...?" Getting no answer, he shrugged and made towards Bhelen again. "Pick that sword up."

The third prince felt himself freeze for some reason, but Trian gave him some time to think by stepping between them again. "I am not going to stand aside and just let _him_ kill you."

"Why did you emphasize that 'him' with so much disdain?"

"Because unlike you, he deserves it and worse!"

"Oh really? And who gets to decide that?" The two had walked around and practically switched positions.

"He did it himself." There really was no stopping him now. "And you give him too much credit."

"That's not something you can claim to know," it sounded as something close to a warning.

"Perhaps not," the eldest didn't back down though. "But what I _do_ know is that he never appreciated your affection, or anyone else's. What I _know_ is that he sent assassins after Harrowmont before father's body even had time to grow cold." He let that sink in for a while, sending Gorim a meaningful glance. "What I know is that he would have turned House Aeducan into a bunch of lowlife murderers." His glare fell on Piotin, who shrunk even further in shame. "What I know..." he looked at his brother again "Is that father's greatest regret was-"

"Trian!" Raonar snapped_._ "Those words will _not_ come out. Not here, not now and not from your mouth."

Bhelen finally got the confirmation that this Trian was still Trian. The way he refused to back down after being challenged was the same. "You don't even know what I was going to say."

"Oh, I can guess well enough!"

"Well apologies, but this must be said." He closed his eyes in what was supposed to be a bland shrug of resignation. "Father's greatest regret was ev-" His head snapped backwards and his body followed the motion as a tight fist sucker punched him in the left jaw, hard enough to send him, unprepared for the hit as he was, falling face-down on the floor. Bhelen gasped, along with who knows how many other people, as the head of house Aeducan crashed against the hard stone, metal ringing through the dull thud of the impact.

The third son stared at Trian's prone form, and then at his other brother, shocked out of his mind. That could not _possibly_ have been planned beforehand, or if it was, Trian definitely hadn't been let in on it. Why the sodding Stone would Raonar ever _do_ something like that? What was Trian going to say that was so horrible? And why would... why would his brother react so radically? It didn't make sense!

Barely grunting, the heir apparent began to pick himself up. Slowly, he got his bearings and climbed to his feet, not saying anything until he was back upright. His face was not visible from that angle and remained that way for a time, since the man clenched and unclenched his fists several times before turning to look at Raonar again.

The thirdborn didn't know what would happen. After having his every expectation smashed to dust or less, he was past the point where he bothered trying to predict things. Nevertheless, when Trian, didn't sneer, grumble, shout or retaliate, it was enough to throw him for another loop.

The fact that his expression became more worried that he'd ever been didn't make any sense whatsoever. "Why, why, why, _why_ are you going so far?" Worry was putting it lightly. He sounded desperate. "You don't owe him this!"

That didn't make sense. "That's right, I don't."

This behavior on either of their part didn't make sense! Trian just got punched in the face, for crying out loud, but he didn't seem to care at all! What in the deeps were they going on about? "Why, dammit? Help me understand here! How can you still want to protect him?" _Wait, what? "_Why do you care about him so much, even though even father had lost all respect for him and-"

"I am not father!" Raonar outright _yelled_.

Trian's mouth clamped shut.

Those nearly white eyes closed deliberately slowly. "I am not father," he repeated, opening them again. "And before you turn into him, maybe you should look for a different role model. You listed what you know? What _I _know is that he always knew what Bhelen was up to, because I told him, and he did _nothing_! He may as well have been encouraging him! What _I_ know is that he kept driving a wedge between us by so blatantly favoring me despite how I repeatedly told him to stop. What _I_ know is that even after that mess on my day of command, he didn't lift a finger, despite knowing I was innocent. And why? To prevent a scandal? As if me supposedly murdering you wasn't already scandal enough! What the sod kind of logic is that?"

The eldest and youngest of the Aducan princes were the ones taking their turn to be shocked this time around.

"Getting exiled was never the real plan! He was supposed to finally get a grip and do something for a change! If he had, I'd have just exposed my scheme from the start and we wouldn't have had to go through all this! It would have taken more time, but we would have worked through our problems somehow and he might have still been-" He stopped himself from continuing, though it was obvious what he was meaning to say. "He's at least as responsible for this mess as I am, and he knew it. You said yourself he knew it, and what did he do? He basically abandoned our house and the city and then, when he was nearing his end, made Harrowmont swear on his deathbed that he won't let Bhelen on the throne. Bah! Always, even then, with his attempts to assert his control! 'Hey my old friend, I don't feel like assuming responsibility, so you fix my mess!'"

Trian was panicking. "Brother, this doesn't need to-"

"Oh please," the second prince was angry. "You think that after I exposed all these people for what they are that I'm going to hesitate destroying father's image? That would hardly be fair." He narrowed his eyes. "He _may_ have made himself look like some mighty king, taking advantage of the sheer chance that made us aware that Kal-Sharok still stood. And then what did he do? Started saying how he'll gladly leave them to rot and die alone if they don't respect the rule of Orzammar? As if they needed us and our rule after surviving on their own for centuries. That logic of his again! Truly astounding, I cannot grasp it, so amazing it is."

"Brother, please stop this before-"

"Stop?" He was radiating tension even as his bitter laughter tasted like ash. "Before what? Before people think I'm insane? Too late for that. Or before they start thinking I don't care about him? Let them believe what they wish, but I won't be privy to their delusions, and if that means showing every lie for what it is, even this one, then I WILL do it. Yes, I loved father. Yes I nearly had a heart attack when I learned he was dead! But don't you talk to me about respect! The fact is that, in the end, just like Bhelen, father was nothing but a hypocrite and a _coward_ and I will NEVER become that!" The last part had only barely fallen short of being a roar. Then, he breathed in, and out, and was speaking evenly again. "I _will _die first."

"..."

Some time had passed. Bhelen wasn't sure how much exactly, but the fact that his gaping mouth had had time to dry indicated it had been a significant amount. Finally getting some of his senses back, he shut his maw and realized he didn't know what he would say to that, even if he could gather the courage to utter anything.

After a while, Trian recovered as well, somewhat. Blinking and not taking the time to notice the emotions on everyone else, he looked at the unarmored man. "How... How long have you been holding that in?"

Amazingly, Raonar's head jerked as if he was awakening from a stupor. "Pah. Some demonstration of composure that was." He grabbed the bridge of his nose. "This isn't supposed to be about me, Trian, so don't make it."

"Well it's a bit too late for that..."

"Yes, I suppose I should rectify that then," he turned on his heel and glared at Bhelen with impatience. "Pick that sword up already and let's do this."

Trian interposed himself again. Absurdly, that gave birth to a pang of gratitude that the youngest didn't have time to crush before what the heir said next instantly floored him. Maybe it was because Trian was just that determined to get his way, or because he didn't think his words through, or because he didn't care what people thought of him anymore. Or maybe he was just mad. Regardless of what caused it, his declaration fell like a scythe.

Or maybe his words were shocking because his idol had just been smashed to tiny pieces, right after he himself had been punched in the face by the one he was speaking those words to, and he still didn't seem to care. "Much as I hate to say it, your points about father are valid. I suppose what you just said was supposed to make me angry enough to leave you to your own devices? Well sorry, but it seems that I'd still sooner see Orzammar fall than you killed."

Raonar stepped back _twice_ in a surge of undisguised shock of his own.

And just like that, Trian Aeducan had managed to totally best his sibling in terms of ability to make everyone in the assembly chamber reach a consensus, even if it was in regards to whether or not he was serious.

Which he was. Trian wasn't the manipulative type. He didn't waste time on lies and he thought he was always right, so that possibility just didn't apply... except this was no longer that same pompous ass. Just what _did_ Raonar do to him, Bhelen asked himself for the nth time. Unbidden, a feeling of admiration and envy stirred just then. With the realization that his own stunts had never actually surprised Raonar in the slightest, that made Trian all the more amazing for managing such a clean hit.

Bhelen's face twisted in self-disgust. How the sod did that thought show up?

At last, the white-haired man blinked and spoke slowly. "That's... not something a king should say..."

Trian's stare remained solemn. "Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that because I value you over the rest of the city." He didn't give the impression that he was backpedalling at all. "Don't you see what you've accomplished? No one in history sacrificed as much as you did, not that I know of, and you even managed to get Frandlin and so many other people to help you without even resorting to blackmail."

"Frandlin would probably have something to say about that..."

"Actually your highness..." the one in question said. "I distinctly remember you telling me to my face that you _weren't_ going to do any of the things... he... had already done or had threatened to."

Hearing Raonar put a dent in that argument didn't come at all as a shock at this point. "You do realize that can easily qualify as reverse psychology, right?" But Bhelen still didn't know why he was so driven to make himself seem less than he obviously was.

"Well yes," the young Ivo admitted. "But that doesn't change the fact that you were honest about it."

"Exactly, _thank_ you Frandlin," Trian said sincerely, apparently gaining more confidence. The way he narrowed his eyes at his sibling like he wasn't going to accept any comments definitely suggested it anyway. "You _say_ Harrowmont is the living proof that Bhelen's being an immature brat. I assume you intend for him and father to be compared? Well, _I_ think that if there is _anyone _here that even comes close to embodying the concept of honor, then you-" he poked him on the chest "-are _it_."

That finally, and astoundingly, left the guy speechless.

And not just him...

Trian withdrew his hand and seemed to regain his calm composure of before. "All you said... it's really not just about morality is it?" He sounded so somber now. "It's practicality in its purest form. What you're saying... is that if we're all so busy plotting how to kill or harm each other, then we can't actually do anything else, can we? We can't even acknowledge everything that has been killing us off, much less do something about it. Look..." He closed his eyes and breathed in and out. "Look..." He opened them. "I understand, alright? You don't have to go so far to prove this point anymore."

It was a long, long while that Raonar spent just looking aside at the ground. That in itself was against all logic, he'd never actually done that before, not that Bhelen remembered. He was always gazing ahead or higher, never down (unless he was studying something in particular of course). Then again, no one had ever even gotten close to winning and argument with him before, if this could even be called an argument at this stage. And that wasn't even the only unprecedented reaction there.

Trian, of all people, was the first person to ever actually do that. That alone was so incredible that Gorim had utter gratitude, bordering on worship, plastered all over his face. It was awe, awe was what it was.

"That was a... really great speech, big brother," the middle son said warmly, and sadly, lifting his eyes. "It would have worked too, if proving a point really was what I was trying to do."

Gorim immediately reverted to alarm. Bhelen was surprised he even noticed it, really. He was long past the phase where he bothered searching the reactions of everyone else present for this nightmare. He'd even forgotten there even was a sword on the ground in front of him.

Trian was starting to look distraught again.

"I'm still doing this Trian," forlorn as he spoke now, he still conveyed total seriousness. "If you have any sort of respect for me, you'll stand aside. And no, this isn't emotional blackmail."

"Wh...What the hell, man!" Faren finally couldn't take staying silent anymore. "What will it take? Why are you...?" Somehow, his words broke off as though some realization dawned on him and glared aside. "Damn... Dammit, it's the same as... as before, isn't it?"

"Don't ask me why," it was Trian he was still looking at. "I've already said too much. There's no meaning in all this if Bhelen doesn't figure out for himself why I'm doing all this."

"And if he doesn't?" There was barely anything left of Trian's composure now.

"The warden looked searchingly over Bhelen for a moment before meeting Trian's gaze again and smiling, genuinely smiling.

And he didn't do or say anything else, except step away from Trian and walk towards him until he was just a couple of meters away, still smiling like there was nothing wrong in the world. "Come on, little brother. Don't turn into a statue now."

It should have been easy. It should have been easy to just crouch down, pick the sword up and just oblige him, so why? Why couldn't he move? Why did it feel like nothing but doom awaited him if he dared move even the slightest inch?

Why was that damnable monster of a man so terrifying, his mind scrambled, futilely to figure out. He just didn't get it, the same way he didn't understand how he could just... just do this, renounce everything. He had more than an impulse to think he was just mad, he wanted so _much_ to believe that, but a madman would never have been able to outsmart him so decisively.

A madman would never have gained the love and admiration of so many people. A madman would never have made the whole nation practically bow before him.

Dammit, he cursed inside. The bastard had been right. He wasn't the kind of person that could so easily believe his own bronto shit.

Trian made his inner turmoil abruptly pause. "You seriously believe you can reach him still, don't you..." He shouldn't have sounded so grim and determined, even if he was speaking to Raonar's back.

"It's not a question of faith," was the answer.

"Well, we agree on that at least."

There was a pause.

Even though the white warden flinched, he did not turn around.

So the eldest spoke again. "I hoped I wouldn't have to say this. I didn't want to burden you with knowing this as well but... if there is no other way to change your mind, then I'll bring this out in the open, right here." The second prince continued to keep Bhelen in his sight, but that didn't stop the heir, oh no. "I can tell you for a fact that he won't get whatever it is you are trying to relay. And even if he does, he won't care, because when he tried to murder the two of us wasn't the only time he crossed the line."

Raonar's eyes widened as he whirled around in emerging horror. And as he did, Bhelen's heart started to race as he began to guess what Trian was about to say.

"The fact is," Trian paced around until he could easily look at them both "that even though Bhelen didn't poison father to death, it wasn't for lack of trying."

Gorim swallowed a knot and shut his eyes.

"Wh..." White eyes looked at Trian, then at Bhelen, back and forth several times, horrified disbelief growing more and more obvious each time.

"I am unclear on the details," the man gravely admitted. "But there is, right now, in the royal palace, a woman, noble caste like you and me, lying on her deathbed after tasting food laced with that one foreign poison no one in Orzammar was ever able to find a cure for." _That_ made the second prince freeze with Bhelen in his sight. "She's been like that since a while before father left the Palace for good, kept alive by whatever the healers he hired himself were able to come up with. And how curious, Bhelen's town crier never did even sparsely mention this tidbit, not even to cast blame on Harrowmont."

Bhelen had been subject to Raonar's anger earlier. He thought he was pretty well acquainted with what rage meant for him, even though he didn't have the bruises and gashes on his body to prove it anymore, because of whatever spell had been cast on him. But now... now, ancestors, that glare was so much more terrifying than anything he'd shown before that it took all of Bhelen's will to prevent himself form bolting when he made as if to close in on him.

Somehow, the man forced himself to step _away_ from him instead, breathing a bit tight. Even that much, though, made Bhelen flinch.

"You... what..." Horrified shock is what it was. "You... you IDIOT!" He yelled. "Should I bother even asking if this is a misunderstanding? Dammit, what..." He didn't know what to say to that. "How in all hells... why... What..." That man of all people didn't know what to say. _That man_, as absurd as it sounded, had no idea what to say. "Stone dammit, you IDIOTS!" He lashed out at everyone and no one at once.

_Has he finally snapped?_ the youngest distantly wondered as he marshaled his willpower to prevent himself from ducking in fright, from reacting like so many other nobles just had. _Why did he switch to plural?_

What the eldest uttered next left a bleeding wound in the thirdborn's chest. "Now you know why father said his greatest regret was ever having fathered him."

It immediately became all too apparent that Raonar had not, in fact, been left without knowing what to say. "What the sod will it take to make you realize how senseless this all is? Damn your sodding desire for control at any cost! Does Orzammar have to come down on top of us for you to finally get a grip?" He glared daggers at the third Aeducan there. "Dammit Bhelen, why do _you_ have to be the one to...?" Rage wavered and broke in half as his gaze fell to the ground. "Stone dammit... dammit, oh Ancestors why the sod are we all so stupid...?"

Trian crept up behind the middle prince and tentatively tried to put a hand on his shoulder.

The glare he got for the idea made him quickly withdraw to a safe distance.

"Oh, that's it," Raonar strode off towards the assembly entrance. "Clearly words aren't enough here," the wardens divided into rows to let him pass. He did not even look at them, or anyone else, not the shapers, not the bewildered scribes of which only one still had the presence of mind to keep writing everything down.

He walked and stopped in front of a big pack next to the door, beside a large, round thing covered with a cloak. A sheathed sword leaned against the wall as well. Ignoring the darkened expressions on all of his followers, he got to one knee and reached into the bag, pulling... something out, wrapped tight in a cloth of some sort, covered in runes. Deftly, he began unwrapping. "I'd intended to save this for the eventuality that my words might actually matter here again," the cloth came off and slumped to the ground, revealing that whatever was inside was wrapped in another thing as well. "But I now find myself oddly... disinterested in that." Brusquely, he plucked at the... dirty bandages? that were gathered around the bundle and, with a wide flourish, shoved it outward, straight in the direction of the hall's center.

The weak wrapping easily came loose and a strong, horrid stench blasted into Bhelen's nostrils as something grimy, slimy and rotten came hurtling through the air, almost straight for him. With a sickening lurch, it hit the floor and bounced, thumped as it hurtled across the stone. The young Aeducan scrambled away and covered his mouth and nose, trying to shield himself from the smell that had already brought him close to gagging.

And then it stopped rolling, the hideous thing. An ugly, deformed head, with baleful eyes widened in death, glaring its hatred upon everything that lived. The distinct noise of people gasping was all too clear behind the prince, but he was mesmerized, locked on that view of the wretched thing, with clogged, black blood still stuck to it.

"First day, they come and catch everyone," the exile began to intone as he grabbed the hilt of the sword near the wall and drew up. "Second day, they beat us and eat some for meat." The beauty of the white, azure -rune-covered sword only made his words strike more mercilessly. "Third day, the men are all gnawed on again." He began to slowly approach the center of the hall, brandishing the blade with total precision. "Fourth day, we wait and fear for our fate. Fifth day, they return and it's another girl's turn. Sixth day, her screams we hear in our dreams. Seventh day, she grew as in her mouth they spew." At least four female deshyrs gagged at that and even the female Grey Wardens looked uncomfortable. "Eighth day, we hated as she is _violated_," he walked right next to where the head had stopped with its eyes looking up. "Ninth day, she grins and devours her kin. Now she does feast, as she's become the beast."

"Brother..." Trian looked like... Bhelen didn't know _what_ that expression on his face was. "Who... what... What is that?"

There was only disdain left on the white man's face as he refused to look at anyone except his younger brother. "Hard to recognize Laryn of House Branka after she became a darkspawn Broodmother, isn't she?"

Bhelen almost didn't hear the people fainting behind as the terrible gaze moved from him to the assembly, such as it was. "Busy as you all are killing each other, you never bothered trying to do anything to find out what the darkspawn are or where they actually come from. Well here it is! From our _women!_ After they are turned into giant wombs twice as big as those doors!" He pointed at the huge entrance with that strange sword of his.

Trian forced himself to walk around the two to look in horrified fascination on the head. The reaction was one the faces of most everyone else as well.

"Think back to when the darkspawn first hit us!" Raonar struck again, giving no quarter. "We were too busy fighting an inter-house war, so we ignored them or worse until Aeducan took that final, desperate measure and closed off the passages to the outlying thaigs. And after that, we kept abandoning parts of our empire, all the thaigs ending occupied by darkspawn. Well, here is the answer to that question you are all asking: Why are the darkspawn so many? We _became_ them, that's why! All because we are too busy killing each other to notice and because we just can't resist closing convicts in the tunnels, practically boosting their numbers each time!"

He pointed at the head with the sword as his eyes bore into the mortified Bhelen. "_THAT_ is what your way of thinking has led to!" And at the assembly again. "_THAT_ is what you have been doing!" He withdrew his sword arm. "But no matter how many times it happens, you just turn a blind eye as long as the diamond quarter is tidy and clean!" His hold on the sword switched to a reverse grip as he brought it up, pointing down right above the head. "And you get more and more rotten until the things that happen in this diamnond quarter are more disgusting than the darkspawn themselves! Well I shall abide by this no longer!"

The blade of the weapon flashed a brilliant white for an instant, proving just how unique it was. That time was all it took for the exiled prince to bring his arm down, shoving the weapon straight through the top of the head and then through the bottom and then the granite floor itself. Down it went, and down and down, screeching as dragonbone cut through bone and stone until the swordguard slammed into the tainted skull and refused to go any lower.

The noise finally gone, Bhelen warily removed his palms from his ears and opened his eyes, shut as they'd been, in time to see the youngest of his elder brothers get up from how he'd gotten to one knee. The sword was stuck deep in the stone now, the tainted, darkspawn head tightly secured underneath it. "Don't despair," Raonar mockingly urged everyone. "After the shock has passed, you all will naturally start to assume I am lying or deluded. You will spend hours looking for apparently strong arguments that this is just some random darkspawn head and that this story about Laryn and Broodmothers is just some elaborate fantasy of a madman."

Trian was petrified, Bhelen could see that well enough. He was too. Even numb he was wondering just what horrors were down there if this... this... This wasn't a lie. The bastard really didn't lie, he hadn't lied at all, had he? Even when he said those things... those things before that couldn't be true, he really believed them.

It hit him hard, then. It struck hard, the question of whether Raonar really had meant what he said about him.

"Yes, you all will want to go on as before," the white warden concluded somberly. "So then," he sent Bhelen what looked like his most casual, carefree look. The sword wasn't at Bhelen's feet anymore, after he'd jumped away from the head, so the second son helpfully went over and kicked it his way. Coincidentally, that put Bhelen right between Raonar as the sword in the stone. "Let's get this lopping my head off business done before their delusions come back, shall we?"

That, finally, snapped Trian back to his senses. "What.. wait, no way!" Shaking his mental lag away, he almost jumped in front of him, facing the thirdborn again. "Don't think I'm too shocked to act!"

"Trian, not _again_..." Patience was thin for everyone now. "I know this is basically a dream come true here, but this transformation of yours from a power-hungry, pompous ass into an adorable elder brother is really starting to creep me out."

Bhelen watched dumbstruck as Trian smiled. "You should have thought about that in advance." Yes, Bhelen watched dumbstruck as Trian spun around faster than he could keep up and shoved his fist right into Raonar's midsection.

Or at least it _would_ have been his midsection if the latter hadn't dodged to the side even before the motion was ended. "Whoa!" the huge man lost his balance momentarily as he was grabbed by the wrist and pulled onward.

"I _did_ think about it in advance," he said, covering Trian's mouth and nose with a white cloth of some kind before he could regain his feet. "Sorry brother, can't afford to fight you fairly. You might actually succeed in stopping me after all."

"Mbuh!" Whatever the white cloth was laced with clearly did something to Trian because he swayed and only weakly batted away at the hand pressing it into his face. "Ugh... no... wh-WHOA!" And just like that, he was shoved away, hard enough that it was basically a throw. Bhelen just kept on staring dumbly at Trian getting thrown right at Piotin.

Granted, Piotin and Gorim weren't _that_ far from where Raonar was, but still. "Urf!" His cousin grunted as the back of the huge dwarf smashed into his chest but he was able to get his hands under Trian's arms.

Those terrible eyes were on the third child the whole time. "Piotin, Gorim, keep the _heir_ out of this." It was definitely not a request.

Not that Piotin seemed to get it. "Cousin-" He clamped down on whatever he wanted to utter when the glare switched to him.

That done, Raonar's eyes never moved from Bhelen after that. "Pick it up," he stretched his fingers."If you're worried people might still interfere, I can have one of my mage friends put a forcefield around us." Bhelen saw Faren twitch and go into high alertness but that dark-haired elf stepped forward and held his staff upright. Like the others, though, he only continued to look on with worry, but nothing supernatural happened as far as anyone could see.

He couldn't move. His heart was beating like a drum and his breathing was fast but he couldn't move for some reason.

And that was just not going to fly. "Pick it up before I break your arms you gutless prick!"

_No_ one could see such a furious person stride, no, stomp straight for him without reacting. _The bastard!_ Bhelen's mind screamed as he crouched and fumbled for the hilt. _The sodding bastard!_ He tried to pace back but his heel caught in the darkspawn head, throwing him off balance and almost making him fall on his backside. Fortunately for his remaining dignity, he at least caught himself, but his grip on the sword was unhealthily tight. _Damn that frightening bastard!_

"Yes," came the taunts. "That's a good lad."

The smug bastard! How could he lose to someone like that?

"Nuh... no!" Trian protested, waving around weakly. Whatever Raonar had made him inhale, it had murdered his motor functions and it was obviously Piotin's merit that he wasn't sprawled over the floor now. "Damn... Gorim..." He probably couldn't see properly right now either.

The third prince risked looking at that fighter, fully expecting him to follow on that wordless request, but he only saw a sad, distraught man shaking his head.

"What..." Trian was just as confused. "Why dammit...?"

"For... the same reason why I would have been a useless witness at his trial."

Bhelen gaped at just how unreasonably loyal the man was. He stared and started to inwardly curse himself for admiring him, and for envying his brother for being able to spark such loyalty in others. Gorim, Baizyl, Harrowmont, Frandlin, even Trian and now, Piotin of all people.

Dammit, he had everything, _everything_ he ever wanted and more and he was just throwing it all away? _That ungrateful bastard! _He latched onto to that sentiment, that anger.

But he still couldn't move.

"Are you thinking of me as an ungrateful bastard yet?" the cold water feeling again. "That _is_ one of the few illusions you have left to hang onto after all." He took another step forward. "Or is it envy that it gnawing at you now. Believe what you will, that _is_ what you tend to do. But I'll tell you what others believe. I'll tell you what everyone in here believes." His voice was just short of being ridiculing.

Another molar got chipped from how hard the teeth were gnashing together. It didn't make sense. None of this made sense. His behavior didn't make sense and, much as he wished he could blame it on that, this wasn't madness either. Why? Why was he doing this? it couldn't really be some twisted way of trying to 'help' him, could it? It was bad enough that he still couldn't completely grasp how he'd been so thoroughly manipulated.

Dammit, why didn't he understand?

"That's an appropriately murderous gaze," the mockery was over and only a flat voice was left. "Go on then, think of _me_. Think of how easily I crushed your pathetic grab for power." The grip was starting to make the palm skin tear off again. "And finally, think of what everyone else thinks about you. Think of how everyone thinks that, when it comes to charisma, battle skill and even scheming, or politics as you like to call it, I am simply _better_ than you!"

_Damn him!_ he raged again and again. Even as his breathing sped up, he kept failing to understand what the man was after. Even as his hands started shaking he continued to fail to understand. Even as he tensed and tensed he kept failing to understand why he even cared about whatever it was.

Damn him.

_Damn him!_

_ Dammit!_

"Make sure you don't close your eyes," he advised, casually, all things considered. "We wouldn't want the wannabe king to seem cowardly, would we?"

It shouldn't have worked. The taunts shouldn't have worked, but they did.

They did but he still didn't move. Why couldn't he move? This was his chance to win, given on a silver platter by this naive fool, so why?

How could he still be so terrified of that monster of a man? Was feeling like you had nothing left to lose enough to make someone so scary? It didn't make sense that he'd feel like that, he had _everything_, so _why, dammit, why can't I sodding move!_

"You can't move because you don't know what choice you'd be making," he said.

Damn him!

_ Damn him for saying 'again'!_

"Choices define us after all, so here is yours," Raonar smiled. "It is time to choose, little brother. Do you want to win? Or do you want what's best for Orzammar?"

The beat of his heart was all he heard for a moment. Or was it a minute? An hour? it was hard to tell.

After that, the world began to move in slow motion around him, as he lunged himself forward, not really caring about what he was actually doing. As time seemed to slow down, even though he was looking at his brother the whole time, he still heard Trian shouting something, desperately struggling. He saw Faren from the corner of his eyes, throwing two knives at him with uncanny precision. Seeing the mage send some sort of energy ball, also at him, at the same time was a bit more unexpected, but not much so.

It figured they wouldn't actually go along with this madness. Or maybe this was still all part of the plan, Bhelen absently mused as he was about to get hit.

He didn't.

The knives bounced off an invisible wall and said forcefield shimmered into view for an instant when the mage's spell dispersed violently against it.

The surprise wasn't sufficient to make Bhelen stop, though. His body moved partially by its own volition as he closed in and aimed his blow at his brother's face

The last thing his mind did before his blow connected was take note of the fact that the guy really didn't make even the slightest attempt at self defense.

* * *

Author's Note: This following is a social psychology experiment I conducted a while ago, to see how Bhelen fanatics think. I am, of course, serious about what is written here, but keep in mind that you shouldn't take things personally. This is, after all, just a fanfiction inspired from something that is **just** a game. I deliberately chose a sarcastic tone and even posted this rant on the BSN forums. The results were, thankfully, well within my expectations.

* * *

**The Complete Explanation as to Why Bhelen Aeducan Sucks**

This must be the one thing about Dragon Age and its fan base that even comes close to annoying me. I make it a point of not allowing anything in or caused by a fictional reality to affect me emotionally in any real way, but this whole schtick with Bhelen and Harrowmont is the one thing in years that has managed to break this impassiveness record, mostly because of the incredibly undersized mental boxes that Bhelen worshippers have built around their brains and used countless times to try and bash/flame other people on the internet.

There is also the fact that the general interpretation of the whole Orzammar deal, and Harrowmont and Bhelen in particular, has become so skewed, biased and incredibly wrong on so many levels that it has started to warp people's understanding of what a worthy, real leader is.

I will be blunt and, in some places, I will even, quite deliberately, veer close to the asinine attitudes of certain forumers that are either severely deluded or frustrated (or both) and, thus, display the most ridiculous brand of arrogance one could possibly encounter in a (supposedly) human being. Of course, since I have no real experience in being a pompous ass, I might not make a very good imitation.

Let's start with Bhelen, since he's the character that got such a misaimed fandom and people somehow failed to see just how poorly written a character he is.

The Dwarven noble origin is the most grueling part. It is so filled with plot holes and deus ex machinas (diabolus ex machinas as it were) that it leaves me baffled that there aren't more people that noticed it.

For one, his attempt at playing you against Trian... is SO blatantly obvious, and that was even before he blurted "You're my elder, I'll respect whatever decision you make." Isn't Trian his elder too? THE eldest? If he's willing to see him killed because "he can really grate on the nerves" then I don't feel like trusting him that much. Not to mention "Of course I'll help you kill our brother, you've always been there for me..." The ONLY reason that can even work on the DN... is because the DN warden is given an idiot ball the size of the sun that he never even suspects Bhelen is up to something. And this is deus ex machina number one.

The second machina is immediately afterwards. The DN was just told his brother wants him dead... and he just goes to bed like nothing is up, instead of confronting him or contacting some spies, or preparing some contingencies or something. LoL. Especially with what Trian's Journal reveals.

And then comes the next day. I will skip over how the DN only finds out about his special mission right then, but Bhelen somehow knew beforehand and with enough forewarning to set up ambushes and bla bla. I will not add this to the list of machinas because it is so incredibly ridiculous that I'll just chalk it up to game mechanics and how players would have needed an exposition then anyway.

Deus ex machina number three is how, regardless of how long you take or what you want to do, you arrive at the rendezvous point EXACTLY on time for Bhelen and the rest to 'catch you in the act' whether you killed Trian or not... and that makes no sense whatsoever. Unless Bhelen is secretly a precog that knows exactly WHEN that will happen, as well ex precisely how long the battle will take (if applicable) and that his two minions don't get killed in the mission somehow, sorry, but I do NOT buy that. There's also the deus ex machina (four so far, keep counting) that had you walk over and just stay besides the corpse. Seriously, it's like the DN warden was fed idiot balls by the dozen, and I really can't see it happening after the origin opening cinematic so blatantly described you as having outmaneuvered brothers and cousins for honor and prestige (cutscene incompetence, yes, grueling isn't it?).

And let's not talk about how you can actually find Trian already murdered. Am I seriously expected to find him there and his men dead? This is a spectacular instance when game mechanics destroyed every shred of sense left in a game. That whole mission was supposed to be a military expedition. The reason you only go in the Thaig with Gorim and two others (eventually) is because of game mechanics. Normally, you're supposed to have troops with you, a whole army (Duncan asks you where your troops are when he recruits you). That whole mission is, after all, also supposed to restore access to some mines, among other things.

Trian is the eldest and has been commander for longer and has to go with the Grey Wardens and do the hardest part of the mission... meaning that he'll obviously have the largest force (hundreds maybe). So how in the sodding hell were a bunch of castless mercenaries able to murder him when he got to the rendezvous? Unless he left all his troops behind somewhere (which makes no sense, even if he does leave a few to patrol the newly accessed mines), I can't see him possibly dying.

And yet he does... and this is deus ex machina number five.

And speaking of this, with how you should also have troops with you, how exactly would your framing actually work then? Unless Bhelen somehow buys the loyalty/blackmails every possible warrior/warrior house in the city, along with whatever other nobles happen to be with you... lol.

Basically, the chances of his scheme succeeding are just incredibly small, if there even are any. All of it could go wrong in so many ways. Odd how people that love realism failed to notice this (read: deliberately overlooked something so obvious).

The only word I have for this pathetic grab for power, all of these things considered, is **moronic**.

Yes yes, here fangi... fanboys... will start coming up with their own special schemes, thinking they are ever so likely to work. Well, guess what, I do not care (and neither should others) of how good a scheme they can cook up. The fact is that Bhelen did NOT come up with anything even mildly brilliant, and the fact they **might** have a 'better' idea is no argument in the brat's favor. It's an argument against themselves, in fact, because it only shows that they **have** the brains to see how moronic Bhelen is but willfully choose to stay ignorant to the fact (it's a sad day when people deliberately choose ignorance).

Now, during the Paragon of her Kind quest line, Denek Helmi Says Bhelen is subtle as sin... but I found no evidence of this (unless you count that 'sin' is NOT subtle AT ALL in Orzammar, in which case it does make some sense).

The way Bhelen brazenly boasts in front of Harrowmont (and his own man even stupidly kills someone) when the Warden first enters Orzammar had nothing subtle about it. The way Vartag tries to cajole you into using forgeries (or insults you if you're a DN) has NOTHING subtle about it. The way Bhelen slanders Harrowmont and (possibly) the Warden in front of the Assembly has nothing subtle about it. The way Bhelen tries to smoothtalk you when you do see him screams so much of bullshit (whether he really plans to keep his word -which I do not trust- or not) that I couldn't resist gaping at how poor his act was. After also seeing his poor performance in the DN origin... sorry, but I don't buy it.

And let's not speak of how a merchant says he saw Bhelen slap his second around (true, a cut one -restored by a mod-, but still). Or, most importantly, how Bhelen almost openly tells you to kill Branka (the sodding Paragon!) if she happens to not want to support him. Bhelen is most certainly NOT subtle. Sorry boys and girls, but that's how it is.

Proof In Game: Branka, of all people, knows what Bhelen is like. She was a noble for a few months that was said to not have participated in noble life much before she ran off with her whole house... so am I really supposed to buy into the inanity that she knew what Bhelen was like while no one in his family suspected? ESPECIALLY the DN who was so blatantly described as accomplished (which, in Orzammar, practically means good at subterfuge, not just fighting)? Really? While no one in the whole CITY didn't suspect it? Sorry but... this is just too big a plot hole for me to ignore.

Proof in Game, The Sequel: Corra, the mistress of Tapsters tavern says, when a DN asks her if she 'serves' Bhelen: "I do, and he disgusts me as much as always, but at least with him you know what you're getting." So... if SHE (who couldn't have met him that often, considering how any noble is an oddity in that place, Denek Helmi being proof A) knew what the prick was like (and so blatantly implies that it's just so obvious he's a cretin and always was) and admonishes as DN for 'turning out to be such scum'... I'm supposed to believe NO ONE who lived under the SAME ROOF with him even got the inkling of what he was really like... why exactly? Sorry, plot hole is too immense, especially since Gorim could have easily learned something, being a warrior and, thus, likely a Tapsters patron himself.

As such, I also don't buy into Bhelen's apparent personality cult and all the fanatics that attack you if you work against him (Harrowmont at least has a reason to act against you. He can't really consider you a good person for allying with such murderous scum, now can he? And he genuinely DOES have Orzammar's good at heart, in his own way, unlike Bhelen "I must return to MY palace" Aeducan, who sees the city as his personal playground). Yet he has so many fanatics... Even Piotin respects him a bit too much, and that is deus ex machina number seven.

Seven deus ex machinas already (not counting how the DN's framing would not have worked with the actual army RIGHT THERE). Bhelen must be GOD! He manipulates reality to do his every whim.

Riiight...

And then there's the fact that Bhelen always says it's just a matter of time before the throne is his... even though his support is dropping (Nerav Helmi even outright says this, and yes, it's true). Is he deluded (well, yes, but do people really so easily miss this?)? The only source of his confidence is the bloody coup he's planning (and we all know how that turns out). Not to mention his 'supporters' that start that rebellion.

Seriously. I find it hard to buy into the fact that so many people so stupidly rebel against Harrowmont's rule, on Bhelen's behalf... even after revealing the incriminating papers and though Bhelen gets himself killed by so foolishly trying to stage that coup (and regardless of what you say, I will NEVER stop considering that stint idiotic, especially considering that it was made just AFTER the coronation, instead of before). And let's not forget that they tried to defy a PARAGON. Just how in the hells did his sycophants have any support against Harrowmont after that?

What's more, most of the so-called support Bhelen has is because he happened to be born an Aeducan. His sycophants are of smaller houses, weak ones. Bhelen chooses a second from one of the lowest houses just so he'd entertain the illusion he's so much stronger. Maybe you folks failed to see it, but House Helmi (which Bhelen lost, while even Trian knew they had to stay allied with it, even if it meant political marriage) and Dace (the attention the game gives them practically cements their status as high House) are allied with Harrowmont now.

Let me point something out to you. Bhelen was dragging, worming and squirming for months, even years prior to the DN origin, to get the support in the assembly, JUST so he could overcome the favor the DN had gathered without even TRYING. Then, when Endrin died, up comes Harrowmont and matches Bhelen in like, what, a day? Two? And he gets the two top houses just like that, without any preparations or dishonorable methods... And people still say Pyral is the weak one... why? Because Bhelen has no problem killing people left and right (well, via deus ex machinas)? It makes no sense.

Even logically, it takes a certain kind of 'person' to **encourage** murder, especially when the 'prince' in question has more than enough intelligence to go about things and reach his goals in much better, wiser and productive ways (or, in this case, is said to have enough brains but really doesn't). And don't start telling me that's how things are supposed to be, and that Bhelen is some personification of Orzammar after you argue that Harrowmont is that very same thing (the traditions anyone?). It boggles the mind. And anyway, considering just how stupid Bhelen's grab for power really was, I think even Machiavelli would be pulling his hair out in frustration.

Another thing. Some biased players will erroneously start saying that being good at cheating and murdering is what strength in Orzammar is synonymous with (though Bhelen fails at this, since deus ex machinas do his work for him). Well, this point kind of crumbles when you realize that both houses Helmi and Dace, besides house Harrowmont, actually are genuinely honorable, in Orzammar terms (never forget the context, people, or you'll inevitably make fools of yourselves). Aeducan is supposed to also be, but Bhelen ruins that too, nice going. You MIGHT say Dace isn't, because it focuses more on its own wellbeing, but meeting Anwer will inevitably prove this wrong. He is affronted Harrowmont would do something of the sort (use trickery).

One might say Anwer Dace has no choice but to focus on his own house's wellbeing. After all, what good would it do to try and do good to others when those others (Bhelen and his fellow glorified idiots especially) would cheat him for their own ends? Besides, Dace thrives due to its surface connections, meaning that Harrowmont probably doesn't want total isolation, since Dace isn't about to renounce its trade connections but STILL is on Pyral's side.

So players favor Bhelen because he supposedly makes a show of strength (which I haven't seen yet, beyond really stupid attempts)? Let me point out another thing to you. He stays cooped up in 'his' palace and some brands make a tunnel through the sodding ceiling in search of breaking into the palace treasury. And he's capable of taking care of the city how exactly? When the royal palace itself is so vulnerable WITH HIM IN IT?

So yeah, Bhelen is most definitely NOT a magnificent bastard. He's the motherload of all Villain Sue/Smug Snake hybrids, especially considering that he can actually become a Karma Houdini too. And say what you will, there isn't really much to make you choose him king in the game except metagaming (unless you're a DC, maybe, although he/she would have as much of a reason to feel horrified at how Rica is being used, lied to etc.). And here is the other problem.

He's the good ruler because the epilogue slide says so?

Let me make this clear. The epilogue slide with him being the good choice for a ruler... is SUCH a massive ass pull that it amazes me more people haven't called Bioware out on it yet. And the only reason it really got so many metagamers to Bhelen's side is because it says "Bhelen took Orzammar into a new age of prosperity..."

Excuse me? What? Orzammar wasn't doing badly at all. Sure, population slowly dying and all that, but that's been going on for a long time (centuries) and the one reform he makes isn't going to change that (except in Bhelen worshippers' make-believe DAO universes, maybe). Plus, the dwarves were hardly lacking in finances.

The codex talks about Orzammar's vast wealth. In the whole game, NO merchants or miners or smiths ever complain about anything except the fact that there is no king so they can't go in and out of Orzammar (and Harrowmont wants minimum dependence on the surface, not total isolation, though people will choose to believe this anyway). As for the nobles: "I will die without my favorite plum jam from the surface!" is their biggest complaint. (A female noble in the diamond quarter says this, yes). So what age of prosperity does Bhelen start exactly, when Orzammar already was prosperous?

You got it: undeserved, sugar-coated propaganda.

So let's see, Bhelen encourages trade... This much can be done in a year or two. And then what did he do for the rest of his many years of rule (which only lasted because of his contrived plot armor)? Sit on his hands? Kill people? We already know he murders all of House Harrowmont in DA2, for no reason except petty hatred. And DON'T start saying it was necessary, because we all know that's nonsense. Harrowmont openly kneels before him and declares submission... and Bhelen still has him executed, calling him the voice of dissent (and DON'T say Bhelen had a reason to worry about acting behind his back, not after we know how much dwarves prize appearances and, thus, deshyrs would have been put off by Pyral's instant submission).

To think some players still see Bhelen as the dwarven messiah and keep trying to find justification for how he is ALWAYS doing the right thing... So let's see, Bhelen causes the deaths of everyone in his own family (well, deus ex machinas do, but whatever), he murders people left and right... and he's STILL upset that his father doesn't like him? Trian's death barely phases the king, then Endrin sweeps the DN under a rug (hypocritically too, after doting on him) and, even after all this, **Bhelen** is the one with the daddy issues? Seriously? And he blames Harrowmont FOR NO REASON and kills him... under the pretense of trying to remove the voice of dissent that doesn't really exist. Right. And after he did, he murders everyone else in that house (which were possibly over a hundred or more in number, what with the house being as old as Orzammar itself) why exactly?

Because he's a petty prick that uses as justification the delusion that his father got the throne by causing his elder's death in that proving. Bhelen is the ONLY one in the game that even mentions this... and I'm supposed to believe him? I'm supposed to believe the DN, or Trian, or Piotin, never even got the inkling if it was true? This is such a major case of believing whatever justifies his own position that I really was asking myself why there wasn't an option for the Warden to just go ahead and kill one of the political candidates upon gaining an audience. Or at least punch him in the face.

Hard.

The fact Pyral was even a friend with Endrin should pretty much be enough of an argument against believing Bhelen's delusion. And DON'T tell me Pyral would be stupid enough not to notice if Endrin really had done it. He sees through Bhelen's bullshit even if the DN really DOES admit to killing Trian.

And even if Bhelen thought Endrin had killed his brother, is he really that much of a moron that he doesn't see the difference between doing that and being just fine with YOUR OWN children being murdered (and, as a bonus, by ANOTHER one of your children)? Of COURSE he's not going to like it. Of COURSE he'll never approve of you.

Really, Bhelen does what he does (and even names his son Endrin, which is downright sad) not out of some will to help Orzammar or whatnot, but because he wants some approval from daddy. What was Endrin supposed to praise again? How in HELL is Endrin supposed to acknowledge him when Bhelen WILFULLY acts the unassuming, incompetent third child? This is all so stupid on his part that it boggles the mind.

The only other so-called pro-Bhelen argument people use is that he helps the castless. Let me make this clear:

He does NOT really help the castless, at least not enough to paint him as a good choice, or even as remotely competent.

Yes, you read it right. The epilogue says he gives the brands more freedoms in exchange for military aid against darkspawn. In other words, he used the men as fodder and leaves it to Orzammar at large to decide whether they want the services of the remaining brands or not (they likely don't, and won't for a long time, with too few exceptions). Bhelen doesn't give a shit about the castless, just like he doesn't give a shit about Orzammar as a whole (and don't tell me the epilogue slides mean he does, I'll get to that).

Actually, he speaks of dust town (and how he has no leverage there) with such disdain when he sends you after Jarvia that it's quite obvious he doesn't hold them in much higher regard than Harrowmont does (and yes, I know some would start arguing he only hates Jarvia, you believe that if you want, I noticed people are getting especially good at grasping at straws when their dear, dear Bhelen is involved). It's very possible he throws the brands against the darkspawn just so he can thin their numbers (and no, you have no more counter arguments to this than I have supporting ones).

And now you'll say: But... BUT RICA! Lol. A courtesan. His LATEST companion. She's nothing more than a means to an end to him (as proven by how he never even tries to intervene on behalf of the DC before he gets arrested after Beraht is killed, nor later, so he/she is still found dead in the Carta). Lies to her face just so he can have someone to love him since his daddy wouldn't. LOL.

Even Rica knows she'll never be more than his 'concubine' (a pretty word for whore really). "They say I'm Bhelen's favorite," she says. And you do remember how Bhelen mocks a DN doing the quest "Of Noble Birth" and how he uses the word 'whore' so easily (and often), despite how he has the very same thing? And he is such an ass all the while, even though he kept complaining how he didn't like it when Trian was like that. With that level of hypocrisy, how am I supposed to believe he'll honor any pledge? How am I supposed to think he'll do any good for Orzammar? Do I have any reason to?

I saw some people actually jumping miles high and around the globe and thinking he intends to eradicate the caste system. I honestly have no idea where people get that from. He does not intend to do that at all (because he wants to stay on top no matter what is the reason I see for it). The epilogues themselves confirm that he doesn't even try to do anything about the system except the castless schtick, and I already pointed out a different interpretation than "Bhelen the murderer is such a saint, I heart him!" He never does anything beyond encourage trade (which, to an already wealthy Orzammar, isn't such a big deal), which doesn't take murdering to accomplish, nor more than a couple of years, as I said.

Conclusion? He murders people out of petty spite, or, in other words, for the lulz.

So do I really have in-game reasons to even consider picking him?

Without metagaming? None. With metagaming? Still None, because the epilogues are illogical ass pulls, as I said.

And even if, for the sake of argument, we were to say sure, they happened because Word of God says so. He is STILL considered a murderous tyrant. History is divided only because he probably killed or scared off most scholars (I wonder if he murders the Shaper of Memories too, since he's supposedly related to Harrowmont). Encouraging trade is something a king can do in a couple of years. After that, what? He dissolves the assembly and rules alone? Because of assassination attempts against him? Another case of Plot Armor. With EVERYONE (or very nearly) wanting him dead... how the hell does he make it? After how he only got there thanks to so many deus ex machinas, sorry, I am not buying it. As a real-life example, Caesar was stabbed to death long before he even got near that part, and he was actually likable AND realistically competent.

And, supposing, again for the sake of argument, that Bhelen really was mildly competent, it may very well be that he stages those assassinations just as an excuse to have yet ANOTHER bunch of people murdered (read: dissolve the assembly). Yes, there are fans who actually condone this) because they LIKE murderous rulers (for some 'obscure' reason, and they even use the word 'ruthless' because they convince themselves it sounds better, more leader-like).

That dissolving the assembly thing isn't even his idea. He's ripping off Paragon King Bemot. Add to that the fact that his 'methods' are so flawed, what can I deduce from this all?

That he is a weak idiot and he has no vision, not to mention a purpose higher than himself.

And just so we're clear: The fact that you succeed in killing off your political opponents (and Bhelen doesn't, deus ex machinas do it for him) does NOT automatically make you a good leader. It doesn't even mean you are strong. One would have to be naive to assume it does. (Bhelen only managed it because House Aeducan probably had good spies and assassins, not his merit at all, plot holes aside).

So, all these things considered, the only way people would even WANT Bhelen on the throne (provided they deliberately stay ignorant of all the plot holes I pointed out) after this is if they themselves, for some strange reason, prefer murderous brats (pardon, ruthless rulers). But even those players have one big issue that is probably the source of one of the biggest DA-related ironies.

They start off by endorsing ruthlessness, even going as far as saying it is OK, or it is the RIGHT THING for him to murder the entire House Harrowmont within a year (which, as I said, probably has dozens if not hundreds of members). They also say it is OK for him to dissolve the assembly for no justifiable reason (read: murder a whole bunch of other people) while either outright saying or subtly implying those that those don't agree with them are idiots, oh pardon, 'naive.'

They go as far as telling other people on the net "You [Insert name here] are SO naive and uneducated in those types of societies to think any OTHER sort of ruler could POSSIBLY work, I am wasting my time talking to you because I'm just so much smarter" ... and they say this in a thread that, though it had barely anything to do with Bhelen at all, they **themselves** derailed it into yet another pro-Bhelen rant (and then they even degenerate into more blunt insults and begin brazenly saying how the ones arguing for their own point are uneducated in x fields, and how they have to work to get their respect... as if the ones in question even cared about getting their respect... lol).

But this isn't the funny part. The thing is that, those very same players (and here's the irony) use that VERY SAME ruthlessness as an argument AGAINST Harrowmont if the Anvil is kept. So much for consistency. Oh noes! how DARE he be ruthless enough to put down a rebellion! And they condemn him just because they are castless, nevermind that Bhelen murders so many others and kills probably half of Orzammar's male population (or more), castless included, plus Silent Sisters, in his war against Branka if the Anvil is preserved (and don't even start to say it's all Branka's fault. Bhelen attacks because he gets offended that the Paragon -that's a living God mind you- won't **obey** him and make golems just for him. Control freak much?).

Get this into your heads: If you condone and even encourage ruthlessness, you do NOT get to weep for the castless rebellion getting quelled just because of their social standing.

I bet that if Bhelen was the one that brutally put the castless down, certain players would immediately start to find reasons to support his decision. They'd say that the brands were mostly criminals anyway, that it was their own fault for not leaving for the surface. They probably would say it really was in the best of the city to remove those that weren't productive citizens, since it helped ensure stability in the City-State and freed up another area of the city that could be built upon, etc.

At least Pyral does what he does for stability (nevermind that him saying "I want to be remembered as kind and compassionate" butts heads with him brutally putting down that riot, so yeah, nice character derailment).

Bhelen ruins everything because of petty tantrums and because he's an infantile control freak... whether he rules or not (his supporters drive Harrowmont to an early grave before he can reach a situation where he has to compromise -that's what he does- and somehow meld the old and new ways).

If THIS isn't the motherload of all pro-villain deus ex machinas, I don't know what is.

So, considering all these blatant deus ex machinas, the motherload of all plot armors, his enormous daddy issues, his big head and pretty much lack of any redeeming quality... I'm supposed to see Bhelen as a good ruler how exactly. Hmm, I find I really can't. Go figure. Amusing part? I actually discovered all this while looking for argument in his FAVOR.

On this note, if I really was capable of respecting this sort of people, I'm pretty sure Beraht would rank much higher in my eyes than Bhelen (provided I even had any shred of respect for the brat for there to be anything to compare). At least Beraht's successes really can be attributed to his own efforts.

Now for Harrowmont, who also did not escape with any sort of character consistency.

Let's see, he's the honorable guy that also happens to be a traditionalist... And here is the beginning of our problem. People always keep saying as the prime anti-Harrowmont argument that he's bad for the dwarves because he's a traditionalist. Well maybe people haven't yet realized that Bhelen isn't much of a reformer either (The throne is MIINNNE because I have the magical Aeducan bloodline!).

The OTHER major thing is that... we don't really know WHAT those traditions are besides the caste system (which isn't really that unfortunate in itself, as a base concept at least), so we can't really say they're bad, now can we? You know, if ALL those traditions really were so bad, you'd think more people would have noticed it by now, what with them having been there for so many centuries (and no, I am not talking about Bhelen's sycophants, who don't really give a rat's ass about anything besides their own self-centeredness).

The only so-called BAD thing that Harrowmont wants is more isolation, but that term was used loosely. What he really wants (at least you can see it as an interpretation) is a higher degree of self-sustenance for the city as a whole (which, considering how the surface world is going to hell if DA2 is anything to go by, might very well be a good thing, not to mention that Orzammar getting cut off from the surface would mean no more lyrium supplies for the templars, thus, a shorter mage-templar war, take **that** metagamers).

And then there's the other thing.

Harrowmont is blatantly described as being a compromiser... so OF COURSE he'd eventually try to somehow make a compromise between the old and new ways (the writers put in a nice ass pull and derailed his character completely in the epilogue slides to not let him do this, unless they killed him off). The only reason he never really manages it is because Bhelen destroys everything (one of many more ass pulls). Well, his so-called supporters do, and only because of a major dose of contrived stupidity forced upon Orzammar's populace by the writers (yes, post-mortem deus ex machina in Bhelen's favor, yay).

Harrowmont tries to gain some stability before he can do anything, which is actually pertinent... and he fails only because of those worms mentioned above. This doesn't make him weak. It doesn't matter how strong someone is when half of the city you're trying to protect is out for your blood (of course, Bhelen fangi... fanboys... will totally disagree with this, because they are so much more intelligent and educated than I am). Honestly, considering that House Harrowmont is as old as Orzammar itself, I actually find it admirable that they actually are honorable. It takes a special kind of strength to try and steer Orzammar in that direction. I'll always be all for a higher level of thinking. Of course, Bhelen ruins it. Nice way to break it villain.

Here everyone will go: BUT THE TRADITIONS ARE BAD! I mean, the CASTLESS! Right, it's amazing how many people weep for their fate even though what Bhelen does to them isn't that much better (I elaborated, yes). And besides, considering that Harrowmont's position on the castless is really the ONLY thing that people dislike about him, the solution is simple. All a Warden has to do is extract a promise from him to improve their lot of life, something a compromiser like him may very well consent to, given enough Warden coercion, and he doesn't even have to reveal this until after the coronation, so he won't have to worry about losing support of traditionalists either (the game ever so conveniently refused to allow for this).

And please don't start saying you can't trust him to keep his word. He does. He's a man of his word, and anyone who thinks Bhelen is more trustworthy is painfully naive, metagaming or no.

A lot of things were made impossible by hardcoding. For instance, a DN could have very well asked Caridin or Branka to use the Anvil and create a writ that would decree his innocence and practically make him Aeducan House Head (and, thus, first in line for King, take that Bhelen.) And don't start saying this possibly happening is make-believe, not after you say "Getting a Paragon's endorsement is like Jesus himself coming down from the heavens" in your pro-Bhelen rants.

Another thing people use to say Harrowmont is weak is the fact that he's actually frank with you, as well he should be. He says he will bring the wardens' request before the assembly. Bhelen says he'll definitely give you troops and rants about unity and the fulcrum of true evil. Really? Am I supposed to believe that guy? Sorry but... I don't. I find it hard to think that, a day after his coronation, he'll have everyone wrapped around his little finger, especially with how he'd actually been losing support when the Warden gets there (elaborated above).

Proof in Game that he's bullshitting: He can't do jack about those two noble houses that refuse to send troops to Redcliffe.

Plus, I can't really trust him after his second used me/tried to use me to pass on some forgeries.

So... the only reason people would have to NOT pick Harrowmont... is his stance on the castless. And as I said, extracting a promise that he'll improve their lot is more than enough for any Warden to support him (well, except those that LIKE murderers as kings, in which case I am sorry they feel that way, and I am even more sorry for Orzammar).

As for the Anvil being preserved.

Harrowmont uses it to quell a rebellion by the castless... And yes, people weep for the brands. I don't dispute this was an unfortunate outcome, and I do not endorse it, but think about things like this: that rebellion may have just been instigated by Bhelen's leftover supporters. So... Bhelen again destroys everything. Amazing how he gets deus ex machinas even after he's long dead (I know, I know, no arguments to support this but, then again, there are no counter-arguments either).

And what does Bhelen do? He goes to war against Branka... and probably gets about half of Orzammar's men killed (or more) before he gives up, including castless and, either way, a greater loss, as I already outlined above.

And now you'll say: But but! With Harrowmont, Branka raids the surface and gets the humans to collapse the entrance! (I'll set aside how I really am having trouble picturing anything that could really block that insanely large entrance to Orzammar on TOP of the mountain). What, pray tell, says this won't happen after Bhelen gives up on the war against her? Nothing. It could very well just be a delay, nothing more, especially with Orzammar's armies depleted (so he won't be able to stop her, even if the surface demands it of him).

And don't even TRY to use the boon argument. Setting aside the fact that Harrowmont denying them entry (even with how a DN warden, provided he lives, is OBVIOUSLY going to go along, or at least send word) is yet another ass pull ex machina in Bhelen's favor, the fact is that, with Bhelen, the darkspawn are pushed back to the dead trenches, but it is NOT his merit. It is the DN's, nothing more. Without that aid, Bhelen doesn't really do much for Orzammar besides twiddling his thumbs and murdering people (that's HARDLY good for the city of course, since it only ensures that the brutal politics continue and things might just get even MORE hectic after he dies, if he would even live long enough without his grueling plot armor).

Basically, the writers sugar-coated Bhelen's epilogue slides and made Harrowmont's sound worse for some obscure reason. The epilogue slides were a poor attempt at a twist ending that I can't really see justification for. It isn't even the first time this happens to Bioware games actually. There's a reason the word 'gaidered' (gaiderd, gaider'd) is used on some boards on the net (not trying to offend anyone, David Gaider least of all -I'm not sure it even was him that wrote the dwarf part of the game-, or to say ALL the twist endings in their company history were so poorly done, but THIS one is, as I see it). Considering all the deus ex machinas I described above, and all the plot holes, I can only see two reasons for all of this.

One: Poor writing, in which case Bioware has my sympathies for not being given enough development time to come up with something at least remotely viable.

Two: It was done deliberately by the writers to screw with gamers' heads, in which case it really is a sad thing that it worked so well.

All in all, Bhelen's praise is seriously overblown. I honestly can't find any redeeming qualities and the deus ex machinas he got helped by make it impossible for me to take the epilogue slides seriously, or his fanatics for that matter.

I KNOW this is just my opinion (and I don't expect you all to share it). I know I may have sounded a bit too aggressive, but that's just because I deliberately chose, here and there, to imitate the manner of some of the more pompous users I met on forums (or one of them). And I didn't even get close to their level of arrogance (and this is objectively speaking).

And yes, I know I'll probably get flamed for seeing things this way, but I hardly care.

And now comes the moment for a confession: This story of mine is not just meant as an exercise, or to sate my thirst for relaying fictional events, nor just for its kathartic effect. The truth is that it is also an experiment.

Yes, I am using all of you, my dear readers, as test subjects.

Oh, don't look at your monitors like that. Is this really unexpected from a person who cooked up someone as weird as the protagonist of this story?

Basically, I deliberately threw in some major things that can very well be seen as plot holes and/or deus ex machinas, to see if people really do tend to favor characters who, by today's laws, would either be thrown in prison or institutionalized (while immediately branding competent and morally upright characters as Sues right off the bat).

One of the machinas is Bhelen somehow getting all those nobles poisoned after the Queen's death without anyone tracking it back to him... even though he wasn't even 17 at the time, had no connections, no experience and definitely could not have really known who the poisoners were.

The second plot hole I put in (and this is major) is how Trian's army had so many traitors (which is a massive machina in and of itself) **AND** no one noticed (so you could say there are two of them here), waaay back in chapter 4... which really doesn't make much sense beyond "all houses follow their own customs so they just handwaved the odd getup." No one noticed anything odd. Trian didn't, the sodding KING didn't, the honorable/loyal soldiers/lords in Trian's contingent didn't. So how were so many castless mercenaries there? I know Lord Anwer Dace had mercs with him in the Aeducan Thaig in the game, but this is still too big a stretch.

The third plot hole is Dugan Lantena setting up that ambush on such short notice, without any reports of odd activity in the deep roads (or around the entrance to the tunnels) or anything else, just because Bhelen said so (and there is no explanation as to how the prick even got that message to him after learning of Raonar's intention to save Trian again).

None of these three things make sense. I MIGHT eventually use some fridge logic and retcons to have them be less grueling, but they are still classifiable as deus ex machinas.

And yet, NO ONE called me out on these three things, not even once, though there was no shortage of accusations of Sue-ism towards the protagonist, all because he dares to be both competent and sane (in-story jokes about insanity aside). Even people that repeatedly boasted about being very concerned with realism didn't say anything about these pro-Bhelen deus ex machinas. Why? Because it was Bhelen who supposedly made them all happen, and we all know the universe itself bends to kiss his rear.

Right.

On the flip side, I WAS told there were plot holes the size of Jupiter... in a story that doesn't even exist. Smooth, really smooth.

It really is sad that people so easily ignore plot holes when it means they can continue worshipping a poorly-written Villain Sue like Bhelen, obsession with realism on their part or not. Well sorry, but I definitely won't shy away from noticing them all. It already grates me enough that I actually had to make him competent in this fanfiction, unlike his canon self. Yes, I had to upgrade him in order to have this tale make sense. Ironic, isn't it?

On that note, you can now be sure this whole tale is not a self-insert,and that this dwarven noble is not an author surrogate, because, unlike me, Raonar actually wants to redeem him. Good luck to him with that I guess. I'll just keep narrating.


	62. Succession Arc 5: Reconstruction

A/N: I wasn't originally planning to take so long with this, but I'm glad I did because I was able to address a concern someone raised in one of the more recent reviews.

Let's see how this goes then, shall we?

* * *

**Chapter 59: Reconstruction**

"-. .-"

The corridor looked especially foreboding that day. Bhelen knew it was just his imagination but, for some reason, walking down that hallway was getting more and more difficult every time he did it. Day after day it seemed the air was thicker and heavier, like it was telling him how unwelcome he was.

He hated this part of the palace. He hated how his father had made sure Raonar's quarters remained exactly as they were the day he was convicted. He hated it more for not being more out of the way. While a somewhat peripheral section, the place was practically a big, royal suite, easy to reach from the main hallways, albeit at the far end of a rather long passage.

Though he was loathe to admit it, there'd always been a faint feeing of unease whenever he made the trip to his brother's rooms -his _former_ rooms, he corrected himself. He lost count long ago of the many means he'd come up with to make sure he ended up having to go that way as rarely as possible. He was sure it wasn't fear, of course. There was just something about that brother of his that always unnerved him.

He hoped the feeling would go away once the guy was out of the picture, but it hadn't. It definitely didn't help that his father had taken to going and just spending time in that room increasingly often. One might use hyperbole and say the king had basically moved into the place, save for when he was asleep, which happened less and less too.

These days, his father spent nearly his every waking moment there, just... standing and looking around. Staring at this or that. It had been a gradual process, but he'd shut himself off from most everyone. Even today, on the first day of 9:31 Dragon, he stayed holed up in there, nevermind that there were special events, festivities and other New Year matters that needed their King to be there. Nevermind that Bhelen had spoken of everything and gotten just an inconclusive grunt for his effort. His father kept ignoring him, even more than he used to. He was too busy brooding over things and wasting hours upon hours in that chamber all the time.

It was absurd.

Bhelen had hoped the start of a new year would be enough of a reason to get him out of there. It hadn't. Thus, the Aeducan heir had been forced to endure strange glances and stares and hearing muffled chatter during the high gathering. The king would have normally stepped up on a podium and given a speech, among other things, but this time the assembly steward had to fill in that role. All the while Bhelen had kept his place in the great plaza, pretending not to know everyone was eyeing him strangely when they thought he wasn't paying attention.

He'd considered stepping up himself and saying a few words about why and how the king was doing, but he couldn't even come close to bringing himself to do it. He just spent the whole event in silence, wishing it were over so he could leave as soon as possible, and when he failed to escape the duplicitous inquiries of 'considerate' noblemen and women, he wore an appropriately saddened expression when he had to 'explain' how his king-father hadn't felt well enough to attend the event. A couple of deshyrs even had the gall to try and retain him, getting a kick out of his embarrassment by only just veiling their enjoyment in acting like they were concerned.

He wondered why Harrowmont didn't try the same. Bhelen couldn't see why he would miss out on such a great opportunity to rub things in. Maybe he was afraid of him? At least there was that.

He paused when he reached the door. He always did for some reason. He mentally cursed his hesitation and was thankful there weren't guards around to see him. The king had long ago given an order to not station any men in that area, except at the entrance to the hallway. That basically meant there was no one within a hundred feet from the room most of the time.

In other words, his king-father could pretend he was alone and no one knew what he was doing, at least at first. Not anymore though. With how much time he wasted there now, everyone in the palace had drawn the same conclusions. Bhelen hadn't missed how a lot of the previous royal guard had 'requested' to be reassigned elsewhere or how almost everyone of the servants avoided looking him in the eye.

Not for the first time, he swallowed a bitter taste in his mouth, smoothed his clothing and pushed the door open. This had to stop. Didn't father see how badly this all reflected on him?

As always, he was in Raonar's bedroom, near the wall on the left, with his back turned to the door. He seemed to be wearing the garments he might have used when going outside. He was looking down on that crystal Orzammar sculpture the queen had made long ago. As usual, he didn't react to the new arrival, even though everyone had orders to not disturb him for anything. Well, except for that damnable Harrowmont.

It galled him. To think he, the king's son and heir of the Aeducan throne, would be placed on the same level as any random servant while that old fool had every right to go in and out of there as he pleased.

He wasn't going to take it any longer. It was bad enough before, but he'd had it. This last episode put Bhelen through one of the biggest embarrassments in his life and was the last straw.

"Well, the main event is over," he didn't quite succeed in eliminating the heat in his tone. "Bandelor ended up giving the speech in your stead. Managed to almost put the crowd to sleep."

No answer. Leaning with both arms on the side-table, he kept staring down at that thing. The prince couldn't tell just how much of that was because of failing health and how much was from sheer fatigue.

"You know, quite a few people asked about you." He didn't bother trying to mask his apprehension. If his father could stand there and ignore him, he could have managed a day out in public. "They were very interested in what their king saw as more important than ushering in the new year for his people."

That worked about as well as one would expect, as in, not at all. The king was again proving to be quite adept at the art of ignoring him. It was outrageous. Even now, with those two gone for months, Bhelen still got the same from his father. Well, perhaps not the same. This was a more active sort of ignoring instead of the one before, when he at least had the excuse of Raonar being so 'amazing' and Trian taking up so much of his time acting like he was important.

He didn't know which was worse.

"I had to 'explain' you weren't feeling well." He was growing angry now. "Made some lords worried. Or at least that's what they tried to pass themselves as."

No reaction.

"I'm not going to leave until you say something." He tried to remove emotion from his voice but it still came out as a sort of warning.

At last, the old man reacted, but he still kept silent. He just shook his head, not turning around.

"Fine then!" he threw his arms up. "Stay holed up in here and _hide_." A twitch. "It's a really great example by the way. Makes our house look great and strong indeed. Should I even bother pointing out this isn't good for your health? Or did you stop caring, thinking it can't really get much worse?"

"Like you would be upset over it,' Endrin snorted. "Though I suppose that kind of hypocrisy never made you uncomfortable before," the king finally said blandly.

"I learned from the best," Bhelen drawled.

"I gave orders that I am not to be disturbed," Endrin uttered flatly.

"I'm not some servant you can just order about." Bhelen blurted. That... had come out on its own. It was what he'd wanted to tell Trian for years but he'd ended up letting it out here instead. Strangely, though, he didn't regret it at all.

"Pah!" Endrin scoffed, though he didn't turn around. "And here you were saying how I was your king. So much for obeying your monarch."

"That's just half of what you should be." This time, Bhelen was glad to see him keep silent. It meant that had struck home. "But then I guess I shouldn't be surprised," he went on, sarcastically. "You never really acted like a father towards anyone but-"

"Keep silent."

"No." Damned well he wasn't going to back down this time. "Not until this stops. You're damaging House Aeducan's standing with this. How long are you going to just loiter in here, doing _nothing."_

"Hmph!" Still he didn't turn around. "By that you mean to say I am damaging _your_ reputation? Cry me a river. Whatever standing you 'enjoy' is only there because there aren't others more deserving to take it away."

"You know, setting aside how he was stripped from the records, he's not even the only son you lost." Like he loved to be reminded of how they always got the better end of the deal, without really deserving it. "Not that I can't see how you barely even care about Trian, what with you spending every waking hour in here."

Endrin shook his head again.

"Right, keep shaking your head. You know I'm right, I've always been. The difference is that now you can't gloss over what I say and do anymore." His heart drummed harder and harder as rage boiled. "Whether you like it or not, unlike me, Trian and Raonar are dead. They're _gone!_"

"You would know well, wouldn't you?"

"So would you."

There was a heavy silence.

Bhelen wished that hourglass wall wasn't coursing with lyrium sand. The light glistening from it all over the place seemed to undermine his efforts to get a more intense reaction from the old king.

Nevertheless, if he wanted everything on the table, where they could both see it, he could oblige. It was high time the old man admitted he wasn't so different at all. "_You_ were the one who washed his hands of everything and let him be convicted." He began walking towards him. This wasn't something he could pretend not to hear because of his false hearing problems. "And now, after everything you did, you have the nerve to act all broken up? And you called _me_ a hypocrite."

"..."

"This isn't even about your supposed 'love' for him is it?" he stopped a couple of paces behind the man. "You're just nursing your wounded pride after having been proven wrong." Endrin moved away from him, towards the shimmering wall. "You were SO certain he was the best of us three, and then you found out he wasn't. I wonder, are you more disappointed in him or yourself for that?"

"Get out."

"No."

Endrin closed his fists but didn't otherwise move.

"It's high time you figured out that you're not fooling me." He was almost behind his father now. It was strange, really. The man never used to show his back to anyone without someone there to make sure he didn't get stabbed. "After all, you actively contributed to the dissension in our family. You knew those two would end up opposing each other at some point, but that wasn't an issue as long as Raonar won, was it?"

"Do not speak of them."

"Why? Because neither of them actually came out on top in the end?"

"You never did heed any warnings..."

"About what?" Talking to his back was annoying but not enough to stop him. Not even close, especially since his warnings were hollow. The man could barely stand as it was, and it was his own fault for letting his health go so far downhill. "You never actually do anything these days, do you? That's what we've just established."

"So I suppose that's why you expect my respect?" Endrin let out a gruff laugh this time. "Because you did act, and murdered them both?"

"It was no different from what you did."

That _had_ to have hit hard, but the old man deserved it. How dare he pretend to grieve after all he'd done? "I wonder, is that why you favored him for so long? Because he was a second child like you? Don't think I haven't figured out you became king in the first place. And since we're on the subject, how did it feel, persuading your brother to fight that proving against an already convicted murderer? How hard was it to get the poison to that criminal? Was it vindicating when-"

The next instant, Bhelen was airborne.

He smashed against the hard, stone floor, gasping and disoriented. The entire right side of his face felt like it was on fire and it was some groans later that he realized what a mistake it has been to assume he king had lost all his strength during the past few months. It turned out this was definitely not someone who couldn't retaliate if he meant to.

"You i-... insolent, immature child," there was clear difficulty in keeping the words flowing. The riposte had taken a lot out of the old man.

Rolling face-up and pressing a palm against his face, Bhelen looked up at his father, more shocked than he would have liked. The glare he saw was enough to make him back away as he scrambled to his feet, still reeling from the unexpected and astonishingly fast backhand.

"So _that_ was it?" Endrin was either disgusted or astounded. Or both. "You actually... presume to use _my_ supposed actions as justification for what you've done? Know you place, _boy_!" Endrin showed that he was still very much the King of Orzammar. The look on his face and the edge in his voice made Bhelen back away another time.

The remaining Aeducan prince regretted not closing the door after he came in. The king's voice carried very far.

Endrin took a step forward, so Bhelen stepped back once more. "Do your delusions really run so deep? Do you think _you_ can know what happened so long ago? _Before you'd even been born?"_ This was the first time he actually witnessed Endrin shout like this. "What other absurdity did convince yourself of? That you're like the youngest of Orzammar's founders? The one who was made king because he was the wisest?

Barely forcing his hand away from his burning cheek, Bhelen opened his mouth too late.

"You actually believe it, don't you? You think this is one of your make-believe fantasies where you're the only competent one and, for everyone else, failure is the only option. No wonder all those pieces of garbage support you," the king was outright disgusted. "They probably consider you their kin by now."

No, this couldn't go like this. Forcing the hurt from his mind, he latched on to what he'd himself accused the old man of. "So what? You deny it?"

"Oh no," Endrin seethed. "Why would I do that? You'd just convince yourself that I'm lying so I won't waste my breath."

"So you admit it!"

"Bah! Fool, you are lost!" Endrin outright yelled. "No, I do not admit it and I do not deny it. You just go ahead and believe whatever you want. Raonar said it well, you know. Doubt is what you deserve! Maybe some sleepless nights will do you good." He looked at him at length. "No, they probably won't."

"They definitely don't seem to be helping YOU any!" Bhelen snapped. His emotional equilibrium was a thing of the past at this stage. "Look at yourself! Spending so much time in here, hoping you'd find some proof that you weren't wrong all along! That Raonar wasn't just talk! Well here's some news, he was nothing special and neither was Trian!"

"And I suppose you are?"

"Facts speak for themselves! You just never acknowledged the truth! Well you can't really hide behind those two anymore!"

"Idiot!" Endrin almost made as if to hit him again, but restrained himself, or he just couldn't find the energy. "Do you really not realize how little sense that makes? Murdering someone is basically the same as admitting that you aren't and never expect to be as great as they are! Do I have to spell it out for you that if you went ahead and 'got them out of the way' you practically acknowledged them as the betters who would ever stand above and beyond you if they were allowed to exist? If you didn't already consider yourself inferior, you'd have just made a name for yourself. And you can't say that lacking the status of heir sealed your fate because your brother already proved _that _idea totally wrong."

The remaining prince wanted to sputter a protest, anything, but he was lost for words.

"And your arguments, by the Paragons, they are pathetic. You're telling me that... that all you did was so you could get my _approval_?" He was stupefied, to say the least. "How long will it be before you start acting your age?"

"That's... that's not the issue here!" How the hell had it come to that?

"No, it apparently is!" The king's eyes were wide in disbelief and outrage. "You actually thought I'd be... That I'd be _proud_ of you for killing your brothers? You thought I'd cheer you on for _murdering my sons_? Ancestor's mercy, I pity the unborn child you fathered."

"You'd have been fine with it if Raonar had done it inst-!"

"DO NOT SPEAK THEIR NAMES!"

The shout startled Bhelen enough that he made to step away, but he'd forgotten that half the room was higher than the rest. Thus, he walked on empty air, missing the stairs, so he stumbled and fell.

He ended up on his back, staring up at a very furious King, but before he could get up, the old man drew a piece of paper from his pocket, crumpled it and literally threw it in his face. "You want to know why I've been reduced to this? Yes, I cannot rest, but not because you think I should praise you. The reason is guilt. The reason is shame! The reason is because I made a wrong choice, as always, and now he is gone! Trian as well! The reason is not just my guilt from letting him be convicted, but also from letting him go along with your scheme on purpose!"

The thirdborn couldn't get up. He just stared, petrified.

"He knew what you were doing! The same way he refused to talk to me about what happened with my brother, your uncle, the same way he acted as though he didn't know of your intent. But he kept trying, kept hoping that you'd change your mind! Even in the end, when I suspected him of foul play, he kept on. The only reason Trian is dead is not because of your inane scheme, but because I _refused_ to let Raonar go to him, even though he asked me to!"

He had to say something. "You... You still left him to his fate...!"

"Yes, so I did. Even after everything, And you wonder why I can't sleep. Pah!" Weariness finally caught up with him, but he stood tall. "You want to know why I grieve him? You want to know why I've become like this? It's because I ruin everything, always, regardless of whether or not I actually act. I never seem to make any right choices, so why should I bother any further? After all," he wasn't smirking at all, staring down at his fallen form from his high perch. "You're going to do a great job destroying this House and Orzammar on your own."

"We'll see about that," he growled.

"No," Endrin shook his head. "_We_ won't. _You_ might." He paused, so Bhelen started to pick himself up from the floor at last. "Then again, you might be right after all." Bhelen felt a shiver go down his spine. That didn't make him feel good _at all_ for some reason. "We could say we both have already seen it. Aeducan is already lost. I destroyed it when I sacrificed what was most precious, and I'm not just talking of people here. Ah, but you won't understand. You'll just look for reasons to be a selfish, spoiled child." The prince felt trembling overtake him. "I favored him, yes, because he was my better. He was _ten times_ my better, and-" He covered his mouth with his hand. Breathing out, he sighed. "I was going to say he was a thousand times yours, but I honestly don't think there's anything left that can be multiplied."

"..."

King Endrin slowly walked to the small sculpture again and stayed silent for a while. After that, he looked at the crumpled paper still at Bhelen's feet. "He honestly thought there was something worthwhile left in you... but I do not see it." And then his eyes met his, for the last time. "You are not my son." Never had he seemed to revolted yet so calm, so certain of his words. "I don't know _what_ you are."

Bhelen found that he couldn't move. Nor speak. Even breathing was irrelevant as his father passed him by without uttering anything more. He stared at the floor, immobilized by the enormity of what he'd just been told. He stood there as the old man walked away, and as he stopped at the door to give him one last piece of advice. "How is lady Debra? Has her healer managed to figure out how to cure the toxin? No matter. I will see for myself if I meet her on the other side. You needn't bother trying to have me poisoned, by the way. I will die on my own soon enough."

It took Endrin five minutes to leave the Palace.

Bhelen took twice as long to get himself to move again.

Not really caring about what to do next, he numbly reached down for the parchment and straightened it as best he could. A letter, oddly enough. In Raonar's handwriting. It started with...

"Greetings, father,"

Half-way into it, his grip had crushed the already tattered edges. By the end, it was already a mess. But it wasn't enough so he just tore it in half, and then again, and again and again until there were just tiny shreds. He'd never felt so angry, so betrayed.

"Dammit..." he heaved.

He'd never felt so angry.

"Damn you..."

He'd never felt so stupid.

Even dead, the bastard was making him feel stupid.

He didn't know when he'd walked so near the side-table, but it was just as well because he needed some way to let the anger out.

A long and loud cry of hopeless rage smashed against the walls as the crystal sculpture of Orzammar was hurled across the room, right into the hourglass wall. With an ear-splitting crack, the thick glass half-shattered, half-broke apart in all directions, the cracks extending slowly even after the sculpture fell and rolled across the floor, stopping only when it reached the foot of a bookcase. Behind was left a blanket of shards, big and small, and a picture of breaches resembling a spider web.

It only made the light from the lyrium sand coursing behind it more alert and far reaching.

"Damn you!" Bhelen yelled at nothing, loathe of the tears welling up in his eyes. "Even in death you still take everything away from me!"

"-. .-"

There are two things people say happens the moment just before someone dies. One is the regular drabble about one's whole life flashing before your eyes. The other is that time itself seems to slow to a crawl, allowing the person to capture every detail and every moment of their demise, gruesome or otherwise.

Raonar had gone through what basically amounts to dying, repeatedly, but he never went through the former.

The latter, on the other hand... The latter was what he was getting very well acquainted with right now.

What most people in Thedas didn't really know is that the eye doesn't normally work at peak capacity, not even close. Even under an adrenaline rush, it doesn't process incoming images at its maximum potential. This is as much a limitation as it is a blessing, because when the eye does suddenly jump into overdrive, giving the impression that everything moves in slow motion, the brain is not able to adapt to the instant change fast enough and is unable to process anything BUT the sense of sight, a least not within the first second or two which, sadly, is enough to finish the killing most of the time.

It is for this reason that people unfortunate enough to watch their own death so clearly can't do anything about it, despite the fact that trying to grant enough awareness to evade that fate is why the eyes jump into overdrive in the first place. The brain simply doesn't possess the adaptability needed to _not_ forget about motor functions when the eye begins to bombard it with information.

People who had training in battle, and had gone through life and death situations, were an entirely different story. They could perfectly catch on to what was happening around them, some more so as they went through a beating, because adrenaline tended to push all senses to the top. In other words, their brains _did_ possess the adaptability needed to actually take advantage of the illusion of time dilation. And after they experienced that a few times, the brain _also_ formed proper reflexes.

Those reflexes were what had almost, _almost_ made Raonar counter Bhelen's strike. His good, trusty brain had finished setting up the command for a side-step, grabbing the wrist and tossing the young man through the air even before Bhelen's first leap was finished. The exile knew himself well, so he knew he might not be able to overcome the self-defensive impulse.

Forcing his brain to do something other than get him outside danger was, thus, the second reason he'd projected the forcefield around the two of them. He'd started to will the energy into place right after he drove that sword through the floor (and Laryn's head). He was actually relieved to get the confirmation that it really did take a lot of attention and patience to keep the whole field projection invisible. It was critical that no one suspected he'd done it. That was why he even mentioned how he could have a mage put it up (he'd never said it had happened though, so he hadn't, basically, lied). The sword being enchanted could be stretched to account for so easily going through rock, but not this.

This whole mess, whatever came of it... this was something that history had to record, beyond any doubt, as something dwarvenly possible. He wasn't under any illusions that Orzammar's problems could be fixed in just a few years or with just a few shouts. What he really wanted with all this was to cause a reaction, one that would continue through the later generations. As such, it would have been useless if he'd barged in and started flaring his unnatural mojo around, as Oghren had called it a couple of times.

Simply, it would have set a precedent no one would be able to hope to live up to, although he wasn't sure he even _wanted_ anyone to follow in his footsteps, not if everything he did really was pointless or more damaging than everything else he'd tried up to that stage.

Hence why he was going to accept death here. If all this really had only done harm, then he had to take responsibility. It would have been counterintuitive if his overcompetent brain (funny how that word could even exist) butt in and totally ruined this, so yes, this was the _second _reason he erected the forcefield. The _first_ reason he placed the forcefield around himself and his younger brother was so he could be as certain as he could that whatever Faren did would not stop Bhelen from doing whatever he was going to.

Faren was fast, but definitely not fast enough to jump between them all the way from the edge of the room. If he had retained some of that stupidly overpowered superspeed he used in the Fade to bash Sloth's head in (literally), the forcefield would have been useless. Faren would have sailed through it without even noticing it. As it was, though, he was sure to use a throwing knife or some other form of ranged attack.

Raonar kept his eyes on Bhelen as the latter lunged forward, but he still noticed Faren peripherally, and how he tossed a dagger straight at Bhelen's neck. The exile allowed part of his brain to be worried at how the brand had forgotten that he could have used his chain for a much less lethal but no less slow or effective means of curbing the outcome of the confrontation. He must have really been distraught if he couldn't think clearly, and from early on too if he didn't prepare his chain in advance for something like this.

What _really_ came across as surprising and, ironically, helped with inhibiting reaction to Bhelen's attack, was Alim trying to stop him as well. The noble was actually more shocked that Alim hadn't detected the field forming. If he had, he'd have put a _lot_ more power into that spell. Well, at least _he_ tried to stop Bhelen without killing him, though why had he...ah.

He'd really dropped a bomb on them, hadn't he? No matter how he looked at it, this was a betrayal on his part, even if he did warn them in advance and given orders pertaining to leadership and everything else.

Unfortunately, the fact of the matter was that, regardless of what he did next, he was betraying something or someone, so he chose what, in his eyes, did the least damage. Alim was smart enough on his own, as well as absurdly powerful, so he could handle everything well enough. Faren had friends to value him now, a woman he loved and loved him back, he was going to be fine. Also, he and the order didn't really _need_ him, especially after all he accomplished was making things more complicated. He supposed it was betrayal, going ahead and dying and leaving that mess for them to sort out but, again, regardless of the outcome, he was betraying people anyway.

Once again, all he could do was try to minimize the damage. He never did seem to actually _create_ or _improve_ things. In Ostagar, all he'd done was save a handful of people out of hundreds, maybe thousands. When he reached Redcliffe, most everyone in the castle and many of the villagers had already been massacred, so going through that one, final night with no casualties had felt completely hollow as far as victories went, especially since Shale had done most of the work.

Ultimately, it didn't matter that he could make big light shows and magically blow stuff around. None of that power made much difference. And now, when he could well see that he _was_ making a difference, he was as resolved as could be to make sure the difference was a _good _one, especially in the long run that no one seemed to give any consideration to.

It was Bhelen's fault that he'd not left him much choice but to turn him into an example. It was also his blame that he didn't seem to understand what _kind_ of example that ultimately was.

All this was never really about Bhelen to begin with. That would have been stupid, not to mention astonishingly selfish, to put one person above a whole nation-state. Even this, this... letting him go ahead and kill him. This wasn't for Bhelen's benefit. Murder was in no one's benefit. What Raonar had sought, he'd gotten: a solid chance to smash every preconception he could think of that kept his people in their small metal boxes.

He only regretted that everything had gotten so well out of hand, but he wasn't about to start blaming only himself for all this mess. He couldn't know what would happen. He was sure Endrin wouldn't outright kill himself, and he'd been right. But he didn't really think he'd deliberately let shame waste him to nothingness, and definitely not in a matter of months. He'd originally intended to eventually come back, get it through Bhelen's skull that it was never his or Trian's fault that their father never acknowledged him. This was never supposed to escalate outside of House Aeducan.

Yes, it had happened, but, in the end, his father had contributed at least as much as he did, and so did Trian, Bhelen, those selfish 'nobles' and the rest of the city, in its own way. And besides, while he did consider that he basically enabled things to happen like this, he'd already paid for it. That _was_ why he gotten himself framed in the first place: so he'd go through that humiliating trip through the city and to the dungeon, _just in case_ this went wrong.

He'd already gotten his retribution for contributing to the unrest brought about by the succession crisis. He remembered all too well being pushed, shoved and spat upon, plus lying in that damp cell, when he could have easily faked Trian's death, bypassed Bhelen's "scheme" altogether and joined the Grey Wardens afterwards with all honors if he wanted to, assuming he even chose to leave in the first place. That's what Baizyl was there for after all. Hell, Baizyl wasn't even necessary.

He hadn't. He'd chosen to wait for hours to be "caught red-handed" instead.

Many people believe that humility is the opposite of pride, when, in fact, it is a point of equilibrium. The opposite of pride is actually a lack of self esteem. A humble person is fundamentally different from a person who cannot recognize and appreciate himself as part of the world.

Humility wasn't self-deprecation.

Humility demanded dignity.

Humility demanded self-worth.

So he didn't really feel like he owed Orzammar any more public an apology than what he'd already offered. It was long past the time that the dwarves got a wake-up call and, no matter how he looked at it, this was a much, much more merciful one than the one the Darkspawn gave them. And if anyone chose to consider him a coward for letting Bhelen kill him, then all he could say was for them to believe whatever they wanted.

Too bad they kept choosing to believe the worst of any given situation or person.

The reason for accepting death here was simple: if all he'd been doing was making things go from bad to worse, then it was in the world's best interest that he died as soon as possible, before he had a chance to screw things up even more.

And, thus, being considered a coward was, ultimately, a good thing in the long run. Ambivalence was actually desirable in this instance, because if he did only make things worse, then he really didn't want people following in his footsteps.

The spirit of his actions, however, that would not be covered up. That would persist. He'd seen to that.

Thus, as his sight focused, he just watched Bhelen struggle against himself, for a moment. That much comfort, at least, he got. The guy was at least conflicted, even though he did eventually throw himself forward. Or was it just confusion at him throwing away his 'victory' for no apparent reason?

The exile of Orzammar didn't need to look in Trian's direction to know he was probably struggling, even drugged as he was. It would wear off in a few minutes at least. Either way, Raonar was glad he couldn't see in that direction. He didn't really want to see whatever Gorim looked like either. The man was still so loyal, even after all this had left him a cripple.

What Raonar was _not_ spared was Harrowmont's despair. It was plastered all over his face. Poor old man, to do this to him after putting him through so much was just cruel. Yes, this was betrayal regardless of what happened next. The elder deshyr was probably experiencing the same level of shock the rest of the assembly had finally managed to start sorting out.

Dealing with the presence of so many lords and ladies had been the trickiest part of the plan. Being politicians, they liked the sound of their own voice, so, during this assembly session, the dwarven pariah had had to make sure they were kept confused enough for shock to outweigh outrage enough for him to show and do what he meant without them descending into their own diatribes.

So he'd kept a secret identity and revealed it just today. After that, he behaved in that utterly outrageous manner, both to make Bhelen snap and try his coup and to maximize the confusion when it came. Confused people were the ones most susceptible to shock after all. And then, when the deshyrs not held at swordpoint were showing signs of recovery, he made _the_ _revelation_, which managed to bewilder them enough that he got to throw all of the rest out in the open.

He'd most definitely not acted so arrogant just for laughs. He abhorred that behavior after all, when it wasn't assumed ironically.

He was under no illusion it would last too long, though, so he made sure he was as efficient in his words and actions as possible. Ultimately, the whole thing had lasted little over an hour, and the constant barrage of holes being poked into the foundations of everyone's beliefs did, in the end, keep their mouths mostly shut.

Not that Harrowmont's supporters had much reason to be scandalized by the thrashing of the person who'd just tried to have them all killed.

The forcefield flickered out of existence when Alim's spell smashed into it, but that was all well and good. Though many gasped and called out for the third prince to stop, or to others to stop him, nothing could interfere with things now. So the white-haired dwarf watched, forced down his self preservation and never averted his gaze from that of his younger brother.

He hadn't shut his eyes like a coward.

Good. Maybe he was figuring out just _what_ this choice really was.

Trian had asked what he intended to do about Bhelen, and he'd answered. He would summon all of his cruelty and eliminate all of his choices until there were only two left.

And here they were at last, tough the young one didn't actually appear to see it. It was quite simple really.

Did he want to win? Or did he want what was best for Orzammar?

Yes, Raonar was a harsh person, because this, too, was a trick. After all, what amounted to victory in Bhelen's mind was never really victory at all. He didn't see that of course. He was just confused. Very, very, incredibly confused.

Just as planned.

A stride, unmotivated. Bhelen was probably expecting to be shot down by bystanders, confirmed when his face showed surprise as the two outer attacks failed. He almost seemed to stumble, but he managed not to. So he closed in a run, then a leap and he was almost upon him, his face showing a lot of rage but much, much more frustration. And when he was within reach, he...

No, he didn't hesitate.

Some people believe that the moment you die is when you feel a distinct sort of peace overtake you. Whether it is relief at being free from the travails of the harsh world, or for some other reason, death supposedly brings contentment, before whatever afterlife exists truly claims you. Maybe it is because you then know, for certain, that there is nothing you can do about it, so you don't have to feel guilty or responsible anymore. Maybe it is because not being burdened by responsibility makes you feel more free than you did in your entire life.

Or maybe it's just because the natural surge of adrenaline and the subsequent, sudden relaxation of every muscle in your body just has that effect on whatever glands make your brain think you should be at peace. Chemistry tends to do that.

When Bhelen was almost in his face, Raonar Aeducan felt very, very relieved and happy all of a sudden.

He didn't even try to prevent that from showing on his face either.

Why would he?

After all...

...you cannot learn a thing you think you already know. When someone is so proud as to think they have all the answers, and so skilled at lying to themselves, the best you can do is confuse the living lights out of them...

The thirdborn's arms came apart-

...because only _then_ can they _recognize_ that they are confused...

-one lowered while the other, the right one, continued the motion, but without anything burdening it any longer-

...and only _then, _when their ability to lie to themselves has been shut down, can they finally _see_...

-nothing could stop him now-

...that they don't actually understand jack shit.

"DAMN YOU!" The boiling emotional load came out as a yell, channeled through the strongest and most perfectly placed right hook that Bhelen Aeducan had thrown in his entire life and which would never come to be rivaled by any others of his right hooks, past or future.

It nailed the middle son straight in the jaw and made his head snap back so hard and so fast that he almost went flying. Alas, the exile had suffered much worse when he had his reunion with his other brother, and since, after willing himself to NOT roll with the punch, he finally lost the reins on his reflexes, he didn't get thrown to the ground as would have been appropriate, but instead staggered backwards several steps, regaining half of his balance a second or so after his sibling's sword clattered to the floor noisily on his left.

"Damn you!" Before he could recover, another punch caught him in the _other_ side of his face, and then another. Every one of them spoke volumes.

"Damn you!" _Damn you for making me respect you! _"DAMN YOU!" _Damn you for making it impossible for me to hate you!_

He couldn't make out the exact tone, not with his brain reeling and his sense of balance swimming in and out of his mental grasp. Not while being punched around by the repeated strikes, standing position getting harder and harder to hold onto.-"Damn you!" -well, he'd at least punched him _twice_ before shouting this time.

... where was he? oh right, the tone...

"Damn you! Why don't you EVER do anything I can understand?"

He caught a glimpse of his face, contorted in a very unusual way. It fit his voice, how it was now -another punch, to his left eye this time, that really hurt- the tone seemed to...

"Dammit!"

...be cracking.

"Why don't I understand?"

That last part didn't get emboldened by another fist to the face, so the man struggled to get his bearings and try to face forward for once. "So there _is..._ something you want more than winning..." That was rasped out every bit as relieved and glad as he felt, beholding his sibling as clearly as the haze allowed. "...even if... it is just clarity..."

And another punch, a bit... weaker? Wait, no that wasn't what was wrong about it. The wrong part was that Bhelen had somehow punched his palm somehow...

...wait, what? Oh, his reflexes had taken over so he'd somehow caught Bhelen's fist in his hand. His brain now informed him that it wasn't going to sit by and let the next punch land. It would have made that one left molar come totally loose. "Good... That is a good first step."

"Damn you..." He was still trying to hold in whatever was fighting to pour out. Poor little guy. He'd really done a number on him, hadn't he? Even the attempt to pull his fist away had been so obviously half-hearted, the same as his struggle to look him in the eye.

Eyes... huh, his left one didn't want to open fully for some reason... oh right, it was swelling. No wonder Bhelen couldn't stand to look at him.

He realized the taste in his mouth must have been blood. Well, this wouldn't do. With such a smashed face, this wasn't going to fly, and he was probably going to get punched out at this rate. Not realizing just how tightly he was holding onto that fist, he practically reached into his mouth with the thumb and index finger of his _other_ hand and forced the tooth back in its proper place. It was an audible wrench. After working his jaw, he tested his voice again. "Wynne." He faced the general direction he _thought_ she was. He couldn't precisely see very well past the blur. "Cast your longest regeneration spell on me, will you?"

There was an awkward pause, one that the exile was _fairly_ sure wasn't owed to the throbbing ache in his head that made hearing things harder.

After some long seconds, the telltale signs of healing magic, that blue mist, surged through and around him, and left behind a lingering, blue shine that glistened in and out of him. He hoped the visual effect wasn't too intimidating. Either way, he was more than willing to live with it. The spell immediately began to heal him, under everyone's waking eyes.

Which was when he realized that the chagrined look on Bhelen's face was at least partially owed to how hard he'd clutched onto his poor hand. Sometimes he forgot that, contrary to what some may think, it was actually quite easy to hurt someone's hand when holding their closed fist like that. It all depended on what the thumb pressed against. "Ooops..." he let go. "Sorry about that." he said earnestly, making Bhelen's jaw go stack. His anger was still there, but well... "Anyway." Raonar said warmly, now that his blood had magically receded into the wounds that had mostly closed off too. "This spell will keep healing me for a while, so you can let it all out."

His bright demeanor made Bhelen's rage flare again. The young one probably thought he was being arrogant. Well, that worked fine. He could believe whatever he wanted. Actually, that helped. This had to happen. "Come, little brother," he didn't even need to try to make himself sound sympathetic. "Relieve your frustration."

The youngest made his exasperation heard... and _felt._

On the exile's face_._

Again.

As expected, saying the same words he'd used earlier to get him riled up had the exact same effect. Bhelen, distraught and confused as he was, predictably interpreted that calm way of speaking as 'talking down' to him. "Damn you!"

Raonar counted the punches, the same way he'd counted each and every hit he landed on Bhelen earlier. He'd kept track of the various types of punches he'd administered too, just so he could know how many of each he should let Bhelen throw into his face.

He supposed the regeneration spell could be considered cheating, but that was foolish. People didn't really understand the mechanics. Normally, the more you get hit in the same general area, the more numb you become, so you gradually feel less and less pain until you fall blissfully unconscious.

Wynne's spell was great, which meant that he wasn't growing numb at all. In other words...

Every punch hurt just as much as the first one.

Every. Single. One.

"Dammit!"

Oh crap, he'd lost count of the hits. What number was this? Oh wait, this last one was a punch to the gut. He was fairly certain he'd not delivered one of those -punch to the nose- there we go, they were back on track.

Suddenly, the thirdborn really did shriek in exasperation.

And his hit sent Raonar toppling.

Then, almost as suddenly, the exile's head met something hard, right before his back smashed against whatever it was and most of the air was knocked out of his lungs. Reflexively, he used it to right himself, but he wondered when the heck he'd been pushed as far as the wall.

No, it felt different.

Not dizzy, a testament to the last vestiges of the regeneration spell, he glanced back and realized he was leaning against... nothing. Experimentally, he tapped his fingers against it. Huh. Slight shimmers. A forcefield then.

His eyes sought Alim's, but the elf's sight was downcast. His staff was held with both hands in front of him, like a post, shining with power. So he'd ended up erecting a forcefield around them both after all. Well, that did explain why no one had jumped in to restrain Bhelen yet. Baizyl, Frandlin and, surprisingly, Piotin had stepped as close as the forcefield allowed. Oddly, no one was actually making much noise. The futility of their attempts was probably, for the first time, crystal clear to them as well.

He pushed himself back towards the middle of the hall, right on time for the other one, who'd managed to catch his breath, to resume pounding him. Again. and again, until the regeneration spell started to reach its conclusion.

"Argh!" He finally gave out with a final, pained and tired strike. "Why are... Why aren't you sodding fighting back?"

"Huh?" Realizing that he was feeling a bit dazed, he assessed that the magic must have been fading. "Why... would you want me to do that?" He really was just curious. Bhelen's mind worked in mysterious ways if he _wanted_ to get thrashed again.

His face didn't suggest that, though. He obviously just wanted to have tings make some sodding sense, but he didn't get it yet. He was still lashing out -punch to the jaw- there we go.

It went like that for a while, but not long. Soon, the hits became a lot weaker, farther apart and much, much less accurate. Bhelen's breath was ragged, and the damage he dealt was small enough that the Livegiver could make up for it on its own. Finally, he made one last valiant attempt and threw his right fist at him, gasping in exhaustion.

Raonar bent his head to the side, narrowly avoiding it, and his hand had Bhelen firmly by the wrist before he could completely lose his balance and topple forward. With a grunt, the youngest mechanically tried it again, with his other fist, but the second prince caught that as well.

Raonar held his hands up like that, on either side of his head. "That's enough." he said, and not just because his sibling had punched him at least thrice as many times as he had.

Bhelen hoarsely heaved and struggled to pull away, averting his eyes, but he didn't appear to have much energy left for that. "Dammit... why don't I understand... Why can't I just think you're crazy, damn you? Why do you _always_ have to... Dammit, let _go_ of me!"

"No. By now you should know I don't like seeing you hurt yourself." He pulled Bhelen's hands down, in front of his chest and let go if his left. He used his now free hand to wipe some sparse blood from his face. "Look at this. This blood on your fist. It's not mine." He put pressure on his fingers and, sure enough, Bhelen winced, only now realizing his knuckles were shriveled.

The thirdborn didn't back off though. In a last attempt at denial, he seized him by the front of his torn shirt, still facing down, and made as if to hold him still while he delivered another punch to his face, for all the good it would have done.

The hit made half the journey, but then all motivation disappeared and the thirdborn was just clutching at the front of his worn clothes, shaking, slowly at first, but then more clearly. "Damn you..." There was more than frustration in that tired voice now, and no anger at all. "You knew... you knew I wouldn't do it. That's why you took my gauntlets off earlier."

Any moment now.

"Oh, that..." He wasn't afraid to smile now. Bhelen would have probably taken it the wrong way, but his head was bowed so low there was no way he could see it. "Well, it wouldn't have been good if you'd refused to lop my head off only to accidentally snap my neck or crush my skull with those metal gloves." He had to make sure he wasn't joking about that. "But no, I didn't know you weren't going to do it."

The admission made the young one practically shrink into himself. "Why, dammit...?" He asked hoarsely. "Why don't you hate me? Why don't... why don't you even in the _least_ resent me? If it was any of those, at least... at least I'd know how to react, but this... How am I supposed to react to this?"

Raonar took a moment to try and understand how that question made him feel. In the end, he found it a bit disheartening. His brother was still blindly groping for answers that were right in front of him. The response, though... his answer was something he'd been waiting a long time to say, and which he'd already said once already, but which was never going to have the right effect without the appropriate context.

Just like turning the other cheek.

"Obviously it's because you're my little brother and I love you, you _dolt."_

Neither actually did their part without context.

This context.

"I am not father." He didn't feel like smiling anymore, so he set his hands firmly on Bhelen's shoulders. "I'd say not cutting my head off is among the best reactions you could have had. But we can easily see there's more." Bhelen still refused to raise his head, but his hands kept clutching at the front of his clothes, as if he feared he'd collapse if he let go.

Raonar had been meaning to do a certain something for years, but it would have been useless as long as Bhelen was so deeply submerged in that shell of lies he'd built around himself... but that only meant he'd have to do something about it, didn't he?

And he had, even if it had taken a lot to smash through it, in the end he'd made Bhelen destroy it himself. If anything could break an inflated ego, it was confusion. If anything could ruin a man's facade, it was frustration.

Tears of remorse could come later.

"Now go ahead with the rest."

Tears of frustration were still tears.

"-. .-"

Trian would have pinched his own arm if he wasn't wearing two inches of armor. He nudged Gorim, the one man in his immediate vicinity, before realizing how dry his mouth was and clamped it shut. "Uh... Gorim..." he whispered as low as he could. "Is that drug... making me hallucinate?"

Gorim kept staring at what was unfolding, blinking in a strangely mechanical fashion before whispering his reply, without tearing his eyes away from the surreal spectacle. "I was going to ask if you think it might be contagious, since apparently everyone in the room has fallen in the same trance..."

"Uhuh..."

There was silence... almost.

Really, it was a huge difference form a short while ago, when more than one person was shouting to somehow stop that guy from punching Raonar again and again. Trian himself had _seriously_ considered physical assault on the mage.

And there was more silence.

Realizing he wasn't easily going to snap out of this absurd dream, the heir to Orzammar's throne made his way around Piotin so he could actually behold things clearly. He spared the man a glance, enough to notice that he'd applied the same look he'd put on when he'd first recognized him.

Unsurprising.

I mean...

Bhelen was weeping.

He was outright crying in Raonar's arms.

Holy _shit_.

Dimly, the firstborn took in the sight and sounds. Bhelen was shaking and sobbing, quietly for the most part, while his... _their_... sibling held him in the exact same sort of embrace Trian remembered getting when the man finally came back from exile. Unbelievable. Never in his wildest dreams would have Trian even considered the possibility of something like this happening.

But then... it had happened to him too, hadn't it?

"What am I doing here?" Bhelen sobbed out, still hiding his eyes in the other one's shoulder. "Damn you... making s... such a fool outta me..."

_Bronto shit_, Trian thought immediately. If anything, the majority of those in the room, though were glad they weren't in his position, didn't even begin to think this was embarrassing. They were glad Raonar hadn't resolved to bringing _them_ to tears instead. Stone's mercy, he could actually do it. He could bring anyone to tears, by the Ancestors.

Aeducan's beard, Orzammar had been turned upside down several times within an hour and a half.

And Bhelen was crying on Raonar's shoulder.

Ancestor's mercy.

His brother's eyes were closed and there was just the tiniest bit of a sad smile adorning his face. He had one arm around Bhelen's back, as well as the armor allowed, and the other one on the back of his head. Trian remembered well how Bhelen hated it, even when he was a child, when mother or father laid their hands on his head for any reason, but he either didn't care now or he was afraid to let go of Raonar's shirt, shred as it was.

Trian felt lost. He didn't know if he should want to go over there and do something... Fortunately, the forcefield was still in place, so he didn't have to make that decision. That didn't change anything else, though. For some reason, even though he'd sworn to make Bhelen pay for everything, especially for crippling Gorim forever, even though he was certain that this was more than he deserved, he still felt... oddly moved by the sight before him.

"Why..." he sniffled, still not drawing away. "Why are you always so... so much better than m-me..?"

Finally, the white man opened his eyes, half-way and sent Trian a meaningful look. Meaningful _how_, Trian couldn't begin to guess. "There's no such thing," he answered calmly. "'Better, smarter, dumber... these are just words, ones that people invented in order to satisfy their foolish need for a means to label people. Words that only serve to feed the illusion that someone is somehow more gifted than another. Words meant to stroke their damned conceit." He let his eyes close again. "There is no such thing. We have no right to judge. There is no 'better.'"

"That... doesn make any sense... Why c... can't I understand any of this...?"

"Sure it does," he said back." "I told you. It's because we can't easily believe our own lies. Like before. Back when you were trying to feed Faren that bullshit, you didn't actually mean to shed that tear, did you?" Trian heard the barest of sniffs. "That's the thing with crying. We can't actually control it. We can only 'fake' it if we still have something we fear to lose, or if we regret something we lost already."

"No, it..." he finally unglued his eyes, puffy and red as they'd become. "I don't... why the sod are you doing this?" He mumbled. "I... I just punched you about a hundred times, I... sod it, look at this!" He pulled at his bloodied shirt for emphasis.

Raonar gave a long suffering sigh and wiped his tears away. "You're a smart kid. You'll figure it out eventually."

At last, the forcefield was dispersed.

"Urgh!" Bhelen facepalmed impressively. Well, it was more of a forehead smack, but still, he finally let go of the guy. "Should I even bother pointing out that doesn't make sense either? I'm about to be _executed_, so why in...? No, you know what, nevermind, I don't care anymore." Everyone could see he wasn't able to even get angry at this point.

Trian judged it a good idea that he stopped his diatribe before it could start. Nonetheless, though it rankled him to agree with Bhelen on _anything_, he had a point. Why was Raonar doing this if Bhelen was going to... oh... wait.

Oh hell.

"What, you think after all I bothered with you that I'd just go ahead and let you be executed? No way am I letting all that work go to waste. I mean, I'd be a poor big brother if I didn't spend time drilling your sense of responsibility into your head, now would I? And hell, you're finally growing up."

"Ahem... Uh... My lord Aeducan," Bandelor found his nerve, though even he couldn't _quite_ try to impose his authority now. The whole matter was either too awkward or too intense. Or both. "This session has already degenerated far enough into... private matters. I... admire your sentiments, as I am sure those here still worthy of being part of the Assembly do," he was being very careful about his words. "But we should see to getting order restored and... And much as I know this might not sit well with you, prince Bhelen, strangely enough, spoke the truth. Justice must be done."

That was practically the spark that ignited the pyre. At least three lords, of those not arrested, began to speak at once, though not in too high a voice. "The law is clear as crystal-" "This has already turned into enough of a travesty. These halls demand better." "But is the same sentence still viable, in light of..." "What shall come of these other traitors?"

It was like a throw-back to earlier times. As soon as they had a topic they could all agree was worth discussing, the lords and ladies instinctively started to try and make up for how baffled and shocked they'd been up to that point. They also tried to be as eloquent and convincing as possible... so their voices raised and raised.

Which worked about as well as one would expect, seeing as how they all did that... at the same time.

The cacophony of noise made Trian cringe. They were arguing about whether or not this demanded death, whether or not the 'walking the deep roads" punishment was still viable, whether it should be public or not, all at the same time. To top it off, there were a few that just expressed outrage at 'the gall of it all', an expression that Trian found embarrassingly familiar. Harrowmont looked chagrined too. When their eyes met, he was saying _I'm already too old for this._

It was astounding, really. There were only half the lords left, but even then, they were still _forty._

"Order, order!" the steward vainly tried to shout over the arguments. "Oh, Paragon's blood!" He rubbed his forehead. "I don't get paid enough for this."

The first prince knew he could probably speak louder and was arranging some sentences in his head that he thought would bring the racket down to a manageable level... but then he saw that woman, Gwenith, carrying something big, round and wrapped in a cloak.

With obvious care, she passed it over to the Warden Commander and then instantly pulled the covering off.

Argent struck stone, flashing white for an instant, and then a sharp, loud ringing speared through every single corner of the Assembly Chamber. The Shield of Aeducan took its place, standing upright in front of its bearer.

The paragon's face had eyes like blue fire and the runes, the inscription that faded into view around it made it clear what it's owner was.

The word that left his brother's mouth was almost unnecessary.

"Silence."

The relic had everyone's undivided attention. Stone dammit, but the guy knew how to get everyone's eye and ear. Trian was asking himself how many other things he had prepared.

Bhelen, too, had taken back a step and was looking upon the relic in wonder.

"Perhaps you all haven't realized it yet," the second son of the late king started to speak. "But this assembly is no longer in the position where it can dispense judgment."

Some nobles exchanged worried looks. "On the contrary, the gathering is all the better for the unmasking of these _traitors_." One of them retorted, snarling that last word at the arrested ones. "If anything, this assembly is plagued by less dissent than ever."

"That bickering just now says a different story," he said calmly. Trian was past the point where he was surprised to see the guy deliberately deflating every ego he could find. "Besides, you are missing the point. This assembly, by law, is not fit to take any decisions unless a minimum majority of the noble houses have representatives present. Which, they do not, since half of them just lost that status."

"Lord Aeducan, please consider what you are saying carefully," Bandelor advised, more like pleaded... and then he got an incredulous look from Bhelen _and_ Trian both. Did he just imply... that Raonar didn't think his actions through? "Right. Forget I said that."

"You can't be suggesting that no action be taken," Lord Meino breathed out in disbelief. "This is far too massive. The people will demand retribution, you said it yourself."

"Indeed, we should set up a public gathering as soon as possible," Raonar agreed immediately. Oh boy. "We should issue a public apology I suppose."

"A public apology?" a different deshyr asked. "You think the people will be satisfied with just a public apology on his part?"

Raonar stared at the man. "I didn't mean from Bhelen. I meant from me."

There was a pause.

"There we go again," Bhelen rolled his eyes. "I am starting to reconsider my opinion on your sanity, big brother."

The one in question threw him a dry look. "Bhelen, shut up or so help me I'll have you conscripted and dragged out of the city kicking and screaming, like I could have done at any time."

Bhelen did a double take. "Wh-..." His mouth closed. "Right... I'll shut up now."

It became all to obvious then, even to Trian, who'd come to admit to not being the genius of the family, that the message Raonar was sending was all too simple: whatever happened next was up to him. Even if the assembly were full and ready to issue a sentence, he could just draft Bhelen into the wardens if he felt like it.

But more than that was what he said next. "Perhaps I should point out that few, if any, of us 'nobles' in this room right now can actually claim to be completely honorable. So maybe I should make it clear." With both hands still on the edge of his shield, he looked up at the supposedly honest lord and lady deshyrs. "I may have only exposed these would-be murderers, but just because I didn't mention I might have dirt on the rest of you doesn't mean I don't."

The moment immediately following that declaration was a mixture of gasps and sputters of stupefaction, or whatever other emotion something like that could lead to. Even Trian was finding his mind a bit hard-pressed to keep following what that insane brother of his was doing now. This was probably a bluff, but the bast-... he'd pulled off even more insane stunts.

"You know, funny thing about being stripped from the records..." The white man continued, idly looking at the ceiling. "If someone were to, purely hypothetically, stumble upon incriminating documents of this or that sort, it would be like the evidence showed up out of nothing, or by the grace of the Ancestors themselves. And no one would be able to accuse whoever gathered them of foul play either, or even find out who it was. After all," he narrowed his eyes. "Officially, I do not exist and never existed."

Trian hadn't thought that the hall could ever be so quiet with so many people in it, but there it was.

"Don't think I was left with nothing from all those assassinations attempts I had to deal with." He wasn't bullshitting at all. "Why did you _think_ I told Caridin not to reinstate me? Maybe now you'll see just how stupid this record stripping business is."

"Thats... that's outrageous!" a deshyr whose name Trian didn't remember burst.

Bad, _bad_ idea. "Ah, lord Maran. Do you have a _particular_ reason to be concerned about this I wonder."

"I... no of course not," he predictably said. "All I am saying is that you cannot expect this to go by without some form of punishment. On this, at least, everyone relevant here agrees."

"Indeed, but I have lost faith in this gathering's ability to dispense justice." He narrowed his eyes dangerously. "I know first-hand what your assembly is in the habit of deciding. And don't tell me it was because of some unlawful sway some noble brat had at the time." Bhelen winced, as well he should. "These two camps now, they are but alliances of circumstance. If you don't believe me, then maybe I should draw attention to how at least one of you lords in Lord Pyral's backing had men directly participating in the mission during my first command." He made a point of not looking at anyone. "Under _Trian's_ command. Strange how none of none of the many incongruities that allowed so many mercenaries to slip through the ranks came to light."

Harrowmont himself turned around to scrutinize his so-called allies. He may have been old, but he still remembered who and how was involved in those matters. He remembered every detail of that fateful day.

"Orzammar's leadership is... corrupt." The exile spoke it with a finality that could not be denied. He'd just said something more than one person in that room knew to be true. "And the few lords who are not shouldn't have to be forced to partake in these 'dispensations' of 'justice' you mentioned." He then passed his eyes across the lords being detained. "All the rot will eventually harm their judgment, despite their supposedly good intentions."

Surprisingly, no one disputed his words after that, although some of Harrowmont's so-called supporters had very disgruntled looks on their faces. Some were trying to hide worry, while others were outright enraged. As for those arrested, setting aside the ones glaring impotently, several had hopeful and thankful looks, but most were staring down or away.

"This matter will be handled Internally by House Aeducan until this Assembly reforms and can actually claim to possess the faculties required for any justice to be imparted. Oh, don't give me those looks. An emergency council should be possible to set up in a few days at most. If you all still decide to send Bhelen to prison after that, then fine."

Bhelen deflated.

The eldest price spotted it, though it was fleeting. A couple of deshyrs had the mind to say exile or execution was written as the penalty for what had happened... but then they remembered how completely his brother had deconstructed those punishments, or how he'd basically threatened to provide sufficient cause to have them thrown out of Orzammar with just the clothes on their backs, with or without the rest of their houses.

"You little, two-faced prat!"

There was a stunned pause.

The firstborn sought out the source of the voice. Huh. Dugan Lantena. Why was he not surprised?

"Two-faced prat?" Raonar asked innocently, looking around. "Where?"

"Drop that damned arrogance, you whelp!" Shooting to his feet from where he'd been forced to sit, the man sneered, struggling against the armored, anonymous guard who jumped to restrain him, weapon drawn. "The insolence! You pose and posture, acting disrespectful to your elders! I knew you were trouble since that fiasco with the nug! You dare act all self-righteous? While you're practically giving preferential treatment to the biggest so-called traitor here? Don't screw with me!"

Trian had to admit, the man had guts to jump and say what at least half of his conspirators had on the tips of their tongues. The way his spittle flew all over the place kind of took away from his bravado though. Alas.

It was sad how they didn't see it. Raonar wasn't asking for everyone to go along with what he said. He just wasn't going to accept any decision unless he had a sufficient level of respect for the deshyrs of the assembly.

Raonar continued to look, for the life of him, like he had no idea how the man could possibly think that. "But... that's not it ser." Oh boy, he was enacting the nug scene all over again. "Of course I am not going to show nepotism after everything I said and did. Naturally, you all are going to return to your homes without incident."

"Come again?" Bandelor breathed, and not just him. "That is absurd. And with all due respect, it is not your decision."

"Relax, Lord Steward," the white one said. "They don't realize it, but they'll actually be doing us a favor if they try to escape their responsibilities."

"... Explain."

"And totally spell it out for them? As you wish." He tapped his fingers against the outer ring of the shield, making light shimmer locally. "What they did today, it's all in writing, it all had Shaper witnesses, including the high Shaper." He searched for Czibor and seemed surprised to see that he'd taken over for one of the scribes himself. "No matter how much they hope against hope, they are proven criminals." He let that sink in.

"Bu you must see that it is too dangerous to just let them walk. The assembly will not take that risk."

"What risk? Assassins? Most of these deshyrs are from minor houses who don't have a big reach. As for those who do, their killers are bound to be known and listed somewhere." He gave Frandlin, who was standing next to the door, a shrewed look. "Aren't they."

"That they are, your highness. I can have them all rounded up within an hour or two if you ask it."

"You see?" He said brightly, pointedly glossing over Bhelen's sour face. "Why not let them go home and squirm? They all could do with a sleepless night or two. Maybe that will teach them responsibility. And if it won't, the dungeon will." Suddenly, Dugan didn't look so brave anymore."Or the surface. I heard it's pretty cold this time of the year."

"You think the assem- the wronged lords will agree to it if they just get away? There are other passages their houses may know, the front gates aren't the only way out of the city." Bandelor wasn't sounding all that against the notion anymore.

Raonar shrugged. "We'd probably end up exiling them all there anyway, so it'll be less of a hassle for us, unless they choose the Legion. I know they could always use new meat." There was a short pause. "And finally, it would actually help if they do try to flee somehow."

Trian and Bhelen sighed as one.

There was an awkward silence as the eldest and youngest of three siblings exchanged disbelieving stares and then looked in opposite directions.

"Because..." Denek Helmi, shockingly, picked up the words. "Because... then we'd be have all the reason we need to conduct investigations into their houses, and see how much said houses helped them escape. We'd be able to look at their financial records and compare them against their treasuries. In other words, we'll be able to determine to what extent these lords acted alone today and to what extent they had their house's support. We would know if they had the support of their house by whether or not they left with riches." He realized in wonder. "You actually want to use them all to determine which houses can be saved."

Raonar blinked. "Wow... Yes actually. Nice." He grinned with mirth. "Of course, we basically have all the cause we need to investigate them already, or exile them without delay, but I'd rather not have too many people suffer for the foolishness of these few." He scowled at the traitors as though he was very disappointed in petulant children. "Granted, now it'll be _doubly_ interesting to see what they do after we totally explained how incredibly and utterly screwed they are."

Something strange happened then. While saying those last words, the warden didn't look in the direction of the detainees. He was staring at some of Harrowmont's so-called allies instead.

"Oh, enough of this," Bandelor said tiredly. "Can't you just choose a king already and have him sort this out?"

_Wait, what_?

Oh _right._ Trian had completely forgotten this whole mess had actually been about that initially. He was obviously not alone in that either.

"Excellent point, Steward!" the Warden Commander nodded. "You all can start figuring out who you'd like best on that big, stone seat. There, maybe now I'll have some time to finish what I started while you brainstorm, though like I said, we'll have to rebuild the assembly before any decision that big can be taken. No sense in using that Crown unless absolutely necessary."

Ignoring them, now that he finally could, Raonar looked at a stupefied Bhelen again. "You asked me why I was doing this, but you can already guess, can't you? I know you read the letter I sent to father."

The mention of the king caught the attention of everyone and brought silence to the hall.

Again.

This was getting really old.

"What does that even have to do with this?"

With minimal fuss, the warden produced a piece of parchment out of a pocket. "Before dying, Father at least figured out the real meaning and wrote it down, but there was one thing he missed." He held it out and Bhelen numbly took it and unfurled it, reading through it while also following Raonar to one of the lecterns that a scribe was all too eager to free up for them. Alistair moved in to hold the shield up, giving the sword in the stone (and head) a considerable berth.

Trian considered going over there, but decided not to

"Is," the thirdborn looked distraught. "Is this for real?"

"Come on, it's not like there's anything more in that thing than I said here today," the exile sighed. "He didn't see the whole of it, but that's because he didn't know all the facts. _You_ do though. What should the letter end with? Then you'll know why."

The heir had read the letter but this, what Raonar had just said, was news to him as well. Whatever it was, though, it put absolute shame on Bhelen's face.

It was an unusual sight.

Slowly, the third prince took the quill and scribbled four words in steady succession. Each one made it seem like the effort was physically uncomfortable, like he was losing part of himself for every letter.

It was probably a good thing. If his self was made of lies and hate, then all the better that it be so thoroughly dismantled and scattered.

There was a weight to the air after he finished and kept staring at that partly crumpled parchment. "This... this..."

"Never even crossed your mind, did it?"

"I... no..." Bhelen looked like he was going to start weeping all over again. "This... You can't be serious, this can't be all of it. You're telling me that... that you're willing to just forget everything, to set everything aside, all of... _this_... just for _this_?"

The heir apparent resisted the urge to rub his forehead. Naturally, Raonar was going to say yes, for some reason and according to a logic that only he understood. _"What he tried worked so far,"_ Trian reminded himself. _"Don't lose your faith now, even though everything he said after Bhelen stopped crying is patently absurd and technically illegal."_

"Are you kidding?" There was an unmistakable nuance in that exclamation. An unmistakable nuance of 'duh.' "Of course not!"

There was a pause.

Trian gave into his impulse to rub his forehead, but he miscalculated the amount of effort and ended up slapping it instead.

"No offense Bhelen, but this all may still be an act on your part," Raonar said without further ado. That _definitely _made a lot of people, Bhelen included, look up in alarm. "I can't really afford not preparing for that, can I?"

Gorim turned to the eldest Aeducan with an exasperated look on his face.

Bhelen's response was alarmingly sensible, albeit faint. "Oh... that makes sense I guess." His shoulders slumped. "What am I supposed to do? And why do I feel like I might be better off at the gallows?"

The warden commander folded his arms in front of his chest and spoke as seriously and gravely as anyone could manage. "Here, in front of everyone, you will completely renounce all claim that you and your descendants could ever have to the throne of Orzammar, whether or not Aeducan is the ruling house."

Bhelen dropped the letter.

He spent the next five seconds frantically lunging at empty air as he tried to catch it. When he finally succeeded, he just stared in a bit more shock than would have been required.

That had been more of a decree. One that could split rock.

"And also," the man went on. "You will agree that the only way for this decree to be lifted or modified is for both me _and_ Trian to make a public announcement to that effect."

Trian would have spent more time being stunned at that, but he'd had the advantage of expecting something strange. Thus, when those words did get spoken, his mind jumped straight at the part where it would try and make sense of things. Eventually, something clicked. That guy... that guy was at it again. That manipulative brother of his was at it again.

This was the closest thing to a perfect play on Bhelen's desire for power. Raonar was aiming to take that and run it dry. He'd basically put him in a spot where he would have to actively ensure the safety of both of them if he ever wanted to have a shot at the crown again... provided he...

"Of course, I know you might be faking all this and could just end up trying to have both of us killed again just out of spite," Raonar said seriously. "Not that it worked before. But I honestly hope that you're not _that_ petty."

Of all the ironic punishments... Paragons, this was mindblowingly preposterous.

The heir to Orzammar's throne looked around, surveyed those present. The wardens had resignation all over their faces, the arrested deshyrs were on the verge of starting to start shouting. He also found that he, himself, felt that Bhelen was getting off too easy. At least this meant that he could personally consider some punishment for how he'd led to Gorim's condition. He _had_ spent a long time imagining the various ways he could break Bhelen's fingers, among other things, but he suspected Raonar would not be happy if he did any of that.

Bhelen was speechless. Trian wondered if he was seeing what he was seeing, or if there was more to it that he failed to grasp.

Raonar groaned. "For Pete's sake, it's not like you were ever going to become king with Trian alive anyway." He took him by the shoulders one more time and made the one, single real request he'd ever made of him. "Come on, little brother. Let's just go home."

In hindsight, it would be established that the general state of more or less resigned outrage was what permitted the next event to occur. Focused as they were on those two, hardly anyone in the chamber had eyes or ears for the rest.

Trian heard the string of the crossbow stretching, but he reacted too slowly.

And as his own vision went into overdrive, he saw every single instant of the bolt's flight, but he'd not been prepared. When everything seemed to start moving so slowly around him, his reeling mind was not prepared.

All it could do was mentally shout _No! Ancestors dammit _**"NO!"**

* * *

A/N:Don't hate me too much... please?

Anyway, for those who may have recognized a certain passage:

"_Many people believe that humility is the opposite of pride, when, in fact, it is a point of equilibrium. The opposite of pride is actually a lack of self esteem. A humble person is totally different from a person who cannot recognize and appreciate himself as part of this worlds marvels."_

_- Rabino Nilton Bonder_


	63. Succession Arc 6: Collapse

**A/N: **Since I was taking so long, I thought I might post this on January 1. The direction of the story will be changing for a while, so this chapter (60, a rounded number even!) coming out at the start of a new year is a very interesting coincidence.

It really is a coincidence. It's not like I planned this or anything (seriously, I did not).

Of course, anyone reading this, provided they have a brain, will doubtlessly notice that it is not, in fact, January 1, but 2. There is no excuse. I utterly failed to keep to my schedule (which I changed multiple times even) and only finished it today.

I am not sure I succeeded in making everything emotional enough.

* * *

**Chapter 60: Collapse**

"-. .-"

Natives of Ferelden were no strangers to insults and taunts about their way of life. After all, they'd been under foreign occupation for decades and got plenty of that from the Orlesians. Even now, if someone happened to be in Denerim or especially Gwaren, it was easy to run into foreign sailors, traders or travelers that would all too easily feel aggrieved by peoples' conduct, by their drab clothing, by the assumed looks and stares and, most commonly, by the country's smell of wet dog.

Gwen found that most people were careful with their words, though. By now, it was a well known fact that Fereldans didn't take it well if you insulted their dogs. Calling a Mabari war hound anything like "stupid mutt" or worse tended to get you thrown in the nearest river or pig sty, unless you were really important and had a big armed retinue.

That didn't stop everyone, though.

While people tended to complain about the country's smell like wet dog, after a while they finally got it into their heads that Fereldans didn't really give a shit about that. Instead, they would look at the complainer like he was stupid or something. After all, dogs didn't smell so bad, least of all to them.

Then, people started insulting the dogs' masters instead of the dogs themselves. Some would go ahead and say how Fereldans are a lot like the dogs they so love.

Gwen remembered a visit to the Denerim market place, one that happened years ago, when the Couslands had gone to the capital for a Landsmeet. Her father and mother had taken her 13 year-old self, Fergus and a bunch of guards , one of whom was Ser Gilmore, out to buy some trinkets. They were on their way to The Wonders of Thedas when someone from the Free Marches or wherever stormed out, mumbling about canine-minded simpletons.

Bryce Cousland waited just until the man and his chagrined entourage turned the corner before collapsing into guffaws. Gilmore and Fergus almost had to carry him because of how weak his feet had gotten. Once he finished and wiped laughter tears from his eyes, he got around to explaining to the puzzled girl why he'd reacted that way.

"In a way, it was true that Fereldans and their dogs were very much alike," he'd said. "But considering how mabari hounds are smarter than many people, that's actually a compliment."

Gwen had never actually gotten her mind around the explanation, even though it had made a certain amount of sense. After all, Fereldans were a proud people, so they should have been offended even by just the intent behind the words. Now, though...

Now, she was experiencing just what her father, Maker keep him, meant by that.

For one, Fereldans, like their canine compatriots, are very territorial, which is easy enough to understand. The cold, harsh country demands that its inhabitants be particularly hardy and perseverent. Thus, as one toils at the ground and timber, one naturally feels an amount of pride in their accomplishments, as well as entitlement to the land that tests them each day. Calenhad knew this when he became the Silver Knight and united the Teyrnirs, so he chose to uphold the Fereldan way instead of trying to change it.

The end result was wondrous, even if the road to it had been difficult. At the end of it, the Teyrns and their subjects proved to be very pack-minded and, her father said, this was one of Ferelden's greatest strengths and what eventually allowed for the expulsion of the Orlesians, so much time later.

The other similarity between Fereldans and their hounds was the way they dealt with foreigners, those 'outside the pack' as it were. The people of Ferelden never gave respect easily. Trust came harder and only when someone had both did one decide whether or not that person could be considered kin.

Very hard was for someone not of Ferelden to gain the loyalty of one who was, because that kind of bond, that kind of love manifested itself in a way others wouldn't easily see. When a Fereldan pledged loyalty to someone, consciously or not, openly or not, it was a monumental decision, because, like their hounds, Fereldans naturally pair that loyalty with a type of empathy so deep and so inalienable that the words "to share another's joy and grief" could be taken in their literal meaning.

If a Fereldan becomes loyal to someone, he or she _will_ share their burdens, especially ones that they are familiar with.

Gwen used to think it would have been easier if she'd been there when her family was killed. She used to think it would have been _right_ if she hadn't left them. If she'd died along with them. But then, after that whole Fade dream, she realized she was only wishing she would have been there so that she could die before they did and spare herself the heartache.

She'd been secretly angry with Raonar for making her feel like a fool and a coward, even though she knew it was wrong to think like that. After that, Kallian's sickness happened, and she saw enough of him and the others to get over that feeling. And _then_ she and the others learned just _what_ had gotten the dwarf out of his homeland and realized that there were definitely others facing grief like her own.

Maybe those similarities between them, the betrayals, were what made her decide he deserved her loyalty. After all, his life hadn't been that much easier than her own, but he was handling it much better and proactively than what she'd ever considered to do with what was left of hers.

Hounds always respected the strength of the first among them, and Fereldans were the same. And this whole group could easily be compared to a pack of sorts.

Now she wasn't angry at him anymore. She wasn't thankful either though. Not for this.

Not for offering her the perfect chance to experience precisely what she would have experienced if she'd been there to see Oren, Orianna and her parents getting murdered.

She should have noticed it. By the Maker, she should have seen it. She was next to the door and her point of view completely included everyone privy to that mess but, like everyone else, she'd been so affected by everything that had happened that she couldn't do anything but look at those two until it was too late.

"NO!"

That one shout made her jump, but it was too late in coming.

The next few moments were all a blur. Scribes and shapers gasping, noblemen rendered confused, Baizyl Harrowmont crying out a startled "WHAT?" and looking around in confusion.

Trian Aeducan's eyes fixed on the crossbow bolt every moment of its short flight.

The projectile struck well and true, unerring, passing cleanly through plate and chain and then flesh.

"Stop him!" Baizyl shouted, arrested deshyrs forgotten as he broke into a dash.

Gwen didn't know when her hand had come to be covering her mouth. It was hard enough to tear her eyes away from the shocking scene and try to keep up with the assailant. Her mind raced to try to understand what had just happened as the armored guard suddenly lunged away from his spot near the wall, crossbow left to clamp uselessly as he scrambled towards the exit. Perhaps he thought he had a clear chance of escaping with everyone so numbed by all that had occurred, and with her and Faren far enough across the room. Or maybe he just panicked and didn't know what else to do but flee.

Not that Gwen actually thought these things. She was too stunned for it just yet.

The attacker deliberately crashed into a man similarly clad in the guard uniform, knocking him into two others and all the way to the ground with a grunt as he dashed to the exit. Only Theron was left on that side, but the dwarf didn't have time to reach him before Frandlin Ivo was suddenly next to him and had a gauntleted fist in his face.

The impact of the glove's metal against the helmet sounded duller than it should have and, before the killer could get his bearings, he was already pinned against the wall, Frandlin's forearm pressing against his neck as his other hand held his saw sword pointed at his face. "WHAT IN ANCESTORS'S NAME, MERRICK!"

Inert. That was the perfect word for the Assembly chamber during that extended second.

And then shock and misgivings finally gained voice. Rustle erupted as Baizyl coached his men to not falter and keep the arrested deshyrs immobilized. Those on Harrowmont's side either sputtered or stared.

The noise began to die down soon, though. The simple fact was that no one had any idea how to react past that point.

Gwen's eyes sought those two again and she resorted to gazing on. She just watched and felt her heart wrenching at the look on Raonar's face. She'd never seen him so confused. She'd never seen him confused, period, but now it was almost physically painful to watch him, but she couldn't avert her eyes. Not then, and not as his expression turned from shock to fear and then horror as he found himself having to support more than twice his own weight.

Not as his arms made their way around his younger brother and his fingers came upon the bolt stuck in his back.

"You..." Gwen's head jerked to the sound. Frandlin was speaking, eyes wide as he noticed that the ones from behind the helmet were different. "You're not Merrick..."

"Oh, that will get you a medal," the 'guard' answered with scorn.

Gwen twitched when she saw recognition flash over Frandlin's face, and the faces of Faren and Baizyl as well.

Not wasting time, the youngest Ivo pressed his sword against the man's neck and freed his left hand, to be able to take his helmet off.

No sooner than it was done, Vartag Gavorn spat him right between the eyes. "He doesn't _deserve_ redemption."

Frandlin growled and only briefly shut his left eye.

"Vartag!" Faren gasped. "What the hell! How'd he get here!"

"Guess," the disgraced Gavorn sneered at him.

If anyone was going to utter anything else, they were cut off by the noise of Raonar falling to his knees under his young brother's weight. "Wynne!" He yelled. Gwen cringed at what he said next. "What the sod are you gawking at, get over here!" And how he shouted it. If there was any impatience or anger, it was drowned in panic.

The elder mage ran over and knelt beside the two, magic already flaring from her palms. Alim joined her half a step later.

"Don't bother," Vartag said mockingly. "Nothing's gonna work."

The Cousland felt her anger overpowering shock for a moment, but her heart told her off. She couldn't even tell if Bhelen was still alive or not. She couldn't see his face from that angle.

The other one's face, though, that was perfectly visible. Gwen didn't consider herself an expert at reading people. After all, she'd not even suspected Arl Howe was going to do what he did. As such, it was a testament to how completely off guard the dwarf prince had been caught if he could only barely keep panic from overcoming him. And even then, his hands were visibly trembling as he frantically pulled at the armor bindings, picking the plates apart one by one.

"What..." The nobles were finally finding their voices again. "How... How did this happen! You! Who sent you!" "Are you Working alone-" "Murderers everywhere!" Gwen narrowed her eyes as she felt a sort of pressure subtly filling the air. "What has become of this place!" "Lord Gavorn, did you set this up?" "He must have!"

Some people were looking vindicated too. "Just as well!" Lord Dugan let out, satisfied.

"You hold your tongue!" Baizyl snapped, rounding on him.

"Oh I'll speak when I please-" Baizyl didn't indulge him anymore, he just punched him hard enough to send him sprawling all over the floor. In his fall, the man toppled over two other lords as well. Gwen reasoned that the metal-clad fist must have knocked some of his teeth out too.

"I'll use a sword next."

Gwen wondered what sort of logic the Lantena patriarch used. Bhelen was the one he was supposedly supporting for kingship, wasn't he? "This is madness!" a woman shrieked, not knowing what else to say. "What has come of Orzamm-"

"Oh shut **UP**!" Raonar wasn't at the center of the Assembly hall anymore. He, Bhelen and Wynne were actually closer to the lecterns and the scribes. Even so, though, his voice exploded so loud that all diatribes got derailed completely. That done, he breathed in and, with Bhelen leaning, hanging really, over his shoulder, he grabbed onto the bolt's shaft and shut his eyes.

Gwen wouldn't have noticed the small, white flare from beneath the armor if she wasn't looking for it.

Bhelen's whole body shook and he gave half a cry of agony before it became a grunt and then nothing but short, irregular gasps, interlaced with huffed moans.

The bolt came out, whole, but the stream of blood that accompanied it showed no sign that it was going to stop. Raonar couldn't really see it from that position, but he scrambled to get the remainder of the cuirass away. "Wynne, do something! You can heal this, right?" Gwen started to feel sick. She'd never seen or heard him so emotionally unbalanced and it was distressing to witness.

The mage said nothing. She was chanting something, slowly, blue light coursing all over her and into the dwarf she was tending. The light coming from Wynne began to grow, until it was all white and not hers at all. She kept her palms on Bhelen's back as the commander held him there, but the breathing wasn't getting any easier. Even as the blood's flow lessened, the youngest prince drew and released air more and more laboriously.

Alim hadn't knelt next to them, but his eyes were shining that strange blue, which meant he was looking at something the rest of them couldn't see. After a minute, the light from them died off and the mage covered his forehead with one hand. Silently, he made his way to where Raonar had tossed the crossbow bolt, an unusually sharp type, no doubt knowingly prepared in case the target was wearing thick protection. The elf picked it up and then went and took the crossbow as well.

Under Gwen's eyes, Alim's face turned into a deep scowl.

Whether it was because he didn't trust himself not to drop it or throw it, the elf levitated them away, towards a petrified Trian, who numbly took them out of thin air, looking in confusion at the new cracks that adorned the weapon. Apparently, Alim couldn't help himself and seeped a bit too much anger into that spell and the crossbow almost gave way under the pressure.

"Yeah," Vartag wheezed out, trying his best to push against Frandlin's elbow with both hands. "Now you g-get it."

"Get _what_?_" _Frandlin growled.

"I..." Wynne was breathing tight. "I... I cannot seem to mend it all but... even if I managed it..."

"It was poisoned," Alim uttered hollowly.

Trian beheld the murder implements with undisguised revulsion.

"No way... no, this is..." Raonar in denial was something Gwen now wished she'd never had to see. "No... No, even so, there should be an antidote. Search him! Faren, get Zevran over here! He might have something...'

"Hahaha, don't bother!" Vartag laughed before Faren could do just that.

"What did you do?" Frandlin hissed.

"Oh, nothing original," the man answered. "To quote esteemed lord Trian Aeducan there, just that one foreign poison no one in Orzammar was ever able to find a cure fochhh-" he choked the last bit as Frandlin grabbed him by the throat in earnest.

"You rotten cretin!" young Ivo burst.

Leliana and Kallian both looked as mortified as she did, Gwen noticed, and Alistair was looking at her like he didn't know what to do. Even Theron had his eyes closed as a couple of fingers pressing against his forehead.

"No," Raonar shook his head, quickly but carefully laying Bhelen on his back. The latter started to agonize as soon as that was done. "No... no." He forced the Lifegiver off his finger as Wynne stood and gave them space. Gwen realized she was covering her mouth again, but she didn't care. It was one thing to see him distraught but to witness _him_ of all people grasping at straws, not realizing that if_ Wynne_ of all people couldn't do anything then the ring wasn't going to help much either.

Her temples began to throb.

Holy Maker, how had this happened...

If a Fereldan pledged loyalty to someone, that loyalty came with a sort of empathy so deep and so inalienable that they _will_ share their burdens, especially ones they are familiar with.

Gwen had lost her family, but now she was experiencing what it was, what it would have been like if she'd stayed and not been able to do anything about it.

Her gauntlet clamped briefly against the stone wall. She didn't know when she'd backed off enough to be by the doors, the still open doors, but she just knew she couldn't be there. She couldn't be there without snapping and doing something unworthy him and his predicament, so she forced herself not to tear Vartag's throat apart with her hands and just left the chamber. Her blood was pumping in her temples and she had to feel around in order to find her way, black as her vision had become.

Her steps echoed through the hollow corridor but didn't carry her far, and it was just her luck that she had a wall close enough to steady herself against.

She barely even registered the thunderous noise that followed her exit, of metal slamming flat against stone.

Alistair calling for her she didn't hear at all.

"-. .-"

Grey Wardens shouldn't have to deal with this sort of mess.

_No one_ should have to deal with this sort of mess.

That was the thought that governed Alistair's mind for most of the assembly session-gone-crazy. He sure as hell didn't want to become King of Ferelden if the human politics were anything like this, regardless of what the others said.

Those feelings now weren't much different, but they ended up taking a back seat the moment the shot was fired. Even though Trian's shout should have jolted everyone into action, Alistair only managed to stay where he was, holding the Shield of Aeducan upright and staring transfixed at the new scene unfolding before him.

There were no words that came to mind, nor did he know how to react. He just stood, hands on the edge of the shield balanced against his front. It had happened so fast and out of the blue. It didn't help that he was already beyond surprised because of the direction that entire session had taken.

He was forced to move only when Frandlin shoved passed him. Alistair nearly stumbled and barely caught onto the shield again before its impromptu spin got out of control, like a coin that landed on edge. The targe ended up facing him, so he got a clear look of the paragon's face. Its eyes seemed to be glowing brighter than a minute before.

He echoed everyone else's disbelief when Vartag revealed himself. After that, he tried to figure out what he should do, if anything, but didn't get any ideas. Not until he heard something to his left.

Turning his gaze in the direction of the noise, he saw Gwen steadying herself against the side of the door, making her way out of the room. He wasn't given time to say or do anything in response to that.

The shield of Aeducan flashed.

It had been brief, but the light from the eyes pulsated with enough suddenness that Alistair jerked his hand away from it. By the time he made to catch it again, it was beyond his reach.

There was a deafening noise, like a knell, as the targe smashed against the hard floor. It didn't spin and it didn't rattle. Due to the handles being folded in, it just fell flat.

The echo lasted almost as long as it took for Alistair's ears to stop ringing. And at the end of it, he also felt the ghost of an ache in his left wrist for some reason.

The man was mortified. He'd just managed to singlehandedly make that whole scene worse. As if being forced to have your family die in your arms wasn't bad enough.

He wrestled with the dilemma of whether or not he should stay there or leave. In the end, he decided to go and check on Gwen. Alistair didn't like how she held a hand at her brow on her way out. He liked her precarious balance even less.

At least from out there he wouldn't have a chance to do any more damage than he'd already inflicted, or so he hoped.

He backed away slowly. Only Leliana met his searching eye on his way out, albeit briefly. Few of the others paid him much mind as he withdrew, even though some chastising glares would have been more than deserved for his blunder. It was a testament to how shocking the turn of events had been that no one paid him any attention even after all that.

The hallway leading to the Assembly Chamber was bereft of any guards. All of them had been positioned within the meeting hall itself, based on previous assembly scuffles that required extra security. The only ones that didn't get summoned there were outside.

Unlike the doorway he'd just passed through, the one leading outside was shut.

Gwen was just ten or so paces away, hunched forward and holding herself away from the wall with her right palm. As he closed in, her left hand left her forehead and hammerfisted the wall. Dragonbone against granite produced a dull but nonetheless considerable noise.

"Gwen, are you al-" he stopped. Asking her if she was alright when she obviously wasn't would be stupid. "What's wrong?" When she didn't respond, he tried to put a hand on her shoulder.

He flinched back as soon as contact was made. The woman's whole body jerked like she'd been shocked. She moved closer to the wall until he whole left forearm was against it. Alistair finally noticed she was trembling. "Don't!" she snapped when he made as if to reach out. Her voice was heavy and unsteady. With trepidation, the templar saw that her right hand was slowly closing. Her fingertips had even begun to leave deep scratch marks in the wall.

That should not have been possible. Her gauntlets weren't even sharp.

Alistair Theirin didn't like feeling useless, but that was the exact feeling he experienced for the entire while he stayed and watched Gwen war with her anger. He'd never seen her this angry before. At least, he _thought_ it was only rage. The way her shoulders shook and her downcast eyes resembled something else worrisomely much.

Further attempts at communications were made impossible by an invisible pressure smashing them both. It came from the hall, like a wave of oppression that started to weigh down on them as though their bodies got heavier. Alistair winced and staggered, reeling from the mental punch to the head.

He got to make a few steps back towards the Assembly Chamber but he couldn't go beyond a certain point. It was like something was pressing against him from all directions, preventing him from moving even the slightest bit, as if his brain had been convinced that he'd lost all capacity for movement. He knew this feeling. He'd been the victim of a paralysis spell before but he could well see that was not the case here. There was no light, no flares.

His eyes still worked, though.

He couldn't see everyone from there, but the Shield was directly in front of him, and it shone brighter than ever.

The only thing that matched it was the sword.

"-. .-"

Loud, sudden noises were known for their capacity to scare the life out of anyone. When Alistair dropped the Shield of Aeducan, the ensuing noise should have managed to make everyone there jump, maybe even scream. After all, not only was the sound incredibly loud, but it also came from very close to the hall's center, meaning that it was amplified by a significant factor.

As such, it was astounding that no one even moved. A grimace showed here and there, some gave into their impulse to look away or shake their heads, palm their foreheads even, but no one was actually startled.

Alim himself only barely winced. He noticed that Raonar hadn't actually reacted to it either.

There was, however, one important effect.

When the Shield of Aeducan slammed against the pediment, Bhelen's eyes snapped open. It was as if he'd been yanked back from beyond the border of unconsciousness. He could agonize and feel every moment of his final minutes now.

Alim had learned about the poison. Back when they finally went to see Harrowmont for the first time, he and Gwen had stayed with the man himself in his office during the reunion of the two eldest Aeducan brothers. He'd been meaning to find out about it for quite a while, seeking to see if there was a way to cleanse it from someone's body via Blood Magic.

He didn't manage to get a hold of a sample, but he did learn everything that was known about the strange so-called regicide. Small doses, applied regularly, could easily pass for illnesses. Larger doses could kill people within minutes if ingested. It was possible to counteract some of the effects, but that only made the end slower in coming. There was no known antidote.

In other words, one could recover from very small doses, but once it passed a certain point, there was no escaping death. That meant that ill-meaning people could just feed someone that regicide and let time do the rest. Sadists loved that poison too, since it meant that the better the healer the longer the agony was prolonged.

Bhelen's eyes were open wide now. He was staring up. Lying on his back as he was, he couldn't do much else. Alim wondered if he actually understood what was happening. Even as an arm slipped under his head and lifted him a bit from the ground, his vision remained aimless. He probably didn't realize that his brother was also holding him by the other hand.

The thirdborn's face showed clear signs of pain. Alim couldn't blame him. Ingested, the poison easily started destroying the body and caused more suffering that anyone could bare. First, the stomach was ruined, after which the substance went on to the intestines and then the blood.

Bhelen Aeducan was going through much worse, since he'd not been fed the poison. He'd been shot with it. It had been shoved straight into his lung. Alim wondered if Vartag missed his heart on purpose, just to make sure his end would be painful. He wouldn't have put it past him. The crossbow shot alone would have been enough to kill him if it had been aimed properly, but now Bhelen would have to feel his back and chest start burning from the inside, more and more.

The black magician looked on with his true sight. The Lifegiver was just slowing down the destruction of Bhelen's internal organs. Alim would have told Raonar that he should stop pumping magical energy into the ring, since it only made the suffering lengthen. Nevertheless, he said nothing, and it wasn't because no one was supposed to know the so-called exile could and was performing magic.

The simple fact was that Raonar knew full well it was hopeless, but was doing it anyway. There wasn't much else he could do, but he couldn't just do _nothing_. Alim knew the feeling. He knew it intimately.

"Uugh..." Bhelen drew half a breath. "Oh..." He bit back a cough and, when he pried his eyes open again, his gaze wandered. "This... is really Ironic... isn't it?" Some sadness was there at last. And resignation.

"Stone dammit," Raonar hissed, pulling Bhelen closer with the arm he had around his head and shoulders. "After all this time, how can there still be no cure for this thing?"

Alim let his sight go back to normal. He didn't need it anymore. His commander had abandoned all pretense and was openly casting that light from his hand. It was turning out that there was a limit to the amount of life force even the Lifegiver could provide.

Bhelen finally seemed to catch on to what he'd said. "Why... are you so upset?" the voice was rasped. "This is... really... dramatic, isn't it? Just how you... like it..."

"Shut up." He clutched at his hand tighter. Light was streaming between them like threads now. "Dammit, not again. This can't be happening again."

Alim couldn't bear the mixture of denial and shock on that face so he looked away. He almost wished he hadn't, because he ended up noticing the way Faren was staring in his direction, silently begging him for a miracle. How should he tell him that the only way to get the poison out of his body would mean taking out all the blood? Doing so would probably make the end swifter, but no less painful.

"A...again?" Finally unable to hold it in, the youngest of three gave in and started coughing up blood. It was a horrible sound. Coughing up blood was actually a rare symptom, in no way as common as fiction would have one believe. So it was a testament to how wretched that poison was, and how effective, that it was happening.

The coughing fit lasted far too long and Bhelen didn't even have the strength to cover his own mouth. Of course, Raonar always had a napkin or two (or eleven) on his person, "just in case," only this time it wasn't funny. It wasn't amusing at all to see him stave off the gushes of red fluid, or to see Bhelen's whole body shaking with each heave.

By the end of it, the side of Bhelen's head was resting against Raonar's chest. He didn't seem in so much pain anymore, which meant only that it was almost over. The second prince wiped the blood from his mouth and maneuvered him until he could see some of his face again. Perhaps the realization that these were their parting words finally let him go over his denial and take the first steps towards the budding of rage. "Dammit, little brother why... Why do you have to get yourself killed too?"

Somehow, Bhelen was able to lift his left hand from the ground, but not as high as he wanted. "Nothing's changed..." His voice was barely more than a whisper, but the hall was so silent that everything was heard crystal clear. "Even after all this time, I still... don't understand you at all..." His arm fell to the ground and it was all he could do to keep his eyes open. "You always were so... kind, big brother... That's what I... envied most about you..."

The young man closed his eyes on his own and moved no more. A life of lies ended with the most honest words the self-tormented prince had probably ever uttered. Perhaps there was something to the myth of ultimate clarity in the moment of death. Not everyone was brave enough to make such an admission.

There were worse things one could achieve by dying.

Though he'd told none of the others, Alim knew how it felt like to have someone die in his arms. He knew it was not something he would ever forget. The helplessness, the feeling of uselessness is something he knew was never going to leave his memory. The worst part of it all, though, was when he had to close his eyes after he gave his last breath. It made him feel hollow.

As if it hadn't been enough that he'd...

No, he shoved those thoughts back in their box and shelved it deep inside his subconscious. This was not about him and what happened over a dozen years ago. He may as well feel glad that Bhelen closed his eyes on his own. At least that way Raonar didn't have to be the one to do it. But then, when people die with their eyes open, it's usually because they start to see the tunnel and the light at the end, leading to the afterlife. Alim hoped he was overthinking it, but he couldn't help but consider that it didn't speak well of the afterlife they were headed towards if someone died without seeing that light, as he assumed Bhelen did.

It was easier to think those were all just hallucinations, but the simple fact was that the existence of the afterlife in Thedas was, and basically always had been, a proven fact.

The elf counted the seconds it took for Raonar to stop pushing white magic into that ring. He even lost count twice. At the end of it, the exiled one slumped and, with great weariness, carefully laid Bhelen on the ground. For a time, the man kept looking at his face, his own almost devoid of emotion. Losing family was painful on its own, but it didn't compare with when you went through it and also saw almost everything you worked towards your whole life being destroyed right in front of you.

Finally, the mage understood that he wasn't actually looking _at_ Bhelen. Raonar wasn't looking at anything. For what was probably the first time in his life, he didn't know how to react. No, the _second_ time, Alim corrected himself. The first time had been when he'd last used a bow.

It was oddly understandable, the spellweaver grimly reflected. Even though the perpetrator turned out to be a rotten sot, this was all still justice, of a sort. Bhelen's own actions ended up being the death of him. The Warden Commander probably understood this as well, hence his lack of reaction. Or maybe he was just too shocked and numbed by how abruptly it had all gone downhill.

Alim felt lost. He didn't know what to do now. With nothing else to go on, he let his eyes float across the room. It said something that everyone was unable or unwilling to say or do anything at this point. Trian and Faren both had the same stare, the one where they mentally beat themselves up for not preventing this outcome. That went for Gorim also.

The magus almost started berating himself as well. After all, if he hadn't taken down that forcefield, none of this would have happened. If only he'd... no, not the time. Guilt could come later. He was going to have more than enough time to beat himself up about it and then wonder if it would truly have been better if he'd kept the field up and left Trian as the next best target for that resentful man.

He had to pull himself together and take charge, like Raonar had dictated. This situation was delicate and could quickly spiral out of control depending on what happened next. He had to act fast and make sure no one said or did anything stupid once the moment of silence ended. He had to try to make the whole matter easier on his leader and friend, or at least stop it from weighing any harder-

"Good riddance."

...

_"Oh __**fuck**__!"_

Frandlin had him at swordpoint and was holding him by the throat as tight as he could without suffocating him, but Vartag still managed to growl that out. He even had the gall to look vindicated when Trian, Gorim and others glared at him in unison.

Alim Surana was standing to the right of the doorway, near the scribes. All the others of his order, along with Leliana, Wynne and Morrigan, were in his sight. Thus, as all went stone silent, they looked at each other, mortified, or, in Morrigan's case, in sheer disbelief at Vartag's stupidity. As the moment dragged on, Alim hoped, wished Raonar hadn't heard that. He foolishly indulged the hope that the remark would pass without him flipping out.

The effect made itself clear when he thought of moving. His intent was to cast a spell on the idiot to make him fall asleep, but as soon as he wanted to move, he realized he couldn't.

Then it came down. A pressure like he'd never felt before. The air seemed to be getting heavier and thicker. His sixth sense began to catch a prickling in the air. It was slow for the briefest of instants, but then the Shield of Aeducan flashed for the third time that day, only this time the light did not fade. The inscription around the emblem appeared on its own. The azure runes glowed in a manner they were never meant to be capable of, bright enough to project the light of the words on the walls and ceiling of the assembly hall.

And that way the light stayed.

Whatever awe the relic solicited was curbed when a hiss, a sizzling caught the elf's attention, along with that of everyone else. Just as bright and just as blue, the Sword of Maric, driven through broodmother head and stone, was shining, and the blight-purging magic was eating through the skin and flesh of what was left of Laryn. Under everyone's waking eyes, the skin began to peel off and turn to dust. Blue rays were all that remained in place of each inch of disintegrated corrupted flesh, light poured from the now empty eye sockets. More and more bare bone became visible with every second.

Instinctively, Alim activated his second sight and made the blunder of locking it on the Warden Commander. "Aaaugh!" He staggered back and almost fell, unheeded by the rest of the audience. It was all he could do to keep his balance and shield his eyes before the weight of the world became so overbearing that he put all effort he could muster into staying on his feet. Dimly, he heard, and felt, his long coat slightly fluttering due to the vibrations in the air.

He only had his true sight on him for a moment but even that had _hurt. _It was like staring at the sun after coming out of a pitch black room. Normal eyes could see nothing strange around the dwarf noble, but that was only because the wavelength of the magical energy flooding the room was too high for them to discern.

Though most people didn't know it, Raonar's occasional aura wasn't something to be overly proud about. The light that came from him when he performed some unusual feat was actually wasted energy. Certainly, he sometimes cast that brightness deliberately, and it was a testament to his willpower and self-control that he subconsciously transformed surplus energy into visible but harmless light while under duress. That way, it didn't hurt anyone the way it would if left in its raw state. It was still a waste, though, and the brighter the light he cast, the less efficient he was.

Intent, will and emotion were what shaped a spell. What Raonar was doing now lacked the first, but will and emotion existed in abundance. So instead of doing something, the magic just became, the magic _was_ his anger. It filled the entire space around him with enough intensity that it had effects at the psychological level. It struck pure fear into everyone. It caused a sensation of oppression and helplessness in much the same manner that the mightiest demons of the Fade struck into mortals during their worst nightmares.

Blinking the lingering spots out of his eyes, Alim saw the exiled prince slowly get up. He also heard several people fall to their knees under the weight of the atmosphere. He distantly asked himself how long it would take to start feeling like he was drowning. Two of the scribes he even saw collapse completely, paralyzed. Were he to activate his second sight again, the black magician knew he would be met with a fog of energy everywhere, all coming out of the tear between this world and the Fade.

The connection was a waterfall whose mouth Raonar could increase or narrow if he so chose, depending on the force of his will and if he was calm and focused enough for it. Now he was angry, but that rage was so intense, the pulse so fast that it couldn't be distinguished from a constant flow. It was a sort of cold fury that Alim had himself entered at Ostagar, with one big difference: the Warden Commander couldn't use his power unless he was calm.

Raonar had said that he couldn't use his power unless he was calm, but that didn't account for when there was no way to make the difference between inner peace and the dissonant serenity that he exhibited now.

Slowly, the second prince of Orzammar turned around. His eyes were closed, his head downcast, but he accurately faced the spot where Frandlin and Vartag were both frozen in the same positions as they'd been since the murder. Like everyone, they were staring at him in terrified fascination.

The room crackled with force.

The templar smite, or whatever it was, struck down right next to the pair, on the other side from where the exile was standing. It exploded bright and hard enough to blow both men away. Frandlin smashed with a chocked grunt against the ground and slid on his back a short distance. Vartag wasn't so lucky.

The smite had been directed. The kinetic burst sent the man flying, massive armor and all, right in the commander's direction, and his flight path only changed when the exile mercilessly and contemptuously hammerfisted him sideways.

The black magician hissed. He felt as though his left forearm had just been mangled and he had to put effort into keeping an eye open and watch Vartag crash back-first into the wall, then fall on his face.

Raonar wasn't wearing any armor, so when his fist and forearm smashed against the metal plates, blood gushed freely, muscles tore and the bone may have cracked. Alim wasn't sure, but the ghost pain in his own limb strongly suggested it. All that and the White Commander didn't even wince. His eyes never opened and his expression never changed. It remained just as dull.

With no one to intervene, the white-haired man slowly approached the prostrate form of his brother's murderer, heedless of the blood dripping from his fingertips. Dazed but conscious, Vartag began to crawl away as soon as he looked up and saw him advancing. Terror was plastered all over his face as he retreated and, without any other choice, he gradually got up and backed against the corner. The Assembly Hall wasn't a perfect circle, more like a star with fifty points, one of which he'd been thrown into.

By the time the Grey Warden had an arm next to each side of his head, palms pressing against the walls, Vartag was sweating with dread. His fingers were trying to dig into the stone behind him but he didn't even have the ability to think about retaliating anymore. He'd shut his eyes and faced as far away from him as possible.

Though in no way close, Alim was basically behind the Warden-Commander, but he knew he'd finally opened his eyes when Vartag Gavorn's face, and the walls around him, turned a clear shade of red.

The prince's whispered command confirmed his guess. "Look me in the eyes, worm."

The lesser will was broken and Vartag did just that.

Alim should have realized what was happening even before it started, but he didn't. It was a couple dozen seconds before he understood there was more than the original deal with the fade spirit in play here.

The connection clicked between this scene and a red globe-that-wasn't.

A mental effort, though admittedly considerable, was all it took to push against the disruptive pressure around him, breaking the paralytic hold. The pain in his left forearm persisted until he called on on the spirit fragment slumbering in it. He had to stop him, had to intervene now.

It was just his luck that Alim didn't end up having to feel guilty about being too late. It turned out that there was one person in that place that had never been immobilized at all.

"-. .-"

The idea that no person was inherently better than another was one that Raonar used to need to to remind himself of from time to time. Every so often, something would happen that seemingly challenged that way of thinking. At least, that was what used to happen until the expedition he 'ran off with' after the queen's death. After that, he never actually had any trouble preserving the idea that each person and each life was priceless.

It was simple enough once backwards reasoning was abandoned. The potential possessed by each person was the same as the number of possible routes their development could take, combined with the number of ideas they could produce and put into practice. In other words, potential was unlimited and, by extension, so was the worth. Even if you indulged in the arrogance of assuming you had the right to judge and assign value to another's exploits, the 'judgment' became moot if the potential was enough to make someone priceless and special all on its own.

Infinity was infinity, regardless of how much you, in your hubris, assumed you had the right to add or subtract.

It had been so long since anything truly challenged this idea. Maybe this was the motive for reason being so quickly pushed aside when Vartag made that last, scornful remark. Or maybe reason didn't actually go anywhere. Putting that worm of a man through the closest thing to what his younger brother had just gone through felt very appropriate somehow.

Raonar felt every second of it. As he kept pushing magic into the Lifegiver, as the threads linked him and Bhelen together he didn't just get to see that it was only making the death slower and harder. He felt each moment, as Bhelen's soul broke off from the rest of him and drifted away, little by little. It didn't even feel like distance. It was more like he could feel less and less of him with each grain of sand in the hourglass. He'd practically experienced Bhelen's death himself.

One thing people sometimes said was that the road to Hell was paved with good intentions. Unfortunately, those people never seemed to realize that the saying completely smashed heads with the one that said it's the thought that counts.

Perhaps it really was all justice. Maybe Vartag just became the instrument of the world's mechanism for preventing Bhelen's escape from retribution. Too bad for the murderous man that it worked in more ways than one. Even if he became an instrument of fate, it was still his choice to do what he did. There was no shortage of intent. There was no shortage of premeditation. The good intention part didn't even apply, so the exile didn't see any need for philosophical reflection. Vartag intended to murder the man, and he had, but he'd done it out of spite, nothing else.

Why _shouldn't _he himself just take on a similar role and become the instrument of retribution, Raonar wondered.

Or he would have, if his mind was in a state that allowed for such elaborate mental exercise. He didn't know if he was.

All he knew was that he was angry.

Enraged beyond al mortal limits.

Maybe he'd been wrong all along, he mused as he filled the destitute noble with terror just by staring at him. Maybe some people really were just trash. Vartag's will was so weak, broken by a simple whisper. If he so easily responded to being called a worm, maybe that's all he was, regardless of what he looked like, outside or in.

The soul of the terrified dwarf was laid bare before him. It would have been so easy to pull it, to wrench it out. He watched through a red haze as it squirmed under the terrible pressure of his contempt. The connection to his physical shell was so simple to disrupt. All it would take was a strong enough pull and he would be hurled into whatever afterlife he deserved. A spiritual duel, one might call it. Maybe he should bind both their souls together with a chain and play tug of war until one or both gave in. Even if it killed them both, he didn't really care.

It would be slow and painful, just like Vartag had made sure Bhelen's death would be.

The process had started as soon as their eyes locked on to one another. The exile smashed through whatever pitiful resistance he was met with and began to drain the life out of him. At first, the soul was a pool, but it pulsed and twisted, bubbled, struggling and shifting as the energy was being drained from it, bit by bit.

He could hear screaming, but it was so far away. The sound was in his ears one second but with each tick of the clock it was farther removed. He'd probably imagined the grip on his shoulder too. it disappeared rather fast anyway. Maybe he should start to experiment with different ways of attacking the spiritual shreds, see how the screaming changed-

He was reminded that he, too, had a physical body when his arms were pushed away and apart. All at once, his view of Vartag's tormented soul was gone, replaced by a void. It wasn't darkness. it was... nothing. An indescribable lack of perception. By reflex, he redoubled his efforts, somehow knowing that there was no way for such 'nothing' to truly exist. His push was rewarded with extra clarity, for an instant.

A star shone within. It projected fear, again like before, but with a fundamental difference. It was not fear _of_ him, but _for _him. How strange. He wasn't in any danger, was he? Whoever's soul this was, it was tricky, probably trying to fool him. Maybe it was still Vartag, proving more devious and slippery than he appeared to be on the surface. Souls could create layers of falsehood to shield themselves in, fooling themselves into believing their lies would keep them safe and content. If so, it was a simple matter of pushing harder, going deeper-

A voice made itself heard. It shouted refusal, rejection. He didn't understand exactly what it said. He wasn't sure if it was important, but it was easy to find out, he would just reach further in and-

"-no, man, **NO!**" The vision snapped back to normal. His head jerked back violently and the way his brain rocked inside his skull forced his mind to reassert itself. The pain in his left jaw pierced the mist surrounding his mind, but did it slowly, even though the punch was delivered from within a metal-clad fist. Awareness returned, little by little. First he realized he'd succeeded in recovering balance after the strike to his face. Then he struggled to blink the fog from his eyes.

When his sight cleared, reality crashed into him too fast to keep up with. Faren was poised to hit him again. Beads of sweat covered his forehead and he was hunched over, gasping, his right hand clutching at his chest as much as the armor permitted. His eyes were wide as if he'd been given the scare of his life and he had to struggle against the impulse to look away. Behind him, Vartag was sprawled across the floor, barely twitching. Softly moaning.

Foaming at the mouth.

Wondering what in the world had just happened didn't have time to cross the Warden's mind. As if by a battering ram, his brain was assaulted by fresh pain signals. Barely succeeding in not falling unconscious from the shock, the exile stumbled back and clutched at his left arm, finally noticing that it ached abominably. No clarity was granted to him when he looked at it, because he couldn't see anything wrong. Blood covered much of it and the sleeve of his shirt was torn apart, but it looked whole. It looked fine but hurt as if he had been stabbed in it by a dozen knives, each slowly twisting.

His vision flashed to another place for an instant, with spires and deep waters, and a mirrorred sky, but he willed his mind back to the assembly chamber. He latched onto what he could catch some sense of. Unlike everything else, his arm seemed to give off a more reddish tint. No, it wasn't the arm, it was the light that fell on it...

Shutting his eyes but seeing red instead of black solved that mystery.

What followed was anything but coherent. A stumble, a mind blank. His feet dragging themselves to where Bhelen was. His aching hand reaching down and picking up the letter between two fingers. As the grip on awareness became weaker, the sight before him switched repeatedly. He didn't remember when he'd exited from the assembly hall into the hallway, but he had no trouble sensing Gwen and Alistair on each side.

Walking was like trying to climb up through a waterfall, but he could at least do that much. He didn't want Trian and Gorim to see him like this. He couldn't be there, not after what he'd almost done to Faren, not while he didn't seem to regret what he'd done to Vartag. He would have been disgusted with himself if he had the energy and required mental coherence, but even that was denied to him. All he could do now that he was inflicting pain just by existing was put as much distance between himself and everyone else as possible.

His mind broke off a few more times, and now he was at the doors leading outside. The pain was stronger as he pushed them open and stumbled out. Distantly, he assessed that everything still had a shade of red when he opened his eyes and looked at his feet, those few, brief moments.

Two men hissed when he stepped out of the building. He'd completely forgotten about the guards outside, and those three bigger, more solid presences were probably the golems. His arm screamed in agony several times harder than before. Nothing he tried seemed to curb the undercurrent of pain he was casting. Each time he tried to quell it, another dagger added to his arm. He barely picked up the startled shouts of realization that the two guards produced upon recognizing him.

With one last exhibition of will, he suppressed the magical outpour, that broken dam. He felt like he was going to be torn apart and his blood thrummed in his ears. The ailing prince was only able to keep it bottled in until he reached the large and wide staircase that allowed people to climb down from where the Assembly Building was located.

Just to check if he was in the right spot, he opened his eyes.

It was the worst idea he could have had.

Not that he would have succeeded in holding the wave of agony in anyway.

The exiled prince of Orzammar had a very high pain threshold, but he still had one, so when that empathic pain descended upon the crowd of hundreds gathered there, upon the men women and even children, it was like his whole body got torn to shreds several times over in just one second.

The world faded from his eyes as he collapsed to his knees, but that was the full extent of fate's mercy. His ears, against all odds, continued to relay the wretched consequences of his existence.

There were no lights, no sort of dramatic transition or journey across the infinitum of creation. There was only an ocean there now, with white but dull-looking towers and spires, and a mirrorred sky.

The gnarled, thorn-covered wreath in his hand would no longer be ignored. It grew through his hand, and went up. The spikes that protruded through his wrist, the ones that had grown after his last spat with the corrupted god, were no longer alone.

A spike smashed out of his forearm. Already the pain was too much even for screams, but it went higher. Flesh and bone tore as another burst, then another, and then two grew from his elbow, one pushing out of the front and one from the back. Blood streamed freely out of each new wound, the same way it had dripped from his hand ever since the first thorns scratched it, only faster.

Already he could barely breathe, but he couldn't help but feel it was better this way. He barely gasped when the malevolent tendrils burst out through his shoulder and back.

His eyes lingered on the half-crumpled letter in front of him. It wobbled as the pool of blood spread and began to carry it off, over the edge of that platform. He didn't know anymore if he should be glad or sad that his younger brother had understood. He'd finally understood and-

The pain and the throbbing in his temples, everything calmed when a 15-inch spike sprouted from his chest.

The waters and the sky showed no reaction.

Finally, there was no suffering to cloud his senses.

At least the theory about ultimate clarity in the moment of death turned out to be true. That way he didn't miss the irony that he was basically dying by being stabbed through the heart. It didn't feel so bad.

It was a shame he wasn't going to know what it was that actually stabbed him. Even now he had no idea exactly what that gnarled weed actually was. Hopefully no one would end up with something similar to torment them in their sleep.

The last thing Raonar Aeducan thought was that it was a good thing the pain had stopped. Maybe it meant that he wasn't casting that aura of anguish everywhere. There were worse things one could achieve by dying.

Maybe now the little ones could stop crying.


	64. Succession Arc 7: Deal Before the First

**A/N: This author's note is only here because the title looks horrendously deformed when placed right next to those social networking/advertisment links. I nobly decided to move it down by a few lines.  
**

* * *

**Chapter 61: The Deal Before the First**

"-. .-"

The elven mage stared at that white dweller of the fade. He'd lost count of how many times it had changed shape. Alim would have been worried about his ailing observational skills if he weren't too preoccupied trying to figure out what that Sprit of Honor was getting at. He knew they were talking about that annoyingly endearing dwarf that had just taken his joining, but he wasn't sure what to think about being offered a deal.

Honor faced him in all his glory (which, Alim had to admit, was considerable) and let himself shine as bright as light could possibly get. Some of him flowed out and apart from the whole, which was left undiminished, until it took a form of its own.

That spirit had just created life.

"I will teach you some things. In return, you will have to do something for me when the time comes."

Alim knew he should hurry and wake up from the joining, but he could do naught but stare at the wisp hovering in front of him. Somehow, it had just... detached from Honor and was waiting for his decision. It was different from the others he encountered in the Fade. Docile and more... fluid. And not charged with electricity at all. He wished he could somehow figure out what level of awareness it had. If he was supposed to be sharing his body with that thing, he couldn't take any chances.

The mage could feel the intensity of the Fade dweller's gaze. "Okay... fine, I guess," he finally agreed, despite what he considered his better nature. Even though he did his best to think for himself, there were some Circle teachings that came back to nag him even now. The idea that deals with Fade denizens should be avoided was one he never disagreed with.

Until now. "So what's this... part of you supposed to do exactly?"

"Observe, advise and relay information."

Alim snorted. He was starting to hope this whole encounter would go by without any cryptic nonsense, but there it was.

"It will also be critical in case my so-called concerns become reality. As I mentioned before, there may come a time when he wavers, so you will have to stabilize my connection to him yourself. Also, though I am loathe to consider it, he may break at some point. If that happens, I ask that you trust me and do what I am about to ask of you."

"I'm going to think it's crazy, aren't I?" Alim asked with no humor.

"Yes."

"Well, what do you expect me to do then?"

"-. .-"

The general reaction was about what could be expected when the beleaguered sentry charged into the Assembly chamber. With everyone so thoroughly numbed and beyond shocked at everything that had happened over the past hour and a half, it was obvious that the unfortunate, confused dwarf would find himself the object of everyone's full attention.

"My lords! What is-" Needless to say, whatever he wanted to shout upon barging in caught in his throat. Alim couldn't blame him. Being met with the sight of more than a few people sprawled over the floor, twitching or worse, tended to do that. It didn't help that only one of those people was dead, and that it _happened_ to be the one who'd been the closest thing to a crown prince until an short time earlier.

And there was the matter of a sword stuck through a clearly dwarven skull. And the Shield of Aeducan, right there next to it.

The mage distantly wondered what the guard would have felt like if he'd been there to see Raonar practically drain Vartag's life force and heal his arm in the process.

"Wh... what in Paragons' name happened here...?" the sentry breathed as his eyes finally noticed Bhelen's lifeless body. "So that... that really was the exile..." Wide eyes sought out whoever came into his view first. "Did... did he come back just to finish the job and... and then somehow kill himself along with everyone else with that... that devilry?"

"What did you just say?" Alim was astounded by how fast Trian was in front of the man, hand clenched on the clasp of his cloak. "What do you mean, kill himself? Why did you charge in here?"

"P-p-p-prince Trian!" The dwarf sputtered in disbelief. "What, How are y-"

"Spit it out!" Trian shouted in his face. "What happened? Did something happen to him? What made you barge in here? Speak!"

"I-i-i-i d-d-don't know!" Alim winced at the quaver in that tone. "My arm started hurting all of a sudden... and then the people were... What was thaugh!" Trian abruptly drew him closer and glared like he was going to split him open. "He just fell down the stairs!"

The sword gave another momentary flash that shone through the skull.

Alim instantly looked at his left hand. It was shining a familiar white that he'd hoped he wouldn't have to see again. By the time he noticed his rising feeling of alarm, Trian and Gorim had already exchanged panicked glances.

The eldest prince shoved the guard aside and sprinted out the door, Faren one leap behind him. Gorim was making surprising headway too, for someone with a stiff leg. Alim didn't have time to look back at anyone else as he, too, turned on his heel and made for the door. He passed Theron on his way out, only briefly looking at his face. The Dalish elf was propped against the side of the archway, eyes closed and looking perfectly calm.

Alim didn't try to figure out what that meant. With a thought, he became a bat and cut forward through the air. This was one shape Morrigan didn't know he could assume. He wasn't really sure he could use it either, until now. Apparently, all those late evenings spent in detention in the Circle Tower's storage caves, always in the company of those flying rodents, were proving useful at last.

It was easy to fly out of the assembly building, but his echolocation painted a grim picture. The one he sought was spread on his back at the base of the stairway. The crowd had formed a sort of semicircle around him. The radius surprised Alim with its length, as did the muffled crying of some of the younglings there. It could only mean one thing.

He stopped short of the invisible boundary that made Trian and, a few seconds later, Gorim recoil and hiss in pain. The mage, still in bat form, noted that Gorim had clutched at his chest while Trian had brought his arm around himself, his hand over his left shoulder.

No longer caring about keeping his shapeshifting abilities hidden, the elf resumed his natural form next to those two. Immediately, he felt the familiar tug in his left arm and jumped forward, gliding through the air like only a mage could and clearing the full set of stairs in a single bound. He was kneeling even before is staff fell flat on the ground.

It was easy enough to detect what was happening. The commander's magic was flaring, again. Something was leeching his life force through blood magic, again. Outwardly, the mage's movements were precise and efficient as he knelt and reached out, magic flaring to life from his hands as one laid itself on the dwarf's forehead and the other hovered above his chest. Inside, Alim was a mess, fighting against the rising panic born from again not knowing what and why was happening. This was unnatural and even the fact that he'd been forewarned didn't produce a clear notion of what he should do next. He did his best to ignore the shuffling, the crying and the noises made by everyone, including the golems, for all the good it did.

Blood started to throb in his temples. His friend's forehead was growing cold already. "Dammit, spirit, you didn't say it would be ever get this bad," he hissed in frustration almost inaudibly. Hoping against hope that he was wrong, he pressed his ear against his chest and listened. The words escaped his mouth unbidden. "His heart ruptured."

"What?"

Alim's left hand lashed out and had Faren by the forearm before he even realized the dwarf was next to him. By the time his very first order gained voice, he struck the pavement with the foot of his staff. He didn't remember grabbing for it but he didn't care to be surprised. He just brought it down and allowed his will to pervade his surroundings, dictating that that scene be shielded from everyone's eyes.

"-. .-"

It covered the full berth that the crowd had given the fallen commander. Faren would have had more of a reaction to the dome of multicolored energy that appeared and hid them from the sight and ears of everyone outside of it , if Alim hadn't suddenly shown that he had completely lost his mind.

"Stab his heart."

"WHAT?" Faren let out in shock.

That made it official.

The brand tried to escape the iron hold on his forearm but the slim fingers proved surprisingly strong, even though the armor didn't allow a very good grip. Alim's eyes glowed red like they had only once before. Faren had seen a lot of things, he even thought there wasn't much that could scare him, but Alim, right now, was terrifying the crap out of him, almost as much as what happened when he jumped between Raonar and Vartag. "You're crazy!" He really didn't know what else he could say.

The elf's lips formed a thin line. "I'd do it myself, but I'm not precise enough and I have to keep the blood contained before it spreads through his lungs and everything el-" the hand still above Raonar's chest tensed. "Just do it!"

Faren's lungs escaped a grunt as he was practically pulled to his knees in Alim's place, the elf quickly relocating. Alim was kneeling at the exile's head now, both hands maintaining some blood spell that hardly put Faren at ease. Not knowing what else to do, he pulled out the common dagger that came with the armor uniform, feeling as though his own body was fighting against him.

"Just do it already!"

Faren snapped to his senses, realizing that he'd frozen at some point, holding the dagger pointed down. The more he tried to persuade himself, his hands just started shaking harder and harder. He felt beads of sweat dripping from his forehead and glanced at the elf. The look on his face made the rogue think that maybe the real reason he didn't stab him himself was because he knew he wouldn't be able to do it either. Just like that, he knew he couldn't bring himself to do it. Harming that man in any shape or form was a notion that his whole being violently denied.

This couldn't actually be happening again... _Again. _It was absurd. Stone fuck.

"Out of the way!" Faren was unceremoniously pushed aside and to the ground. "This is a job for an Antivan Crow."

The dwarf stared from his awkward position. Zevran smoothly readied a dagger in his right hand and, with a deft motion, shoved it two thirds down. The brand flinched like he'd been stabbed himself. Not bearing to look, he turned his eyes to Zevran's face. It showed little besides a frown of concentration, even as he yanked the smooth blade back out. Quickly tossing it aside, the former assassin used the same arm to push the fallen one over, allowing the blood to pour out.

The fact that his left arm was held stiff against his side the entire time was not lost on the castless dwarf. Even while experiencing that agony that only Faren was oddly immune to, Zevran had done what he couldn't...

Alim got up and stood over the now prone form of the dying man. Wordlessly, he extended his left arm forward and above him, ignoring the growing pool of blood completely.

When the elf got to work, Faren's breath caught in his throat. Despite his normal level of awareness, he didn't even register Gwen, Alistair, Trian and even Sten finally gathering the courage to step into that magical dome.

"-. .-"

As soon as he saw the expanding pool of blood that his remaining family was lying in, Trian almost lost it. That ghostly pain was still pulsing, but growing dimmer the more than pool spread. He was just about to run at his side when the same sort of pressure that the Assembly hall had experienced suddenly engulfed him again.

Only the source differed. "Roll him up," a ghostly voice spoke.

Zevran did as Alim commanded and basically hauled Faren away as he retreated. No sooner than it was done, Alim's left sleeve was torn to shreds as his arm blazed in white light. Strands and threads twisted around it, spreading like bands of smoke.

The black magician slammed his palm down, right on Raonar's chest.

A blinding flash of light forced Trian to look away. For a time, he saw nothing but white, and what followed was not the familiar look of the stone pavement but strange colors that refused to go away, no matter how furiously he blinked.

Before long, he was stunned and his mouth was ajar as he attempted to take in the sights before him. Try as he might, he couldn't recover his balance fully, for as soon as he thought he could figure out what he was seeing, hearing and feeling, the scene changed. One moment he was surrounded by spires, then nothing, then he was in the middle of an energy storm.

The instant the elf had struck his brother, those white lights went into him and some sort of... something... burst out of him, like a wave. Everything in that dome then began to change, making the dwarven heir feel as though he was in two places at once, only the second kept transforming. He was seeing colors, smelling fragrances and hearing sounds he did not believe could exist. It was a total assault on his senses, constantly but abruptly changing from soft and warm to violent and unpleasant, freezing to hot, even frightening, as much as it shocked him to admit.

After a time, the scene settled into one like a floating island, with mountains and fields, and great rivers, all cascading into a circular precipice at the very center. He didn't know how he'd perceived that place. He hadn't actually seen much of it, more like he'd... experienced it somehow. It was a very odd feeling.

Finally, his surroundings stopped bombarding him and he realized he'd been brought to his knees at some point. The only reason he hadn't completely collapsed was because he was still pushing the ground away with his arms.

Dazed, he looked up and saw that mage with his hand stretched forward, coursing and flowing with white energy that went right through his brother, now suspended weightlessly in the air.

Alim's jaw set in grim determination and, closing his eyes, he gripped as many of those threads as possible. One gesture had them expand and revolve around each other, each forming their own spiral but meshing together in a single whole pattern. Nothing moved for a few moments, save for small motes of light that ever so slowly slid across the edge of time.

A second gesture abruptly folded all the magic thread in on themselves until they were lost _in_ Raonar's suspended body. The only part still visible was a white, shining rope, one end sunk inside his torso and the other held in the blood mage's firm hold.

Alim Surana snapped open a pair of eyes bright enough to make his irises invisible.

And then, he heaved.

"-. .-"

"I want you to kill him."

Though the spirit did not once stop moving, the Fade may as well have.

"Wait, what?" Alim was suddenly three steps away from that newly created wisp and was frowning at its originator in puzzlement. "Did I hear that right?" He didn't remember when he'd charged a ball lightning in his right hand. All he knew was that it felt really, really right somehow.

"I fear so." Honor didn't seem surprised nor amused at his reaction. The fact that he'd reverted to a more amorphous state was rather curious, though. Perhaps creating that projection of itself took more out of him than he'd implied. If that was the case, then why would he...? Alim inched his hand higher, but he didn't get a chance to say anything before the spirit spoke again.

"You do not know what happens when a dwarf dies, do you?"

The elf felt the corners of his eyes twitch. This conversation wasn't progressing as he thought it would. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"It has everything to do with it because I do not know either."

The mage really did a double take this time. It wasn't so much that the creature had admitted to that blank spot in its knowledge but that he felt it had to be brought up for some reason or other. He was on the verge of starting to rant about lunacy and senseless prattle but the knowledge of where he was easily pushed that impulse aside. "You don't mean 'kill him' in the strictest sense, do you?"

Becoming vaguely humanoid again, Honor spoke. "I cannot see the future, but I have lived enough to know when someone is predisposed to putting himself in peril. That applies here as well. Things may take a turn for the worst at some point down the line. I have no doubt that he will hold onto himself, but there is a limit to how much a single person may sacrifice before they cannot stand any more."

"Are you saying that you think he's going to get himself killed?"

"I am saying that his deal with me makes it a given that his link to the Fade begins to harm him once his emotional distress has passed a certain point."

Alim used the pause to digest that. "Explain."

"You should know well that extreme emotion can cause accidental magic. The difference is that you mages, when stressed, usually affect your environment instead of yourselves. Not so for him. Though remote, there is a possibility that he will cause this Fade connection to go out of control. This so-called 'tear' in the Veil is all he can affect. What do you think it means if it is strictly confined to his body? Imagine, then, what will happen when the pressure builds."

Years of forbidden magical research kicked in easily. "It... would resonate with the only thing in a living body that can fuel spells," the newly-minted warden's eyes were wide. "Are you telling me this while pact with you makes him predisposed to blood magic? That can't be right! Without some way to release the energy... His blood vessels would rupture if he gets mad! Or is his heart going to fail first?"

"Hopefully the latter. The former is not as easily salvageable."

"What the hell kind of deal did you draw him into?" Alim snapped. "Can't you even limit or cut off the magic flow from you side?" The elf almost cursed in fright when the marble platform disappeared from beneath him. After a moment, he realized it was still there, only invisible. _He could give some forewarning! _Righting himself after the slight loss in balance, he stared down. He could now perfectly see the darkness of that circular waterfall and the walls of water pouring down all the time.

Honor flashed. "I am doing that constantly," he said calmly. "Why do you think this conduit isn't completely full of 'water' right now?"

Pushing down the strange feeling of standing on top of nothing, the elf stared at that creature. "Then what's the problem? Can't you just regulate it if it comes to that?"

"Not exactly. This waterfall is a failsafe as well, of sorts. It was part of our original agreement," an odd feel of resignation was in those words. "The angrier he gets, the faster and fuller it flows. Normally, the thoughts and emotions of those linked to this plane affect it, and those who live here. This waterfall, this water washes down whatever distressing emotions may seep into this plane. The more intense they are, the more the flow intensifies. That way I need not worry about being warped and losing my identity due to unsavory mortal emotions. So far, it has worked well, although it helps that he rarely gets angry, if ever."

Alim really did curse this time. "What the hell are you? What did you goad him into?" Screw Raonar's anger, it's _his_ ager that thing should worry about right now. "I can understand imposing a sort of term that would absolve you from dealing with his issues, but this looks more like you took advantage of his situation! Wasn't the whole point of this so-called 'pact' to keep him alive in exchange for saving your hide? Honor my ass!"

Much to Alim's shock, that thousand-in-one voice gave a hopeless sigh. "Barring the last part, that is almost precisely what **I** told him..."

"... what?"

The white light became a humanoid just so it could rub his forehead. "That is just it, I did not dictate this term, _he_ did."

The mage fell his whole rage die in an instant. This conversation was revealing things about his brother in arms that he did not expect to learn.

"He said he'd already inflicted enough damage on the mortal world without starting on the Fade as well," the spirit continued, frustration, of all things, broadcasting through his every word. "He said he didn't want to start ruining my existence. He told me that he wanted me to do everything in my power to prevent him from ever being a danger to me or this place, direct or otherwise." He surrendered his form to something indescribable again. "And I did not paraphrase any of that."

Alim blinked, incapable of processing any of ot. Really, what _could_ he say to that?

A bitter chuckle echoed through the air. "He was fully prepared to just die if I did not consent to this condition. As it was, honor demanded that I aid him at least as much as he helped me, so just letting him die was out of the question. Hmph." The marble platform appeared beneath them again. "Overly considerate twit."

The warden continued to just stare, unbalanced by how affectionate that creature had sounded near the very end of its exposition. He couldn't keep silent forever, though. "Are... you saying he _blackmailed_ you into abiding by _his _interpretation of honor instead of _yours_?"

Honor practically froze in time, only now looking at things from that perspective. "It... appears so..."

"Dammit, this is ridiculous," Alim huffed. "How come you didn't put your foot down?"

"And what do you think I should have done?"

A groan. "I don't know, smack him over the head with a cane or something."

The white strands began to slowly glide again. "Hmm. An... intriguing suggestion. I will consider it for future reference."

"Frankly, I'm amazed this sort of connection between you two is even possible. How active do you have to be in its maintenance?" Curiosity finally sunk its fangs.

Honor seemed all too willing to change the subject. "Fortunately, it is easy enough to look down and see when the link is troubled. I can narrow this connection if I sense distress on his end. That way the amount of energy needed to keep his emotions confined to your world is reduced, alleviating the strain on his body." In the blink of an eye, the spectre was standing on the edge of that circular gap at the platform's center. "There had always been a limit to this, though, since there needed to be a minimum of energy flowing down, to keep that taint at bay. Now that the corruption is no longer a problem, it will be easier to deal with this matter."

Alim decided to just listen up to the end. It wasn't like he had to worry about these being all lies. This was _Honor_ after all_._

The energy being faced the mage. "But here lies the problem. What would bar his rage from spilling into this place is also what prevents me from intervening into your world directly."

Finally, something he could latch onto. "But you just did! Isn't that how you pulled him in here? And haven't you been healing his body the entire time?"

"Making an automatic confinement spell on a disease is not easy, but still possible. After I inhibited the taint, all those years ago, all it took was for energy to always be on hand, angrily tossed around or otherwise. But you speak the truth: I did just intervene directly. Note, however, how he was about as calm as he could get when he drank that potion. And you do realize he has been meditating quite a lot over the past week? Especially this past day."

"I see..."

"And that is the crux of the problem. If worst does come to worst eventually, I will need someone else to act through."

"But what-" the mage swallowed and took a few deep, calming breaths. This was a lot to take in. "I should be able to counteract the problem on my own. I'm not a blood mage for nothing."

"And just how well has your magic been working around him?"

Surana winced. "Point taken." Finally, he sought that wisp again. It had never moved from where it had appeared. "So what's this white, shiny spirit... _thing_... supposed to help me do exactly?"

"If you are to actually manage to help him in any way, you need a means to eliminate the wild magic effect given off by him. That means directly taking control of the Veil breach itself. This will help you."

Alim nodded and tore his eyes way from the strange orb, realizing he'd already made his decision. "What did you mean when you said you wanted me to kill him?"

"As I said, I do not know what happens to dwarves after they die. I can, however, clearly state that their souls do not come here. I have seen many elves, humans, kossith and even fex during my time, but dwarves cannot naturally come here." He paused for a time. "I wish for him to go on existing."

"..."

Honor turned and focused all of his attention on the mage, and it was heavy indeed. "If the worst happens, I want you to use that to rip his soul out from his body."

"-. .-"

_Separate him from his body and send him to me._

The first alarm started to blare when he struck Raonar's chest. That spirit fragment was supposed to reach into him and through his Fade connection. With that stabilized, Alim could have scrambled to take over Raonar's blood flow. After that settled, he or Wynne would have managed to heal him somehow, or at least try.

The tear in the veil chose to explode instead. No, he realized, not explode. It was released. That ghost he shared his body with was getting through to him again. In any other situation, he would have been marveled at this symbiosis, this mind link, but he had no time to appreciate it when he understood just what had happened.

_ Oh no..._

Raonar had somehow broken contact with Honor's realm altogether.

_Oh no no no no..._

Even the soothing influence of that wisp couldn't abate his panic. This was a disaster. That insane dwarf had somehow torn the link half-way. He was still tied to the Fade, but the target location was changing and surging with each jump. It should have been impossible!

He was on his feet without realizing it, bracing himself against that maelstrom of sensations. The rest of what he did was surrender. On instinct, he gave control over to that thing he had inside him, hoping it would know what to do. He listened only for commands and did as he thought he should. There was one instant when he felt his own soul being touched. Humble gratitude filled him, though it was not his own. It was then whisked away as he opened his mind and will to the Fade.

He became a conduit, and with that, the veil breach calmed and reflected his silent wish that it bind itself once again to the land of peaks and rivers. And when that happened, a familiar presence made itself known at the back of his mind, soothing his nerves and calming him completely. He knew what he had to do now.

He did not think it was strange at all when he shut his eyes but continued to see the Fade, though none of the physical world. The Beyond became his domain almost too easily.

Alim Surana snapped open a pair of eyes bright enough to make his irises invisible.

And then, he heaved.

His arm and mind worked in tandem but on separate goals, the former tugging onto a person's soul while his mind enveloped and pulled at the borders of that door between two worlds. Daunting was the first task, much easier the second.

Or so they should have been.

The reality almost came crashing down on him again when that bright star finally separated from the physical shell, much easier than it should have. The hesitation in that wisp before it wrapped around it and disappeared in a giant flash of light confirmed his fears and restored his dismay.

He'd failed.

"-. .-"

Quiet fascination fell over the assembled crowd when that shimmering dome finally dispersed like a soap bubble. Where there used to be confusion, there was now awe. No one seemed to be looking at the shocked people that the dome had concealed up to that point. Everyone was mesmerized by a particular sight.

Alim Surana was floating ten inches above the ground, arms apart. Gossamer strands of white light surrounded him and everything about him moved and glided as anything would when beyond gravity's reach. His hair had come undone and was drifting through the air as though underwater. His coat fluttered ever so slowly and silently. Only a soft hum could be heard just beyond the reach of the mind.

Imperceptibly, he titled his head, not turning his shining eyes away from the one in front of him.

Shale made haste and approached as though commanded. With more care than a Golem had any business exhibiting, it plucked the blood-soaked exile out of the air, holding him like one would carry a newborn.

The magician brushed aside a loose strand of hair, not noticing or caring that it was bright silver now instead of black. "I need a place to work." The words were serene beyond imagining, flowing on an undercurrent that carried far and wide.

The one who answered broke the hold on people's minds just by having such a distinguishable voice. it was the voice of one who should be dead. "The Royal Palace is closest and should have the best medicine on hand." Train Aeducan supplied quickly. "This way."

"-. .-"

||-/\-||

_"To the Warden Commander of Ferelden, or whichever Grey Warden gets this first,_

_ I really have no idea how I'm supposed to write this, probably because I'm putting this together on such short notice and because, quite frankly, I have no idea what I'm dealing with here, and it all happened so suddenly that it made one of the kids cry, and her howling... it's painful to hear... for a number of reasons, especially since I'm more worried about what that thing is going to do, wherever it went... _

_ Blast it, I'm babbling. On paper. _

_ Anyway, I'll just throw it out there: that wisp you allowed to stay here, it suddenly up and left. One moment it was just hovering around a statue, and then it just hot up and made west. I never saw anything move so fast, except lightning. It sounded like thunder too, when it shot through the sky and disappeared into the distance._

_ I don't know what I expect you to be able to do about this. Maybe Alim can do pull a trick out of his sleeve and scan for it? Or whatever other mojo you guys have. I just thought you needed to know. _

_ I'll try to see if Avernus knows any scrying spells we can use. Sorry I can't be of much help._

_ Jowan."_

Gwen kept going over that letter. She'd been reading and rereading it for the past hour, ever since they'd left Orzammar to meet up with Caridin. She knew she should be more perturbed about this news than she felt, but the truth was that she was glad for something that could make her mind wonder about other things besides that disaster they left behind. She was dimly aware that her brow had been deeply furrowed ever since she opened that note. She could also feel Alistair's worried but cautiously curious gaze on her as well.

Then again, it wasn't as though she actually had any reason to feel concerned if the second letter was true.

By her reckoning, the first note Jowan sent by raven to Orzammar's gate guards arrived at some point during their Deep Roads expedition, probably around the time they were nearing the Anvil of the Void. They should have received it through a designated messenger as soon as they returned to the city, but it turned out that someone had tossed it in the same box as all the pointless mail and envoys sent by Loghain and whatever merchants or surface dwarves left letters to their families in the city. Gwen couldn't really hold it against that gate guard. She was there when he had to blow off that annoying messenger, and he must have come back several times after they chased him off.

She smiled down at Damon when he nuzzled her. The loyal hound looked a bit down, so she scratched him between the ears. Gwen figured it must be depressing to travel without his new mate, especially considering what Theron revealed about her the day before. She risked a glance in the hunter's direction, walking as he was to her right and somewhat farther back. Her discretion proved pointless. He was keeping his eyes closed. He had his eyes closed but was walking as briskly as her without even the tiniest hint of stumble or hesitation, walking around twigs, roots and patches of ice in a way that made her wonder if _they _were moving out of _his _path instead of the other way around.

So strange, just like nearly everything else about him.

With a shrug, Gwenith Cousland switched to the second note, the one that had arrived just as they were walking out the gates. It was actually this second raven that made them ask for any other correspondence. If not for this coincidence, the guards wouldn't have remembered that there had, in fact, been another message weeks before.

_"Jowan again,_

_ Did you get my previous letter? You said you'd stop by the keep after every mission, so I assume you're still in or on the way to or from Orzammar. I hope you're not all dead._

_ Anyway, just wanted to say that the wisp is back, but you won't believe this. It showed up like... an hour ago, right at noon, out of the blue... literally. Just swooped in from the direction it flew towards weeks ago. And it had a gold nugget with it. A giant gold nugget. About as tall as a whole floor of this keep. No, I am not joking._

_ I have no idea **how** it could bring something so big flying through the sky, or when it got it from. I'm telling you, it just brought this big damn chunk of gold ore with it. It put it on that porch, terrace or whatever you call it. The one between the two windows of the commander's office, right above the main entrance to the castle proper. And then it started... sculpting it I guess? I think it's shaping it like a man. I really have no idea what it's doing._

_ So weird!_

_ Avernus wanted to blast it with fire or something, but me and Levi managed to convince him (barely) not to throw bolts around because that thing could fall off or, worse, be suspended precariously until one of the children accidentally wandered under it (it's right above the main staircase, for crying out loud!) and fell down and squished them. I also wanted your opinion before we did anything. It WAS the commander's decision to let it stick around._

_ We'll see you when you get back, unless we're all dead, or you're all dead and the blight kills us all and now I'll stop writing stupid things because Avernus is coming over an hei-s-jr-r-r_

_ Disregard his babbling. For Fade's sake, I tell him to write a short note and he starts rambling like a pubescent boy. If he didn't have such an intuitive grasp of blood magic, I'd never have accepted him as an apprentice. The things I do in the pursuit of knowledge..._

_ Long story short, the creature is back and it is sculpting a giant gold nugget into the shape of a human. Get over here and do something about it._

_ Avernus"_

Gwen passed the first letter to Alistair. Maybe that way he would take his eyes off her for a few minutes. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate his concern, but the way he kept watching her ever since her reaction to that whole Assembly chamber mess was getting tiresome. She briefly contemplated telling Wynne not to move in and look, that the contents were Grey Warden business, mostly out of impulse from having had her duty drilled into her so well by Duncan and Raonar, but decided against it. Wynne had already seen more than her share and she was going to be there when they reached Soldier's Peak, so she was up to her neck in everything anyway.

The Cousland heir noticed that Shale's footsteps were as heavy but muffled as they'd been ever since they left. Normally, the snow would have started to thin out by now, but Gwen remembered this was the middle of winter. Even though they'd descended a fair bit of the mountain, the cold was never going to ease much. It was a good thing they brought some of those wards, and that Wynne was, by now, good enough at setting them up around the camp, to keep things warm at night.

A bird suddenly sprung from one of the pine trees. Shale did not even pause in her steps. It was as if she didn't even care about that thing's existence.

Gwen knew what that meant, but she didn't want to think about it, so she locked her eyes back on the script of the second note. She made a mental note to order Avernus to teach Jowan the Grey Warden cipher, or at least how to enchant a scroll to burst into flames if anything but a Grey Warden opened it. It was a miracle the first letter had been misfiled. If someone else had opened it...

This was such a total lapse in common sense, it made the woman want to slap her forehead. Forgetting to tell those two how to handle messages was one oversight on Raonar's part they could all have done without.

The lady's eyes twitched at the thought and she mentally kicked herself for it. It wasn't as if she herself had bothered thinking about his problem back then, and with all that happened, this was just so minor... But she still couldn't reconcile this lapse in planning with the overprepared man they'd followed for so long.

Gwen mentally kicked herself again and she rubbed her eyes. Even though she tried, her thoughts still went back to that sight, of him holding... and then the pool of blood...

"The spirit at the keep is not an enemy."

The woman was jolted out of her revelry and she almost stopped walking. She'd forgotten about Theron. Again. It was bad enough before, when he somehow snuck up on people, totally unintentionally, even though they were all supposed to be able to sense him, as a Warden, but now... "What?" He still had his eyes closed. How on earth did he even know what the note said? Had he slipped a peek somehow... Gwen decided it was too much of a headache to wonder about.

The Dalish elf returned to his silence. It was clear he was not going to elaborate on that even if she asked.

Alistair finally remembered he had a voice a short while after Damon started to huff meaningfully. "There they are!"

Caridin and the eight golems with him were scattered around the clearing. Two of them were helping build a fire, and failing. They weren't all that well acquainted with wood and trees in particular, so they had ended up making a huge bonfire instead of a small camp flame. On that note, two other golems were standing to the side, quite awkwardly in fact, watching the spectacle. Speaking of which, it all made Gwen wonder why they would even need such a thing. It wasn't as though they were preparing a pyre for anyone. Besides, dwarves didn't burn their dead.

She shook her head to dismiss those thoughts, and then she spotted a cart a bit farther down the slope, along with someone, a dwarf, trying to unload something from it. And finally, something just as short and stocky hopped into view from behind the bonfire, clapping his hands excitedly and suddenly shouting "ENCHANTMENT!"

"Bodahn and Sandal?" Wynne asked. "Why would they be here? This is quite a way off the beaten path."

Gwen didn't have time to answer because Caridin, who was actually sitting on the ground for once, spotted them. The woman allowed herself to be surprised by how the steel giant actually had enough mobility to sit cross-legged like that. "Wardens! You've finally arrived." The Paragon was every bit as reverent as always. He did not delay in climbing to his feet either. Some of the snow hung onto him, but he didn't seem to notice. "We were beginning to wonder what was keeping you. The dark and bright skies changed places several times since we emerged from this passage."

"Hello Caridin," Alistair greeted. "I see you've met our, er... friends I suppose."

"Ah, so they did associate with you in the past," Caridin chimed. "I had my doubts, especially because of, well, that," he motioned in Sandal's direction. "Though I suppose I am not one to talk. And I have to admit his knowledge of runes is surprising. I've seen him do very interesting things these past two days."

Having spotted them, Bodahn came closer to explain how Sandal had suddenly decided to go off on his own, at which point he'd had to follow him and somehow ended up meeting with all these golems. He proceeded to give his greetings, along with urging Sandal to say hello, which he did, and then followed with "Where's the white mister?"

Even without an actual face, Caridin was obviously surprised at the boy saying anything other than "ENCHATNTMENT!" not that Gwen could blame him. "I was actually going to inquire after him as well. Things went well, I hope?" The acute sense of irony must have shown on Gwen's face because the metal golem tilted his head. "I see that is not the case." He glanced at Shale, whose sight was pointedly focused elsewhere.

"Sorry about making you wait, but things... didn't go very well." Alistair admitted.

"To put it lightly," Wynne put in sadly.

Bodahn managed to catch the subtle hints that this didn't concern him or his charge. Once the two were gone, the Wardens went over everything that had happened after they separated. To his credit, Caridin listened silently, nodding at times, but saying nothing. It was eerily disconcerting to have absolutely no facial expression to read a reaction on, but Gwen was well past the point where something like that could affect her in any visible way. As she and Alistair relayed the news, the other Golems walked close to listen, occasionally shooting each other glances.

There was a long silence after the telling was complete.

"I... see..." the Immortal paragon finally uttered, allowing his massive frame to slump. "I do not... know what my response should be."

"Do any of us?" Wynne whispered.

Seeing that the silence would only become more awkward if it was allowed to last, the younger woman stepped in again. "We're going to Soldier's Peak now, to check on some... occurrences there. Wynne won't immediately be coming along, though. I'd ask that one or two of your golems escort her to the Circle Tower."

Caridin's eyes lit up somehow and electricity surged over him for a moment. "The Circle Tower?" He looked at the elderly mage. "Where you said you had those animated suits of armor as guards?"

Wynne nodded.

"Then I will escort you myself," he saluted with his right fist over his heart, or where it would be in a human. "If you will allow it, that is."

Gwen couldn't deny him that. "Alright, then you and one of your... golems... will accompany Wynne and Alistair while I take the rest of this group to our headquarters." _Hopefully we won't run into too many people on the way._"I imagine Bodahn and Sandal will go to Kinloch Hold as well."

"That's correct, my lady!" the short man confirmed from where he was watching over Sandal bouncing around the waning fire.

"Alright, then let's go," Gwen ordered before Alistair had a chance to protest at being left behind. She loved him, she really did, but she really needed some time to sort out her thoughts without the constant watch on her every move. Maybe it would help Alistair too.

"Actually..."

The woman froze in mid-step. Theron had finally talked again, after not making even one sound for about an hour. She tried to keep her face blank as she turned on her heel to acknowledge him.

"First we need to go two hundred paces in that direction," he pointed northwest. "After my business is complete, Shale and I will leave you to your respective journeys."

Not expecting to be told _what_ that business was (she'd asked before exiting the mountain and gotten nothing for her efforts), she nodded once and adjusted her trajectory accordingly, even though she had no idea what that elf could possibly be seeking. There was nothing but forest there. Just trees.

She finally got her answer when Theron suddenly switched from a steady to a brisk walk, completely passing her by and walking right up to a very specific tree. A maple, she realized after looking at it. It wasn't easy to tell, due to the lack of leaves and how the trunk and most of the branches were snowed, even frozen over. Still, it was maple, sure enough.

The hunter crouched and seemed to study the lower part of the trunk. Not long after, he reached out and touched the bark with two fingertips. The human woman blinked when the snow and frost detached and fell off, around his fingers and then apart, going around the whole trunk and leaving something akin to a circle, or a ring. The maple was now marked at the bottom. Theron went on to slowly rise up, sliding his fingertips higher, never detaching from the tree and leaving behind a trail in the frost.

The upward motion stopped around his eye level, at which point the frost melted, again leaving a sort of ring around the trunk.

"Ok, what in Maker's name is he doing and how?" Alistair muttered.

"Beats me..."

Fortunately, they did not have to wonder for long. The Dalish elf turned on his heel and gave Shale a meaningful look that finally made her realize that yes, the big axe she'd been asked to bring was, indeed, meant for woodcutting. Contrary to her nature, the golem did not even once complain about being reduced to a lumberjack. She just went over and listened exactly to the instructions Theron relayed about how to cut the tree around the markings he'd placed.

Gwen, Wynne, Alistair the Golems and that merchant and his kid mutely watched as Shale chopped down the tree, then cut again around the higher mark. After that was done, the elf and golem repeated the process for half a dozen other maples in the area. While Shale was busy cutting one down, Theron would mark another and just seem to stand there, holding his palm on it for some reason.

When Shale finished her last tree and saw no other marked, she assume that was all of them, or so Gwen suspected. The stone humanoid made as if to bend down and scoop one up, intent on gathering them all and return them to the city, for whatever was their role.

"Wait," Theron intervened in that ever so bland voice of his. He then proceeded to instruct Shale to pick up the parts of the trees they weren't going to use and just... shove them upright into the ground for some reason. Gwenith considered pointing out that wasn't how planting trees worked, but when she was about to speak, Theron tossed her a _very _self-explanatory stare that managed to shut her up even though it wasn't pointed or intense in the least.

"Be careful on your way back," said the hunter, quite sincerely, as he took his leave. Shale followed him, carrying the appropriately large stack of timber in front of her, barely able to see anything but not expressing any discontent. The undersized axe hanging off her back would have seemed funny if the situation hadn't been so morbid.

After firewood, the first thing then came to Gwen's mind when thinking about what maple could be used for was a casket. Maker's breath.

"Right, let's be on our way then." She made that order sound much more confident than she felt.


	65. Third Intermission 1: Damage Control

**Chapter 62: Damage Control**

**"-. .-"**

The crowd's murmuring didn't even register, not even as it became more and more agitated. He didn't really care about all those people down there, at the foot of the stairs. He could spare no thought for anything besides wondering whether he should follow after the others or stay where he was. He doubted he even had the right. He'd not even been able to bring himself to walk into that strange dome when it appeared, even though Trian had.

He thought he heard someone call his name, but he didn't care. He just stood transfixed, paying even less attention to the growing ache in his leg. It wasn't like he actually had any energy for coherent thought, either. So much had happened, and in such a short time.

"Gorim!"

There it was again, his imagination. He even thought he could hear another person, whoever it was, starting to call out other names some way behind him. It made him want to crawl away. This failure was unforgiveable. He should never have left his lord's side. He should have always been a few steps behind him, maybe then he would've... he would have done something! This shouldn't have come to this, it wasn't fair to him, death wasn't-

"GORIM!" The arms that violently shook him by the shoulders definitely weren't just his imagination. It took a moment for his eyes to focus but he finally saw that it was Frandlin Ivo that had just shouted in his face. It only made him feel dismay. For a moment, he thought whatever wretched thing had taken his lord had come for him too, but it hadn't. It was disappointing and maddening. Why did it seem like he just couldn't go where his lord went any longer?

"Dammit, man," Frandlin shook him harder. "I _need_ you, I need you _**rational **_and I need you **NOW**!"

"Well what could **I** possibly do?" he snapped in as bitter a voice as he'd ever used. "I've only ever succeeded in _**abandoning**_my_-"_

"You'll do it again!" Ivo cut him off harshly. "Unless you listen to me! We need to act fast, or everything Lord Aeducan did will have been for nothing!" None of that made the fighter feel any better, but it did get his attention. _Thank the Paragons,_ Frandlin thought. "The situation is volatile," he spoke in a lower voice, to avoid being overheard. "Contained, for now, but it can really fall into actual civil war really fast and really hard."

"Con... contained?"

"I've got Bayzil holding the fort and not allowing anyone in the Assembly chamber to leave. I summoned some more guards and sent them his way, but we can't keep them there for long."

At last, Gorim noticed that the second voice, the one calling out a list of names, belonged to Shaper Czibor. His eyes sought the man and spotted him some distance away, at the center of the highest step, reading from a scroll as loudly as he could.

Ivo answered his unspoken question. "He's reading out the names of the traitorous guard infiltrators and deshyrs, the ones that tried to enact the bloodbath. That way the people will know what happened, but even if we manage to have them thrown in prison without further incident, their houses can act for them and ruin everything."

"What..." Gorim Saelac forced himself to swallow. "What am I supposed to do?" If anything, this will help him keep his mind off this latest disaster easier. Anything that could force him to do something instead of think was welcome.

"Go to your father." Frandlin raised a hand to forestall his questions. "Go to him, and you have to be fast. He's the de facto head of the warrior caste. You** must** persuade him to call a meeting of all warrior house heads and get them to refuse to answer any and all summons from noble houses for the next few days."

"Are you mad? That's impossible!"

"Then follow Lord Aeducan's example and make the impossible happen!" Frandlin hissed. "You just came back from the dead, milk that for all it's worth! Gorim," he took him by the shoulders a bit more gently, but no less firmly than before. "This all hangs on you. I will **not** have people killing each other in the streets anymore, not for these idiots."

Gorim was astounded by his vehemence. Astounded and shamed by his fervor. "Alright." It was a long walk to the lower levels, and then to his home. His leg will hate him before he'd even be half-way there, but he'd just have to live with it. "I'm going."

"I'm going with you." The youngest Ivo almost hauled the warrior after him, not aware of his debilitating injury. "I'm going down there too."

"What, why?" He forced his face not to reflect the sudden bolt of pain that shot up his leg at the manhandling. He'd be damned before he'd show any more weakness in front of this man, even if his leg protested.

"Someone has to clue Melec in on the whole deal and finally get him and your father back on the same page. Between the two of them, they should manage something."

"But you've been with Bhelen all this time, he won't see you or believe-"

"Then we'll stop by Harrowmont's estate and pick up Dulin Forender on the way there!"

"They won't let us in. They don't even know I'm alive-"

Frandlin Ivo's pace did not slow down in the slightest. "We'll deal with that then!"

"-. .-"

Nervousness easily turned into fear when the muffled sounds of shouting reached her ears. It was far off, barely audible from beyond the door. It was as if the commotion made itself heard just to spite her, even though it should not have reached so far into the palace, with how deep those corridors went. Dwarven paranoia had made it certain that the nursery was built almost as deep into the granite as the royal suite.

As if to taunt her, the noise came closer with sickening slowness. She could tell the guards were shocked by something, but silenced almost as soon as they tried to voice their feelings. She gripped the edge of the crib, her dear baby's crib. She wanted desperately to hold him, but she didn't want him to wake up. She didn't want Endrin to wake up to that sort of...

Some part of her still held onto the vain hope that nothing was actually wrong, that all she heard was Prince Bhelen being congratulated. She'd been so certain things would turn out for the best. Bhelen was always so kind and honest! He deserved the throne more than anyone! Today was supposed to finally put an end to the unrest, the day when he finally got named ruler.

She was jolted when some sort of stomping shook the floor far off. Then another, and another. She didn't know what it was, but she didn't have time to wonder about it too much. Soon enough, the noise became too much for little Endrin. He always was a light sleeper, just like his father. Bhelen never really did seem to be able to get a good night's rest, like he thought something was always going to... Rica shook her head and scooped up the small boy. She refused to think that way. Bhelen couldn't have been afraid. He was always so brave, almost as brave as her little brother... Faren used to be a light sleeper too.

But all her efforts to calm him and shoosh him back to sleep were useless, so she hugged him as tight as she could without hurting him. "Shh, mommy's here," she mentally cursed the quaver in her voice. "You're okay, you're sa... you're safe." She wondered if lying to her wailing baby made her an evil person. The thought made her knees buckle, and it was only the fortune of having walked back far enough that spared her a total fall. She just ended up flopping on a bench instead, with her back at the entrance.

She was still like that when the guards right outside her door finally spoke as their doom closed in. "What is the meaning of this?" One shouted. "What is going on? We cannot allow anyone to enter here-ooph!" the way his words cut off made it clear he'd just been punched out cold. The sound of a hit made way for another, and another as the two men outside the nursery were taken out. Each sound made Rica fold in on herself and her baby. _Please, please Ancestors, if you exist, please_... She didn't know what to ask for. She didn't know what was going to happen. She had no one and nothing but her baby left now.

Endrin's wails quieted just before the door was pried open. Belatedly, Rica realized he hadn't stopped crying because of the intruder, but because of how her own tears had fallen on his face. The boy squirmed and reached out, curious at what the water flowing down his mother's face could mean.

Soft steps came ever closer. _No, no, stay away_... She warred with the panic, disgusted at how her shoulders were shaking. _Stay away from my baby!_ She wished she could scream out loud. Endrin was all she had. They'd taken everything else away, even her little brother. Only her mother was left, but she couldn't even be bothered not to drink herself to sleep in their quarters even today.

And scream she did, when someone finally reached out to her. She saw the shadow of the armored man looming, but she only gave in when a hand touched her shoulder. "Stay away!" She whirled around and cowered, clutching at Endrin for dear life. "You can't have him!"

"Sis!"

One word was enough to shatter her entire resolve and shake her to her core.

"Sis, it's me!"

She didn't fight the hold, the exceedingly gentle hold on her arms. She was paralyzed by disbelief, but Endrin began to wail again, and _no_ mother could ignore that. "Wh-what?" Her eyes snapped up. Her mouth moved, but no sounds came out.

Just like that, her world was turned completely inside out again, and the commotion, the shouting, the noises from outside the door, the realizations, all came crashing down on her with renewed force. Before she knew it, she'd collapsed on the bench again, arms divided between holding her son and clinging to Faren and openly sobbing into his chest. "I... I-I went and... they said you... When did... I thought I..."

"I know," he spoke in an even more tortured voice than hers. "I'm sorry," he rubbed her back slowly, but It hardly comforted her. The armor did little to ease the soul, and it forced him to keep distance between them, to avoid crushing the child, but she clung to his presence anyway, not knowing if what she was seeing and feeling was true yet. "I'm so sorry."

She could tell from his tone what his answer would be if she asked about Bhelen, so she didn't ask at all. "Little brother," she mumbled, barely louder than Endrin's cries. "Little brother, what... what's going t-to... happen to us?"

"I don't know..." His voice was like the voice of the dead. It made her wish she hadn't asked at all. "I really don't know."

"-. .-"

Warrior houses managed their own security, so most of them had something akin to a standard guard roster set up. That meant that, once someone was fully recognized as a soldier, they had to take their turns at standing guard at the entrance to their home. Rodan Saelac wished he'd soon gain that right. Maybe then he could get the recognition he sought. He knew some thought he was still young, but he was seventeen! If Gorim was able to get into his role at fifteen, and as the second of a prince, he should get a manly task too!

Which was why he was loitering around the entrance corridor. He noticed that whoever was supposed to be patrolling that area was gone. Ah right, it was that cousin he loathed for how he constantly berated him for holding his uncle Ser Gorim in such high regard. "He was a no good traitor," the guy would say, and should be forgotten with the rest of them. He'd been stripped from the records after all.

Rodan didn't see why he should care about what someone so irresponsible said. He refused to believe that had been a fair thing to do, and he knew he wasn't the only one.

Suddenly, something slammed against the door. Then it happened again, and again. Someone was trying to get someone to answer, but instead of knocking, they were hammering their fist against it. It sounded like it was someone armored too.

The lad swiftly approached the doorway and, upon unlocking it, timed his pull on the knob just as whoever it was intended to strike it again. To his satisfaction, the man almost toppled forward when he struck at empty air, but he avoided falling on his face because he was already leaning heavily with one forearm raised and held against the side of the door. The boy didn't have time to dwell much on the haggard appearance of the man before his sweat-soaked face rose and a pair of hard, green eyes locked on his brown ones.

Just like that, the wannabe soldier gaped and stared.

It took a moment for the not-dead warrior to unearth the identity of his nephew. "... Rodan?"

The one in question just nodded dumbly.

"Okay... good. That's good... help me get to wherever father is..."

Rodan obeyed mechanically, slipping under his arm to steady his walk. He didn't miss the sharp wince that accompanied every step of his uncle's right leg either. "Are you hur... injured?"

"No more than during the last four weeks." He sounded tired. Oh so tired. "Speaking of which, how's your grandfather's heart these days?"

"Heart?"

"I mean will he have a heart attack when he sees me?"

"Oh! Uhh... I don't think so... I mean he's fine, I think..."

"Ok, but we'll avoid mentioning how you seem to be letting anyone inside these days, because that will really nail him," he somehow managed to sound stern even in that state. "It might have been someone looking for trouble instead of me. You didn't even use the eyehole to check first, didn't I give you a lecture on this? Twice? We're basically in a time of civil war here, what were you thinking?"

"Sorry uncle..." it was uncle Gorim alright. Even though he wasn't that much older, he always seemed to know just what to lecture him on.

"Ah..." Gorim sighed and ruffled his hair affectionately. "I'm glad to see you're alright, though. At least..." he stopped. "Let's just find father. Stripped from the records or no, I have something important to tell him."

They were barely ten steps in when someone thumped on the door again. After a nod from his uncle, Rodan skimped over and did look through the eyehole this time. Obviously surprised, he slid it back on and ran back at him. "Melec Medra and some of his men... And lord Frandlin Ivo... as their prisoner, I think?"

The look of relief on his uncle's face caught Rodan totally off guard. "Good. Open the door, quickly. They're my friends." Gorim's effort to stand upright was admirable, but he still used a hand to steady himself against the wall.

The young lad pulled the door open just as Melec Medra was speaking. "-Noble or not, I won't believe anything you say until... I... see..." The absolutely flabbergasted look on the respectable warrior was almost hilarious. "Ser Gorim..."

Gorim waved. "You work fast, Frandlin."

The noble didn't even acknowledge the familiarity of that form of address. He just waved back and shrugged. "Can I have my effects back now?" he asked his 'escort.'

"By the Ancestors, you were speaking the truth!" Melec gasped, not having yet caught up with everything. "Does... does this mean his highness is alive as well?" His eyes widened as his mind raced. "You!" He nearly shouted at Frandlin. "What part did you play in this?"

"Can we just go to my father already?" Gorim snapped through clenched teeth, barely standing as it was. "I need to sit down."

Melec recovered at last and turned to the four men accompanying him. "Give lord Ivo his weapons back and go home and wait for more orders. If Dulin Forender comes by again, or sends someone to inquire after us, tell them where we are. You can escort him here if he chooses to join us."

"Er..." Rodan was suddenly the subject of everyone's attention. "Weeelll... you'll all have to leave your weapons behind too unless you're part of this house." He looked down right as he finished blurting that out, all in a single breath.

Then, to his renewed shock, Melec handed him his sword and shield it almost instantly, and Frandlin followed soon after, so brusquely that he almost fell on his backside. It was only the wall that spared him the indignity By the time he staggered over to the storage area, Melec had basically run over to support Gorim. Frandlin soon took him by the other arm.

"Don't ask," his uncle muttered.

The last thing Rodan saw before they turned the corner was the one who was supposedly on guard duty casually strolling into view with a mug of ale at his mouth and sputtering at the sight, choking and coughing before turning around and bolting to Stone knows where.

It made him palm his face. Top of the Warrior Caste indeed.

"-. .-"

It was astounding how Trian Aeducan had torn through the Royal Palace. Certainly, he'd had three golems backing him, along with a bunch of Grey Wardens, but the way he shoved aside those few guards who didn't recognize him, and the ferocity with which he advanced to the suite closest to the infirmary spoke volumes of how much the man cared about his remaining brother. Those stone giants and the others had basically had to put effort into keeping up with him.

Alim had had an easy time because he basically flew all the way, but he was almost wishing Trian wasn't there right now, as absurd as it sounded. If he were to be honest, the dwarven prince was almost inhumanly composed. He was standing some distance to his left and back, not too far but not too close. It was just the right distance, Alim judged, since it allowed him to work his magic on his commander without any worries.

The mage had glanced in his direction only once, when he knelt next to the bed. The first prince was standing ramrod straight, with his hands clasped behind his back, no doubt to prevent himself from fidgeting. His face was blank as well. There was absolutely no reason for Alim to feel like he was a bother, but he could feel the intensity of Trian Aeducan's gaze so clearly that it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. And that was while the attention of the royal heir was on his _patient_ instead of him.

He'd thought about telling him to step out, but he decided against it. From his own experience, he recognized the feeling. When faced with this sort of impending loss, one wants to do something, and if one can do _nothing_, then at least one can do nothing while still... being _there_ instead of elsewhere. It was a twisted sort of solidarity. If you can't help someone, you can at least make sure they don't suffer alone. That you suffer as well. It had taken Alim five years to figure out what this all meant and he wasn't sure if it was the right way to think.

And, of course, there was the matter that telling Trian to step out would have solved little. After all, it would not have put him beyond the edge of Alim's awareness. The black magician could sense everyone in the palace, and some distance outside of it. He'd mostly managed to put all those people out of his mind, but some things stood out, like Faren and Rica and, of course, those of his group with whom he was familiar. This must be what Raonar felt all the time.

About two hours had passed since they'd settled Raonar on the bed. Only Wynne and Morrigan were there with him. For some reason, Morrigan had just knelt next to him and assumed the role of a nurse, keeping his now white hair out of the way and periodically wiping the sweat of his forehead. As for Wynne, she was across from him, whispering a silent prayer. Her role in this had been over since fifteen minutes after their arrival in that room. She had been able to heal most of the internal injuries, but the heart wasn't the only thing ruptured and internal bleeding had done some damage as well.

The elf was troubled by another matter too. The thing where he was supposed to rip his soul out didn't go as planned. What came out was too small and shapeless. The soul should have looked precisely as Raonar did, and it should not have come out so easily. Where had he gone wrong?

Now it was all in Alim's hands. He had basically taken over the exile's body with blood magic and was actively sustaining its functions. He was astounded at how easy it was to use magic now, and not just because his leader wasn't disrupting spells anymore. Simply put, magic was basically no drain at all. Even flying all the way there had put absolutely no strain on him. So much could be achieved with this kind of power, and it was all without even a bit of help from that Spirit. This so-called tear in the Veil was more like a conduit than he expected. He felt like, with the right approach, he could do anything.

But it became all to obvious that wasn't true. He could feel that, even with all this, Raonar's body was losing the battle. He just didn't have enough blood left.

The mage's thoughts turned to his leader, and how... strange he looked with his hair and beard back to their natural color. Back in the deep roads, the hurry and darkness made it impossible to truly see the difference. He'd pried his eyes open at one point as well. The contrast between the dark blue of those irises and the bright hair was almost too sharp, especially given the pallor of his skin. He was so pale, but it made sense.

He _was_ dead.

"What do you mean he's dead?" Trian finally broke.

The three mages looked at each other by reflex.

Alim winced. He'd telepathically broadcasted that thought without meaning to. He couldn't put as much emotion into his response, though. "Yes." He risked a look in the prince's direction and was shocked to see him trembling and staring at his brother like a man who'd lost everything. "In a way, he is."

"What do you mean in a way?" It was obvious he was trying to hold it together. "What are you doing if he's really..." He palmed his forehead, unable to voice the last part. "What are you doing?" He managed a more level tone.

"Right now, I can just use blood magic to keep his bodily functions up and running," _but he'll die anyway if I don't think of something else. _He considered that maybe he could basically control that body like a puppet. It would take several days, maybe, assuming he didn't botch things, but if he could make him eat somehow... Alim already knew he himself could survive on just this newfound power. Rather than giving his body the means to generate energy, he could just supply the energy directly. The only thing that prevented him from doing the same to Raonar was the lack of blood and nourishment. He needed more than energy to heal.

"He's lost too much blood, hasn't he?" Trian whispered grimly. "That's why none of your healing works."

Alim nodded. Of course, it was a bit more complicated than that. Having harbored this connection to the fade for so long, Raonar's body had gradually started to draw on that energy for sustenance as well. It explained why he could stay awake for so long. Alim never thought about it before because Raonar never seemed to eat any less than everyone else. _Obviously_, he chastised himself. _Hunger is a reflex that appears whenever the stomach is empty, regardless of how much stamina you have left_. Either way, with the Fade connection lost, and after such blood loss, even a fully healed body wouldn't know what to do.

So caught up Alim was in his musings and spell focus that he almost missed Trian taking off his golden gauntlets and palming a knife. "Use mine."

The mage almost dropped the spell and his head turned in the direction of the voice with record speed. "What?"

"My blood. Use my blood." Trian's voice was steady, but his eyes begged to be told this was a good idea.

"We cannot know it will work," Wynne tried, gently. "Can we?" She asked Alim.

"We tried blood transfusions before,'" he answered. "But it seemed to be a matter of luck. We never could figure out why some people reacted to it as if it was poison."

"It will work," Trian said firmly. "It will. I know it."

Surana almost argued against that, but the dwarf seemed so certain, as if he had insurmountable proof. "How do you know?"

"Because we did this before."

The elven magus listened intently to the explanation, of the tale of the day that started this mess, and how they'd been joined together. By the end, his mind was racing, trying to figure out what a maneuver of this sort would entail. "How much do you weigh?"

"What?" Trian was stumped.

"How much do you weigh, without any armor? I need to know so that I can figure out how much blood I can drain without killing you."

The way the dwarf's face lit up was... to see hope blossom so fast was bewildering. "I won't say."

"What?"

"You heard me," Trian said stiffly. "I'm not saying. Take as much as you think you'll need-no!" He sliced open his wrist without blinking. "Take **more**. If it kills me, that's a small price to pay."

Morrigan couldn't take silence any longer. "You would really do _that?_ You would... throw your life away so easily, for the sake of another?" The witch was disbelieving, which was understandable, but why there was so much frustration in her words, Alim didn't have time to wonder about.

"Yes," he didn't look at her, or his bloody wrist. "Absolutely." And there was nothing he'd been more certain about in his entire life.

Morrigan stared at him, and then she shot to her feet, made as if to say something more but reconsidered and briskly walked out of the room.

Alim shelved that for later. "Fine. If that is the case-"

"-whoa!" Trian couldn't help the reaction when he found himself suspended in the air.

Alim let him drop back down the next second. "Now I can guess how much you weigh." He reached out for his wrist. "This will feel weird." At the other's nod, he let go of Trian's hand, and a stream of blood followed his palm, pouring out of those veins. The mass of dark red grew, from thumb-sized to the size of a fist, and then a bit more, and more, always more, hovering like a globe above his left palm. He cut back to study his donor, but there was no evidence of lightheadedness. It left Alim astounded. He should have at least lost his balance by now.

The magus was tempted to see just how much it would take to bring him to his knees, but crushed the thought as soon as it formed. That was lay madness. The blood he'd already drawn was more than enough.

Turning his attention back upon the mass of blood, he dropped the spell of sustenance on his commander. With his now free right hand, he made an incision into the crook of his elbow. When Trian finally collapsed forward, It was only the fact that he expected it that prevented him from losing focus and dropping that blood all over the sheets.

Wynne swiftly moved over to support him, but Alim had no time or attention available for them. At his order, the blood was guided, like a very thin stream, right into the vein. Between that, accelerating the general blood flow and making sure no air got mixed with the fuel of life, it took him twenty minutes of unbroken focus to finish the transfusion. After that, healing the puncture wound was easy.

_Puncture wound! Make that slice wound!_ He almost jumped to his feet, but his panic attack was averted when he saw that Wynne had already healed Trian's wrist. Alim didn't feel any less like smashing his forehead against a wall, though. What a stupid oversight. He would have left Trian to bleed to death in his rush.

Miraculously, Trian managed to stand. His legs were shaky, but he could still stand. Barely.

The next phase could begin. He hoped it was unnecessary, but he wasn't going to take any chances. "Okay... Wynne, I sent Morrigan a message. She'll be here soon with a bunch of scrolls and everything else needed to write. I'll need you and her to etch some runes on the walls."

"Runes? Why?" the dwarf managed to weakly ask, as though he was clinging to anything that could keep him awake.

Alim obliged. He had to answer regardless. "Just in case that aura of pain, or whatever it was, starts off again, it will nullify it." Morrigan came in just then, so he answered the question she, too, was dwelling on. "I'll write it down for you."

"While sustaining his body?" Wynne asked.

"I only need one hand for that."

"-. .-"

When Morrigan stormed out of the palace, Zevran knew something had happened. He did not feel particularly proud of that assessment, though. Any simpleton, even one with astoundingly unclean feet, would have figured that out.

"What's gotten into her knickers?" Oghren blurted.

Yes. Any simpleton, even one with astoundingly unclean feet, would have figured that out. Somehow, Zevran had no idea how, the dwarf had ended up leaning against the railing next to him after the crowd dispersed. He paid Morrigan more attention than he would normally would have just to pretend he had a reason to ignore the stocky one beside him.

The crow had actually spent quite a while with his back against the door to the room where they were tending to their fearless leader, or what was left of him. He'd left Shale and Sten to their self-imposed guard duty and sneakily left the premises when he heard Morrigan's outburst. After that, he'd somehow ended up in this situation.

When Morrigan paused and passed her hand over her face, the interest increased. When she wearily made her way to the railing, though a fair distance away from them, Zevran knew this was a mystery he would solve. And if that wasn't enough, the witch had been fidgeting the whole time.

Being the stealthy man he was, he made sure Morrigan didn't see him approach her until he was within earshot. "Well, it does seem like our ice queen's heart is thawing."

Morrigan snorted. It came out about as half-hearted as he expected. "Do not bother me now, elf. Go and be rejected by some other hapless woman. 'Tis your wont, is it not?"

"My, what sharp claws you have!" the elf quipped, polishing his nails on his chest. "This business where you question your fundamental beliefs has struck you hard."

"Do not act as if you know anything about me," she snapped with an impressive glare. "Greater men have tried to read me and they have all seen the same end. Must I repeat myself each time?"

"My, sharp claws but you are still so defensive!" He could do this all day, but decided not to. "But I wonder, is it truly a bad thing?"

The witch tried to ignore him.

"Hmm, so you are already fingering that strange glass rose," he mused. Morrigan's hands quickly folded in front of her as she leaned back from the railing. "Friendships are fleeting and have no meaning. Power has meaning." He quoted flatly. "Love is a weakness. Love is a cancer that grows inside and makes one do foolish things. Love is death. The love you dream of is something that would be more important to one than anything, even life. I know no such love." He watched her with his peripheral vision. "That is what you droned on about each time someone broached the topic."

"..." She was just glaring ahead, pointedly ignoring him.

Which was just driving him on, of course. "And yet... when that admirable prince offered his life so easily to save his dearly **beloved** brother... you were remarkably affected and not disparaging in the slightest."

"'Tis none of your concern, _assassin_," she hissed. "Or do you think 'twould have been appropriate to say those things to him just then?"

"Ah, but why would you even _care_ about that if love is a weakness? Why would you hesitate to-" he air quoted- "dispel his foolish illusions."

"If you think the reason I cared about his "feelings" you are sorely mistaken."

"Ah, but that is not what I am thinking at all," he answered back, still not looking at her. "_**He**_ was there, though." She stiffened. Bingo. "'How would he react to me doing that,' you must have asked yourself." He made a show of picking at his nails.

"Whose opinion I ca-... _respect_... does not concern you."

Zevran was done playing around. He faced her squarely. "It isn't that you love him." She did a double take. "It is that you aren't sure if you are. But you want it." She frowned. "You crave it. You wish there was someone who would be willing to so easily offer himself in your stead in a similar manner, and here lies the dilemma that you have not answered. The same one that has kept you from turning your back on me and walking away from this conversation."

That moment, she did turn away, but her feet did not move her forward.

"It is the dilemma of wanting it but also not wanting to see him bring himself harm because of you."

"You-" She whirled around but her words cut in her throat. Seeing him watch her so intently and with not a single smug muscle on his face was enough to break her thoughts. "You speak nonsense." Her words rung with a genuine disinterest that both of them knew full well was fake. "You truly seem to enjoy the sound of your voice."

Truth be told, Zevran Arainai didn't know why he was saying all this. It _may_ have been because he felt Alim deserved better, for some reason or other. Or perhaps it was just his way of coping with the uncertainty of possibly losing the first commanding officer that actually valued him without needing a reason to. "Do not think I haven't noticed you isolate yourself from the rest when we camp and how you watch your words particularly carefully when our mighty mage is around." He raised a palm. "I know the fear of disappointing someone when I see it. Ah! Don't bother denying it."

Miraculously, she didn't. She just glared down at the city below and pretended he wasn't there.

"And you are also jealous of our other lovebirds." If not for the seriousness of the situation, the way she gripped on the railing enough for her knuckles to grow white would have been amusing. "But you are afraid-"

"Do not speak to me of fear!" She finally had enough and met his eyes. "I have survived, seen, learned of things you cannot even begin to dream of!"

Oh, if only she knew what horrors _he'd_ seen. "That reaction was even more defensive then the first one."

"Hmph!"

"Unless you care about his opinion and everything just because he is stronger than you."

"My, but, it took you so very long to see it!" Her voice was dripping with so much sarcasm that it was clear she was trying too hard. Like she was trying to convince herself of that.

"So you are acting like you care just to divine all the secrets of his power!"

"How dare y-" Oh, he definitely was smug now, and she realized why. "I... you insolent, no-good, meddling-!" She gave half a cry of exasperation and turned to leave.

"He does love you, you know."

Morrigan almost tripped on her feet and came to a halt. "That... that is foolish of him then."

"You are a very afraid girl, Morrigan," Zevran wasn't looking at her anymore. "Faced with so many facts so soon after leaving your mother's home, facts that so clearly and blatantly disprove everything she ever taught you." He turned his back on her completely and looked down upon the dwarven city. "He is more powerful than you, and yet that "weakness" is something he exhibits constantly. 'How can that be' you must be asking yourself every day, especially since it is clear that this "cancer" is what actually enabled him to come so far. Even defy death once." She heard her move. "Oh yes, I learned about that."

To his surprise, Morrigan turned around. "Are you... jealous elf?"

Under normal circumstances, that would have been a great comeback. She'd even said it all with a straight face. Under these circumstances, though... it made Zevran bowl over and laugh, and laugh. And laugh some more until he couldn't laugh anymore. "Oh, hahaha, oh my, hahahaha!" He straightened up, still clutching at his midriff. "Ah, Morrigan, you do not realize how fortunate you are."

"What is this you are saying?"

"Asking me if I am jealous, when I doubt I even have the capacity for love any longer. Or the right. When I see you trample yours..." Amusement left him instantly, and he glared at her with steel. "It is pitiful."

"Why y-" Morrigan blinked and seemed disoriented for a second. "...I am afraid I... will let you pity empty air. I need to gather some scrolls and ink." With that, she turned away.

"You aren't afraid he loves you, but of loving him back!" She froze mid-step. "Quite the identity crisis, isn't it? For you, admitting to love would mean admitting that, how did our dear commander put it?" Zevran pushed himself from the railing and looked at her back. "'Everything you believe is false,' was it?

"..."

"You fear loving him back, because it would be the same as losing _yourself_."

"Bah!" She stormed off. "I cannot believe I listened through all of this!"

"But you know that's is fine!" He said brightly as she finally brought herself to move again. "Perhaps the new you won't be so needlessly spiteful! And then I won't need a bet to feel like you deserve to be complimented!"

The witch of the wilds turned on her heel and made as if to sent some magic or other at him, but the a snarl ended up being her only reaction. "I... I hate you all _so_ much!"

"I know!"

"Argh! Die!"

He barely ducked away from the bolt of lightning that fizzled against the railing behind him. "Oh, I will, eventually. I just hope you won't repeat what I did, and trample true love when it seeks you." He turned around and walked out on her. "Our dear mage deserves better than you." He raised his left hand in a wave as he kept walking, not turning back to watch her reaction. "And I tell you, butchering love when it seeks you, well... It is very lonely to live after that!"

"-. .-"

The last of those would-be backstabbers, nobles and guards included, were behind bars, so Baizyl Harrowmont finally, finally allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief. He didn't really feel at ease, though. It was bad enough that many of those deshyrs protested, saying they'd been tricked into it. Others were all too eager to further smear Bhelen's name in some way or other, even though they'd been on his side until a couple of hours earlier. It was a small blessing Piotin didn't put up any sort of fight. It didn't help that he knew of at least one so-called lord that was on Harrowmont's side but had participated in the plot against Prince Trian's life. At least, with the gates closed, there was no way for him to run. Yet.

Baizyl tried to ignore his rising headache as he exited the prison, leaving two of his loyal men on guard duty. Prince Raonar had said the traitors would be allowed to go home, but that all changed when Vartag pulled his stunt. One or more of those fools may have plotted it in advance, or at least that's the argument they were going to use to justify their imprisonment. A cold, damp cell was the least they deserved.

He wondered if Bhelen's body had been taken away yet. Since his legal status was unclear, Baizyl decided to summon the embalmers to prepare it, just in case. If things went smoothly, he was probably already in the halls of the dead, being cleaned and tended.

_Dammit_, he cursed. _I should have paid more attention!_ He felt like ripping Vartag's arms off and beating him to death with them, but that would not absolve him of his own role in what happened. He'd been too careless. He should have known something was suspicious about "Merrick." He glared at the dungeon doors one last time, as if he believed his disdain would reach that murderer even though several thick walls and iron bars.

Baizyl blinked. Why was he so angry at Vartag, even though he felt Bhelen got what was coming to him? The answer was easy enough to figure out. He had come to believe in that second Aeducan prince enough that he wanted to see him succeed in his struggles, even if he didn't agree with everything he did.

With a shake of his head, the noble warrior hastened down the steps. He had to return to the estate and make sure his cousin was safe, now more than ever. It wasn't all selfless, though. At least a task like that would give him something to think about other than what Gorim and Prince Trian must be feeling right now. Or Frandlin. Stone, having to lock up your brother _and_ father could not have been easy on him at all. It was astounding he'd taken charge so fast and practically prevented a huge disaster from tearing Orzammar apart.

He wondered what had happened to Prince Raonar too, but he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.

"-. .-"

Alim had no idea how to explain to the others what had gone wrong. It definitely wasn't good that he, himself, had no clue what had happened. Still, he could tell it had to do with how he'd only succeeded in the soul... extraction half-way.

It took Morrigan and Wynne about two hours to etch those runes on the walls. They were the sort that didn't need constant power. If that magical blowback started, they would feed off the energy generated by it and nullify it. Alim spent the time keeping the body running. "Alive" couldn't apply as long as the mind and emotion, the soul, was absent. He paid attention to Trian from the corner of his eye as well. The man had taken off his armor and allowed himself to sit on a bench, but he'd stubbornly refused to fall unconscious, despite almost collapsing a few times. And his gaze never left Raonar's face.

When the wards were completed and everyone was ready, he stood up and released the Veil again. The entire room shimmered and changed, just like everything had outside, when that whole mess had happened. This time, though, there was no chaos. The link to the land of peaks and rivers was strong.

He pulled at the edges of the gate between worlds like he'd done before, until it only surrounded him and the bed. It was then that the orb of light, that star appeared again and, ever so slowly, descended upon Raonar's body until it lost itself in his forehead. All that remained was to restore him to how he was before.

Though regretful at the loss, Alim surrendered his hold on the Veil and, with a last effort, he compressed the conduit and bound it to the exiled prince again. He watched as his long hair turned from white to black and how the one he was tending turned back to the way he was.

His heart skipped a beat when Raonar breathed in raggedly and snapped open those bright eyes of his.

Whatever hope he felt crumbled when that face twisted in grief and his eyes fell closed again. The dwarf's whole being slumped against the sheets, his head sunk into his pillow, and all semblance of life left his face except for two streams of tears flowing out of the corners of his eyes.

"-. .-"

When the Grey Wardens and their entourage (sans Oghren) came together in the palace council hall, to decide what to do next, Trian was, predictably there. "What the hell happened? What's that damnable power?" He finally snapped.

Three seconds later, he sunk into his chair and fell into a fitful but deep sleep.

Alim, who had only just come through the door, shook the remainder of the sleep spell from his fingertips and began to tie his hair, once again black, in the ponytail usual to him. No one blinked or commented at how the heir apparent of Orzammar had so unceremoniously been taken out of commission. "I'll see to him later. Right now, we have to take stock of the situation."

"How," Faren cleared his throat. "How is he."

Alim rubbed his eyes. "He's... I don't know how to say this. He's... crying in his sleep I suppose."

Faren sagged and practically let his head fall on the table with a deep sigh of relief. It was obvious what he was thinking. He was alive. He was still alive.

Alim wasn't sure alive applied, even now. He'd reached out, just before the Veil tear was removed from him, and he hadn't found any trace of a mind there. He might never wake up at all in this situation. Fortunately, everyone knew better than to ask anything else. The next half hour was spent relaying news from within and outside the palace, though they still had to wait for Gorim, Frandlin Ivo and/or Baizyl Harrowmont to return. Surprisingly, Gwen had something quite important to contribute. Apparently, Bhelen had Loghain's Ambassador Gainley as a guest. One of Arl Howe's friends. Gwen had taken it upon herself to knock him out, gag and hog tie him until further notice. If anything, it had been a suitable way of relieving the pressure, and she hadn't killed him, so there was that.

Zevran made an off-hand mention of having visited that noblewoman who'd fallen to that regicide, as well as her healer. He looked rather subdued and silently angry.

Theron had the real news, though. Sitting back and with his hands forming a triangle in front of his face, he spoke serenely and with his eyes closed the entire time. "Rinne is expecting Damon's cubs." There was a pause. "The inception occurred approximately nineteen days ago."

Some of those present looked around by reflex, only to remember that the dogs had both been left behind at the Warden enclave. They then wondered why the hell anyone would suddenly bring that up.

"Wait what?" Gwen asked, at the exact same time as everyone else, except Alim.

Something dawned on the mage just then. "Oh, so _that_ was the weird feeling coming from her." Seeing the looks he was getting, he elaborated. "Just now, during my... Veil... ness, I sensed something odd about her but didn't know what."

"Wait wait!" Alistair intervened. "You... could sense the dogs all the way to the enclave? From the _middle of the mountain?_"

Alim shrugged.

"That is unimportant. What we must think about is their safety." Theron said simply.

"..."

"If our leader should at any point begin to exhibit that unfavorable aura, the cubs-to-be will be in danger," the hunter elaborated. "I suggest that we take Rinne, or both her and Damon, back to Soldier's Peak and leave them there for now. We must visit our headquarters either way."

"Right, you think that dog will agree to go anywhere?' Faren said darkly. "Even if we put it to sleep and drag it there, she'll just come back as soon as she wakes up."

The debate went on for a short time until the decision was made to keep her in the enclave until further notice. Gwen was a bit reluctant but agreed that she'd let Damon stay with her if he chose to.

"Right, but I have to ask," Leliana couldn't help herself. "Theron... how could you tell? You even know when it happened, did you... spy on them as they copulated?"

The Dalish finally opened his eyes and gave her a deadpan look. "No."

Alim sighed, seeing what Leliana was trying to do and feeling a bit of sympathy for how her attempt at lightening the mood hadn't worked. The discussion continued until it was decided that someone definitely had to go out, to meet Caridin and take him where he had to be. Gwen volunteered and, unsurprisingly, Alistair did as well. Alim decided to send Wynne to the Circle tower, assuming Caridin's golems would agree to escort her there. Maybe she'll find some magic that could help. At some point Theron piped up again and said he would take Shale to gather some wood. When further questions were denied answers, Alim decided to let him have his way, whatever it was he was planning. He seemed to know things even he didn't, at times.

If there was anything that could make a Delish elf choose to stay underground rather than leave as soon as possible, it had to be big.

After they adjourned, they came upon Frandlin Ivo waiting in the entrance hall. He informed them of everything they hadn't already learned, including the fact that the Warrior Houses had agreed not to take any action until the Shaperate gave the all clear. This took care of most of the immediate concerns. There was one thing left.

"-. .-"

"Morrigan." She didn't turn around when Alim called her name. She just continued to stare at that lyrium formation behind the thick glass pane on the far wall of that room he'd asked her to wait for him in. Odd. On the bright side, this let him gather his words. He fingered the pattern of a dead, leafless tree that adorned the front of that dark tome, as he arranged his thoughts.

He wondered if she was upset at how he'd telepathically sent her requests earlier. Speaking of which, maybe he should try and reproduce that somehow, even without the Veil conduit. Those were thoughts for another time, tough.

"Morrigan," he approached her. "I think this belongs to you."

The witch was clearly troubled by something when she only barely glanced back but the moment her eyes took in the object, she stood completely still. Several emotions played on her face, before sheer surprise won and made her turn fully to face him. "This... you... you found Flemeth's Grimoire?" She reached out to touch it. "I... I looked through the Tower whenever we weren't moving up and I did not find it."

"Yes, we found it months ago. Raonar told me not to give it to you until he said so."

"Hmph. That is not unexpected."

Looking up, he held it out to her. "But that's changed. Take it."

"I... I thank you. I shall set about uncovering its secrets immediately!" Whatever was bothering her before had completely taken second stage.

"Right. I'll probably seem like an ass for this but..." He laid his hands on hers. "If you... find anything, any spell you think might help with him... Please, tell me."

"Ah, so there _is_ an ulterior motive," the woman sighed in disappointment, voice turning bland. "Very well, I sha -" Her words were lost in a sudden, tender kiss that made her completely forget what she was going to say. By the end of it, she was barely holding onto the book.

Alim stroked her cheek as he pulled away. "There was no ulterior motive for this, though." With that, the mage turned around and left Morrigan to her own thoughts. He had work to do.


	66. Third Intermission 2: Tranquil Agony

**A/N:** Remember how everyone wanted Theron to get some development in that poll on my profile? It so happens that I was going to give him some anyway.

Theron will play two songs in this chapter. You will know when, assuming you are interested in listening to them as you read about them.

The first is one I mentioned before. On the YouTube Homepage, write this at the end of the URL : /watch?v=omQ-7wZTXvI

The second song is this one: /watch?v=FUPi3xtQqd8

I WOULD write full links, but you know this site would break them anyway.

* * *

**Chapter 63: Tranquil Agony**

"-. .-"

Piotin Aeducan was a sorry sight. After two days and two nights spent in prison, in nothing some rags and with just a bucket on hand, the 'great' warrior and head of the Keneldan-Aeducan line was having the worst time of his life. He'd barely slept and he'd had to sit through the panicked and impotently outraged rants of all the other new inmates that populated the cells nearby. Add to that the guilt and feelings of inadequacy that he just couldn't quell because of all the soul-shattering, utterly mindblowing revelations...

Yes. There was **no** **way** for his life to get any worse.

"What the **HELL** were you **THINKING**?" A pair of palms slammed upon the surface of the stone desk with ear-shattering force.

Clearly, his mind had spoken too soon. He'd never flinched so hard in his life. "Cousin, I-" Piotin's mouth clamped shut. It was another mistake to look up and meet that furious glare.

"Don't look away." It was barely above a whisper. "Look me squarely if you plan to explain yourself." The command carried a weight that even Endrin himself had never managed to fill his words with.

The haggard-looking man, even in his wildest fantasies, never thought he would land in a situation where just looking someone in the eye gave him the impulse to cower in shame. He'd expected the summons upon immediately walking out of prison. That it was Frandlin Ivo who escorted him to Endrin and Bhelen's former office made the situation completely surreal and did a great job of keeping him off-balance.

Though he didn't recognize it, his first prince cousin was largely responsible for his inflated ego. In other words, he'd never seen Trian like this, filled with so much righteous outrage, and all of it directed at him. It made the proud fighter again realize that, in the end, he didn't really know anything. "Cousin, on my word, I believed I was..." He'd mentally rehearsed this apology for the past couple of days. He completely believed it too, until he found himself the subject of that harsh stare. His mind went blank, and all he could stutter was "I swear on my honor, if I'd know what Bhelen had done I'd've-"

"Stone dammit, man!" Trian yelled from his higher ground. The part of the room with the desk was several steps above the rest. "You were enthusiastically participating in the massacre of _YOUR LATE KING-UNCLE'S BEST FREIND!_ _And all those others, even house Helmi's Patriarch!_" The head of Aeducan House was shaking, unable to contain his rage. "What the hell? It doesn't even matter who the targets were! Murder is murder! And against so many... Ancestor's beard..."

"I didn't think-!"

"OBVIOUSLY!" Trian actually clutched at his hair to calm down. "Did the fact that this scheme clearly showed Bhelen for the _murderous brat_ that he was ever even _cross your mind_? Didn't you even consider that if... if he was so eagerly going to do this, then he obviously _wasn't_ the 'honorable Aeducan' he painted himself as? That he obviously **was** the _**exact**_ same kind of person that would try and murder his family members just to get the throne?_ Like half the city has been saying for the past few months? _Hell, even father disowned him! What other blatant hints do you want?"

He would have shouted back, demanded the respect he was due. He was the great Piotin Aeducan, a real force of nature, the greatest of Orzammar's warriors! ...but he couldn't help but feel small. Even his apprehension at being _yelled_ at couldn't make him lash back. His pride had taken a thorough thrashing the past few days, and the fatigue and flimsy prison clothes he still wore weren't helping him put up an air of strength either. In the end, he didn't have the willpower left to hold the stare so he let his eyes glower at the ground.

"Well? If you have an actual, viable explanation, I'm all ears."

"... I..." He hesitated, but there was nothing he could say that would vindicate him now. "I don't have any excuse."

What followed was a tense period of silence. Piotin could practically feel his answer being dissected and turned on every side.

"No you do not," Trian finally said. His emotions were settling down at last, but he stayed silent, so Piotin took that as a cue to look at him again. It was a much more composed sight than before. "And I used to think _my_ actions were unforgiveable."

"..."

"I am not Bhelen, _nor_ father." Trian straightened his back. "And though I am not particularly proud to admit it, I am not like my brother either. Not as kind and definitely not as perceptive... I was, at one point, completely fooled by Bhelen as well." Piotin's eyes went wide in surprise at this sudden confession. "I was even willing to have Raonar arrested and convicted as traitor, determined not to even give him a chance to defend himself if possible. I was completely certain of what I thought I knew, and I wanted to feel powerful and in the right. Always." His stare grew distant as he regarded something on the desk. "In other words, I was a complete fool."

The almost murderer just continued looking on in perplexity... which was why he did not miss the hardening of his cousin's stare again.

"You, however, have **no** such excuse."

Despite himself, he gulped.

Trian began to shuffle some papers as he began to speak again. "The assembly is in disarray, and between me and Harrowmont, we can do a lot of things. Even if this hadn't somehow shifted so sharply in our favor, I'd have probably managed to get you off easy." He finished arranging the stack of scrolls and leaned on the table again. "I can maneuver things on your behalf, get you a minor penalty and have you back to your regular duties in about a month or two, especially since I can argue that it wasn't your fault, that Bhelen had fooled pretty much everyone so they can't hold it against you. " Trian narrowed his eyes. "I can even argue that you were acting solely out of family loyalty, which is one of the greatest virtues of our people. That would earn you big points, especially since it would, basically, be true." The gaze of the prince became bland. "But I will do none of those things."

The man mouthed something but couldn't muster the courage to actually dispute anything.

"You are hereby relieved of your duty as army commander."

Piotin winced.

"You are also forbidden from acting as part of Aeducan's or the city's military until further notice."

It took all his willpower to stop his hands from rising to rub his face.

"You are also forbidden from carrying weapons within the city limits, regardless of quarter, unless you receive a special dispensation on my part. That includes hidden daggers, fist cuffs, etcetera."

At that he couldn't help but open his mouth to voice a startled protest. That was the worst penalty a warrior could ever get! It was the same as exile but without leaving the city walls!

He didn't get the chance. "I _can_ bring this matter to the assembly and let them brand you castless instead if you are not satisfied."

His teeth clamped shut a second time, but his arms were trembling regardless. After this whole discussion, his anger was finally bubbling and simmering.

"And finally, you will, naturally, no longer be the head of Keneldan-Aeducan. Since I am going to have a lot of time on my hands, I will supervise the activities of that branch house directly."

Piotin Aeducan was outright quaking in barely contained rage. He was losing everything. Everything he'd worked for and, more importantly, everything he had a right to by birth.

"Well, _you_ seem to be discontent with my lenience."

Something went snap. "At least _I_ never betrayed my principles!" He finally bellowed for once.

"No indeed!" Trian was using sarcasm. It was a bizarre experience. "And they are so skewed that even the greatest list of obvious hints all around you couldn't break that mental box and help you get over that pathetic backwards reasoning!"

"So what! Was I just supposed to trust outside rumors instead of my own house?"

"You were supposed to use your head!"

"I was!" To think someone of his status would have to defend himself against such accusations! It was preposterous! He deserved better than to have his intelligence insulted like this! "I was only doing what I had to make sure the crown stayed in House Aeducan! Even the king threw away-... gave everything just for this goal!"

Immediately it became obvious that was the absolute_ worst_ thing he could have blurted out. Not just because of how he _almost_ implied he approved of Endrin's abandonment of his first sons, but because of how Trian completely ignored that part. The first prince outright roared at the top of his lungs, eyes blazing. "Well if the only way for our house to get the throne is for all of us to become short-sighted and murderous **bastards** like _YOU_ and Bhelen, then MAYBE AEDUCAN SHOULD NOT HOLD THE THRONE ANY LONGER!"

Recoiling like he'd been slapped a million times, Piotin Aeducan stared at his heir-cousin in stupefaction, and at how strained his breathing had become after that outburst. Seeing and hearing Trian shout that, Trian who used to talk about nothing but how he couldn't wait to get the throne, caught him completely and utterly off guard.

"I am astounded!" Trian gasped, holding himself up with both arms against the table. "I am still _shocked_ brother hasn't say this himself yet! I could practically feel it on the tip of his tongue each second of his systematic demolishing of Bhelen and his upstart delusions! I am stupefied he didn't speak these words when he rammed that sword through Laryn's head and into the assembly chamber's floor!"

The recently released malefactor looked on, and kept looking with his mouth half-open and his eyes unblinking. Whatever enmity he felt towards Trian, or anyone, had utterly drained from his body.

But Trian's recovery of his composure was even more instantaneous. A deep, shuddery breath was all it took. Now, looking upon him was like looking upon a stone wall, and his voice was level and completely cold. "It is high time the Aeducan line learned a lesson in humility, and I'm going to make sure it starts at the very top." Sitting down, he leaned back and steepled his fingers in front of his face. "Dismissed."

Piotin didn't need to be told twice. After a bow that, he realized, he wasn't used to performing for anyone, he turned and took his leave with as much dignity as he could scrape.

When he thought his life couldn't be much worse, his mind had _definitely_ spoken too soon.

"-. .-"

This was not a great day to be around Kallian Tabris. The city elf was striding along the main street of the commons at a pace that would have had anyone running to keep up. She was livid, even though it had already been two hours since the experience that made her like this. As if Faren didn't already have enough to deal with, he just had to go through _that _as well.

Kalah Brosca was just such an irredeemable _bitch._

Kallian had grown up slightly bitter, since she's witnessed her mother's death, but her parents had always been caring and understanding. In this respect, she had been given a good deal. She had a perfect example of parentage to which she could compare that... person that had no right to be called a woman. When she learned from Faren that his sister and mother were living in the palace, she'd been very happy for him. So happy, in fact, that she misinterpreted his awkward reaction to her suggestion that she meet them.

In retrospect, maybe she should not have gone over to their chambers without talking to him about it first. As it was, her attempt at "surprising" and distracting him from his grief went down in flames. Al she managed was to perfectly overhear Faren being outright berated for no reason.

She didn't remember how she managed to sneak off and hide, but she managed it. Faren stormed right past her and was distraught enough that he didn't even come close to noticing someone was there. After he was out of sight, she almost gave into her impulse to barge in and give that woman a piece of her mind, but Rica had already started on it, in her own way, when the baby started wailing.

Kallian could still hear those unfair words in her head. _"Look at ya, brat, all broken up over some noble runt that ya know for less than a year. And look, putting on airs, too good to spend some time with yer own mam. How long have you been back? You only show your face around here now?"_ Vainly, Tabris tried to banish the memory, but it just came back. _"And just why are __**you**__ the one all upset? It yer sister that lost her meal ticket. Look at you, back in the city for just a few weeks and already you got her man killed."_

It was at that point that Rica couldn't take it anymore and tried to reprimand her. It was a wonder Faren didn't actually say anything. He just extracted himself from the situation. _"Right, turn tail and try to run, it's all you ever did. But it don't matter. The dust doesn't come off. You'll always be nothin' but Dust Town, brat, just like me, no matter what you think and how far you run. And what you did since you came back proves it."_

That, Kallian decided, was an attitude that even being a bitter and drunk woman couldn't excuse.

After taking a _long _walk to cool her head, something that the hot atmosphere of a city build over a lava pool didn't help with, she found Faren later in the Grey Warden enclave, relieving his frustration by doing single-armed handstand pushups. Not wanting to let him realize that she'd overheard the whole gruesome affair, she made some succinct small talk before leaving to see what the heck Theron was up to. As she predicted, Faren only grunted, eager to be left alone.

She was feeling a bit grateful to Theron, as strange as it was. That Dalish elf seemed to do things out of the blue that always left people thinking. Kallian was glad for something she could be earnestly curious about, especially now. It was almost as if Theron did these seemingly random things with the express purpose of getting people thinking about them instead of the tragedies they had no control over.

Bu of course, that elf never did anything at random. It was too bothersome. This meant that even this latest and most peculiar action he'd taken must have some sort of purpose. Nevertheless, regardless of how much Kallian stretched her brain thinking about it, she had no idea why Theron had made Shale bring over that pile of maple logs. It was already strange enough that he hadn't left for the surface and the sky at the first opportunity.

She'd have asked him if she'd found him at the foundry Shale had told her about, the one that Raonar had commissions to make Trian's armor, but he wasn't there anymore. The artisans and smiths _were_ really busy, though. It seemed that Theron had instructed them to build some very specific tools and keep the processed timber in a room with a very precise, constant temperature at all times.

Not knowing where to go next, she decided to return to the enclave. Once there, she ran into a very thoughtful Alim Surana. He was so lost in his intense musings that he nearly bumped into her. "Oh Kallian, I didn't know you were there..."

"Even with our warden-ness..."

"Heh... yeah."

Naturally, neither of them was feeling very humorous at the moment. "Have you seen Theron anywhere?"

"Hmm?" Alim looked at her as if he only now realized she was there. "Oh. Yes. He's in the room I just came out of."

"What's he doing?"

Alim brushed the loose strand of hair from his face, for all the good it did (none, naturally). "See for yourself." He shrugged and walked off, so Tabris let him go on his way and saw to her own. She knocked on the door but, when she got no response, she slowly pushed it open and peeked inside. Even her earlier experience with Faren's... familial dynamics couldn't dissuade her from learning why Alim had allowed himself to be caught so flat footed.

The lass went slackjawed even before she'd opened the door all the way. Theron's cross-legged posture, with both eyes closed and palms facing up, rested on top of one another in his lap, would never had stunned her on its own. The... _thing..._ floating above them did that, and more. It was a tall, shiny... glimmering... stick of something resembling ethereal alabaster. There really was no other way she could think of for calling it. And the glimmer stick seemed to be absorbing small motes of light, like snowflakes, that appeared out of nowhere all around it.

When she finally gathered her wits and entered fully into the room, a sense of calm washed over her and she began to hear a very soft hum at the edge of her awareness. She finally closed her mouth and blinked at the surreal scene, taking in the soft shine of the chain tattoo that the elf had gained upon his resurrection. "Since when are **you** a mage?"

"The meaning of that term does not apply to me." He didn't even open his eyes.

"But you're... doing magic..."

"So does Alistair sometimes."

"But not this kind!" Really, it was like debating with a brick wall, only worse because she was losing.

The stoic, shut-eyed face did not react.

Kallian just could not take it anymore. If she wasn't going to be told how this all was possible, she had to at least know why Theron had done all these strange things the past few days. "If I ask precisely what you are doing, will you give me a straight answer?"

"Yes."

"..." Tabris really felt like banging her head against a wall. "Well? You seem to be... making something. What is it?"

"A bow."

Kallian opened her mouth, then closed it. Hearing that simple answer made her feel utterly disappointed. With all the mystery surrounding this weird elf, she'd expected... she'd been anticipating something amazing and now... he was making a bow? What a shock! An archer making himself a bow. Astounding... It somehow totally dispelled the awe caused by his apparently supernatural feat.

Huffing in disappointment, the blonde turned to leave.

"Lethallan."

"Yeah?" Her annoyance wasn't totally masked.

Theron was as nonplussed as usual. "Since you seem to have too much time on your hands, could you go outside the city? I left an order at the city gates for some horse hair. It should have been procured by now."

Deciding she didn't really care much anymore, she grunted in assent. "Sure."

"-. .-"

_"Greetings father,_

_ I didn't need to off-handedly be denied attendance to the strategy meeting prior to the mission to know the worst was happening. I am not surprised by the adjustments to the operation either. I am merely highly disappointed and heavy of heart now that I see things happening as I feared, and whose fault that is (besides mine, obviously). I am still not sure if you really meant it when you told me I was the only one you still considered your son and, to be frank, I hope you didn't. And if you did, this is a hell of a way to show it._

_ Then again, I suppose it was my choice to risk death, or worse, than adopt the same type of thinking as you._

_ I am doing what I feel is closest to being the right thing, for everyone. I hope this is not just my arrogance talking and that I live to see something worthwhile come of it. Also, I sincerely hope YOU go on living too, although I am uncertain if it would be cruel or merciful for that to happen in your case. You have given up on your eldest and youngest, even though you are in great part responsible for how they turned out. _

_ Live with that, if you think you can muster the courage and strength to do so. You didn't muster them for anything else since mother passed away, though I guess I shouldn't really blame you for that. _

_ No matter._

_ Though you have discarded your eldest an youngest, I have not. _

_ **What's best for Orzammar involves ****all three of us****.**"_

It had to have been the twentieth time he read that thing, what his father believed to be the second meaning of Raonar's letter. He'd been going over it repeatedly after Piotin left. It hadn't been his intention to blow up at him like that, especially since the size of his ego was partly his fault, but the man deserved worse than being put on indefinite probation. Considering that, it was still not enough to make the heir feel vindicated, but it wasn't like he was looking for that feeling in the first place.

Trian didn't know how to feel anymore when staring at his father's handwriting. Nostalgia was beyond him at this point, and his eyes kept darting down, to that last line that his brother had added, and which Bhelen had finished. Those last four words were his. Trian had underlined them himself as a reminder. He just couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that even him... His brother had gotten through even to **him** of all people.

And now, the best his brother had thought of, whatever great vision he'd risked hoping for... it would never happen. Now, he was basically an empty husk, lying there, wasting away. Nothing about him, not even those tears that would just keep flowing and flowing, had changed in the four days since that damnable assembly session. It was shocking that his body hadn't run dry, even _with_ that mage blood-controlling him into drinking water.

Trian still didn't know how he got through the first two days. He didn't think he'd have to go through this again, especially not so soon after his father's passing. There had been nothing for him to do but sit on a stool next to the bed and watch, hoping for the smallest of changes. Anything. He'd have been ecstatic even if the Shield of Aeducan, propped against the bed on his left as it was, gave the slightest hum or flicker. The fact that the inscription on it still became visible when Raonar's hand touched it was too small a consolation, especially since the relic also responded to Trian himself for some reason. It made the dark irony of the words that appeared on it painfully obvious.

Then, on the third day, he couldn't put off the whole city-wide mess, and the chaos in his own house, any longer. He had to assume his role as house leader and, more than that, do something about the sorry state Orzammar was in. Gorim was clearly reluctant when he dragged Trian out of the room. It made the so-called heir feel guilty inside. His presence had probably dissuaded other people, besides that mage, from coming in, even though it was clear, in retrospect, that he should have at least let Gorim watch with him. Then again, the man had probably busied himself with other things on purpose.

That raised another matter. Why didn't that brand warden... no, Faren. He should use his name at least. Why hadn't that young man come in there even once while he was there? It had been made very clear to him that those two were very close. At least he'd taken his place when he had to leave to attend to the matters of the court. It made Trian feel better knowing there was someone there. He suspected the rest of the Wardens and their companions stopped by at least once after he had to step out.

And then there had been the so-called funeral that House Aeducan had held for Bhelen. The Shaperate didn't conduct the ceremony of returning him to the Stone, and would have definitely refused if asked, but the body still got interred in the Aeducan family crypt, until a decision was made about his standing. Trian didn't remember anything more than a haze of what happened during the whole ordeal, except his constant struggle with his relentless urge to walk out on the whole travesty and get back to Raonar's bedside as soon as possible.

He didn't speak even once. He just constantly glowered at the casket with an intensity that would have put demons to shame and ignored everyone's stares with an ease that would have left him perplexed if he could bring himself to even care about anyone now, besides...

Trian Aeducan shook his head to chase that line of thought away. His mind was wandering again.

The funeral had been carried out early on the third day. After that, the emergency assembly came together. The houses of the traitors were not granted attendance. Trian almost didn't go himself, but it wasn't like he'd had a choice. It was already bad enough that he'd had to make it clear he wasn't going to think about kingship for a while, despite shockingly vocal protests. There was something curious, though. Two of the deshyrs that had been on Harrowmont's side were conspicuously absent, replaced by other members of their families, and one house didn't have any representative at all.

Trian would have laughed if he still could. Fools. That was basically an admission that they'd conspired against him the year prior, and collaborated on the army shuffling.

The remaining lords and ladies were predictably outraged at "the nerve of that whelp's sycophants" and wanted executions en masse. Surprisingly, Harrowmont stepped in, performed that diplomatic magic of his and persuaded everyone to just let the prisoners go home. The noble houses found at fault would be denied the right to the patronage of warrior, craftsman, merchant and miner houses, essentially removing their entire threat level. The matter would then follow its course, just as "his honorable lordship Prince Raonar Aeducan intended," until they prove their worth again or collapse completely. In the meantime, the assembly would weigh their fates, whether exile or death, or whatever others were fitting (the Legion of the Dead, the mines, etc.).

Trian didn't care much either way, but he saw the hidden sense behind Pyral's move now. In addition to making a civil war more or less impossible, It was the perfect distraction. An excellent delaying strategy now that there was definitely not going to be any king choosing until someone decided to do something with that crown. The assembly, such as it was, would now convene periodically and, based on new evidence and the movement on the part of the guilty parties, choose what would come next for each house. And since all the bureaucracy was what it was, they would barely be able to look at the reactions of one or two houses per meeting.

Add to that the delayed decisions, the (temporarily) outlawed Honor Provings and the squabble over how all the now patron-less lower houses would be divided between the "still honorable nobles"... It was something that would last for a long time. Long enough for his brother to recover or for the Wardens to decide what to do with the Paragon endorsement.

The crown heir was _sure_ the sword sticking out of the floor through the skull in the middle of the hall contributed to the general acquiescence. No one had been able to make that thing budge even an inch. Lots had tried, from guards and honored warriors to house patriarchs, to no avail. Hell, even Piotin had been allowed a try at it. And that was _after_ everyone got over their fear that the weapon might start shining and casting that oppressive aura again. It was a small mercy that everyone attributed most of that phenomenon to the relics. And with the whole floor made of a single piece, since it had been carved directly out of the mountain, they couldn't just remove it along with the floor tile either. There _were_ no removable floor tiles.

No one openly demanded it, but a few lords wanted to at least get rid of the skull somehow. Cowards. Maybe having the face of their tortured dead staring at them accusingly will do them good.

What followed was a veritable contest of infantile tantrums that left Trian absolutely flabbergasted. The immaturity and pettiness of it all was outright baffling.

Noble houses measured their political power, in addition to political prestige, through trade, glory provings and how many mining, artisan and warrior houses they governed. There were many more warrior houses than noble ones, and they had all previously been divided amongst the lords. This new mess had basically doubled the average number of sub-houses that a noble family had to take under its wing. And that was as bad as it was good.

The warrior caste was unique amongst all others in that it had no income of its own. None whatsoever. In other words, when a noble house took one under its wing, it agreed to cover all their expenses. As such, much of the wealth gained from the miner and craftsman families went there. Same with trade. In other words, one might say there was a good reason why the lower castes had to hand most of their revenues in as tribute to the nobles. Sure, the high families were greedy and always yearned for more, but this system of advocacy made sure they couldn't hog all the wealth. It also meant that any new warrior house would put a strain on their resources.

If a debate over how everything would be divided had sparked, it would have taken forever. Some would have argued for distributing lower houses first, while others wanted the warriors, because, though they didn't outright show it, they could _then_ argue that, since they had this or that many new fighters to sustain, they should get more sources of income, etc. Fortunately, it did not come to it.

Ironically, it was Ser Melec Medra that put the assembly in its place again. And he was not alone this time. Ser Oden Saelac, Gorim's father, accompanied him when he barged in the hall like he did once before, and bluntly revealed to everyone that the warrior houses had come together and decided break all current ties to noble houses and choose on their own which noble families they would follow. Some Deshyrs sputtered in outrage, since that decision and distribution was supposed to be theirs, or so they thought, but they really couldn't do anything, since, apparently, the "still honorable" lords had ended up without the support of warrior houses as well.

The noble caste had effectively been rendered unable to enforce any decision that affected more than their own families.

It was like the rise of Aeducan all over again.

First the warrior caste and then everyone else it had to be. And with the warrior houses making their own choices, noble squabbles had been neutralized.

Trian had spent the entirety of the fourth morning going through papers and requests. He expected many houses to gravitate towards Aeducan after this whole mess, but the ratio was far beyond what he'd foreseen. He'd actually had to put together a no small number of letters of apology and explain that even the First House of Orzamnmar couldn't handle so many. He wondered if he came across as too sincere and apologetic, because the ones he refused went over and tried to get in with his closest allies without him even suggesting it: House Harrowmont, House Dace, House Helmi and even House Ivo, now that Frandlin had basically taken the reins.

The crown prince eventually decided the best thing was for the "still honorable lords" to keep the houses they had so far, and then figure out how to distribute the rest. He hoped to avoid making a handful of houses more powerful than all the rest combined, but he doubted he'd manage. It looked like Aeducan would look opportunistic regardless of how much he tried not to have too many warriors gather under its banner. It would seem as if this was what it wanted all along.

Releasing a deep sigh, Trian brought his attention back. That would be dealt with in time. Right now he had to see to his own house and straighten it out. He'd chosen to settle in his father's old office in the Royal Palace simply out of convenience. All the paperwork was already here anyway.

He should probably get back to it now, after standing and facing the lava coursing beyond the hollowed-out wall for so long.

Folding the letter, he turned around and, after a few steps, sunk into the comfortable chair at his desk. It was past time he did something else as well. Gorim was sitting across the desk from him, with his chin resting precariously in his palm. His elbow looked like it was about to slide off the arm of his seat. The fact that he had his eyes closed made it clear to Trian the fighter had dosed off while he was too busy standing around and staring at the letter.

Trian almost smacked himself, only now realizing that Gorim had probably not managed to sleep at all since that whole disaster. It made him glad he'd managed to get him to sit down instead of "standing in waiting, as is proper" as Gorim had put it. Sure, Trian had had to threaten with manhandling him to the chair and tying him to it, but it was worth it to take the weight off his leg. He understood his brother's second didn't want to be coddled, but Trian decided he was going to do it anyway. If he didn't like it, tough break.

Rising from his seat, he went to the refreshments cabinet and poured a tankard of mead. After that, he traipsed over and gently placed a hand on Gorim's shoulder.

For all the good it did. The poor man jolted awake with a gasp so suddenly that his entire body shook.

"Don't." The apology at the tip of Gorim's tongue came to a screeching halt. "I am sorry I startled you." He held out the mead, which was accepted mechanically by the one that was now looking up in mild shock. "And I apologize for making you wait around while I selfishly brooded."

"..."

Collapsing in his office chair again, the remaining prince passed his hands over his face and finally picked up the matter that had brought Gorim there in the first place. "So, the Shaperate has only provided a summary account of things and we still have to give the people a believable story of what the sodding Stone happened..."

Gorim was clearly relieved. This topic could at least chase away his embarrassment. "People are asking lots of questions and the masses are damn near hysterical after the Shaperate's announcement of the mass treason." He cleared his throat and glanced at Trian suspiciously before downing half the mead. "Frandlin and I have been talking and we think it's best if-"

"Tell them the truth."

Gorim looked at him blankly.

"Yes, even that I had planned to kill my own brother. Whether it was because of jealousy or stupidity, it matters not which."

"But my lord-"

"No." He didn't even need to shout. "Tell them everything. Tell the Shaperate too. Don't try to protect me or my father." He raised a hand to forestall his protests. "Your job of protection ended when I stopped being dead."

Gorim stared at him for a long time, drink forgotten. "But..." He blinked and frowned. "I don't think it's necessary that you..." He stopped again and exhaled deeply. "You don't need to destroy yourself to restore him in the eyes of Orzammar. You know it's not what he would want either."

"Well _he_ can't exactly _do_ anything about it anymore, _can_ he?" By the time he realized how bitter and angry that came out, it was too late. Passing his hand over the side of his face, Trian let his eyes roam until they landed on the letter again, folded and lying next to the stack of patronage requests. "The liars have said their part. I..." This was supposed to be easier to say. He'd gone over it in his mind, and yet... "I... don't want to be one of the liars anymore. I've lied to myself too much already."

"Like you're doing now?"

Trian went rigid, partly because of the disapproving frown Gorim was sending him.

"You were a pompous, self-important fool." Trian winced. "But that's all you were. Even when you took men to meet him face-to-face, you were only thinking that he should be brought to justice, as a prisoner if possible. You were thinking in term of "dwarven honor", even if your view of it was skewed and naive." Trian's face had never fallen so pitifully_. _"But you never really wanted to kill him and you know it. You didn't even intend to fight him, did you?"

"Only because I felt it was beneath me!" Trian snapped. "Not because I..."

"Murder is something everyone should consider beneath them, especially that of a sibling-"

"-I mean I thought **he** was beneath-!" The prince was once again getting a very good idea of what frustration felt like. Clenching and unclenching his fist he leaned back. "I'm not going to win this argument, am I?" _Even though I'm half a decade your senior._

"No," the fighter said immediately. "I will include that you believed Bhelen and had lost your way enough to think you had a cause to act in self defense," Gorim raised from his seat. "But saying you had turned murderous would be a lie." As a testament to their familiarity, he didn't wait to be dismissed. He did slightly bow, though, before turning around towards the door.

"... Gorim."

The man stopped with his hand on the doorknob. Trian sighed and pulled himself out of his seat a second time. If he didn't look Gorim in the eye while saying this, he knew he'd be disobeyed at best and ignored at worst. Briskly, he walked over until he was next to him and their eyes could meet. "Tell Frandlin to... tell him that I _ask_ that he handle that on his own." He made sure to narrow his eyes as resolutely as he could manage. "But _you_ get to _bed_." He continued before the other's protest could be voiced. "If you don't, I will find you. After that, I will get over to wherever you've hidden yourself, grab you by the ear and haul you to the bed myself, regardless of who is around to see us."

Gorim's expression was far beyond the stage of comically perplexed.

"You will not do otherwise, unless you plan to get through me. And with your leg as it is, you don't look like you have much chance at that."

The chagrined look that passed over the fighter made clear what he felt about having his own words thrown in his face. Obviously, Gorim had not expected it to ever happen, back when he first greeted Trian after the impromptu stabbing, least of all in this sort of context. "I'm not going to win this argument, am I?" He cracked a tired, but resigned, smile.

"No indeed." A faint glimmer of satisfaction blossomed, but it easily faded as Trian moved on to what he wanted to say next. "Don't go home, though. Stay here in the palace to rest. When you've stopped tossing and turning..." He stopped bothering with sounding imposing. "I ask that you come and watch over my brother with me."

Gorim stared at him for a long time with a bizarre look in his eyes, before slowly nodding his assent and agreeing in the most subdued tone of voice Trian had ever heard him use. "Yes, my lord."

"Oh and," Trian wiped his mouth pensively, but his mind was already made up. "Tell Frandlin to leave out the part where Raonar stabbed me."

"..." The nod was much firmer this time. "I understand, your highness."

"-. .-"

_Excerpt from journal of Senior Enchanter Wynne_

_ 02 Eluviesta, 9:31, Dragon: Gwen, Alistair and I have finally returned to Orzammar, but whatever hopes we risked, that things would have improved by now, are proving to have been premature. If anything, this whole realm from beneath the mountain is submerged under a thick layer of gloom like none I've ever seen. Even if there had been factions left to start an uprising or civil war, they'd have failed to bring themselves to act just because of how draining all the revelations proved to be. _

_ And we were gone for almost two weeks and Orzammar is still like this. _

_ Honestly, the one person who __isn't_ _depressed is Dagna, that smith caste girl whose letter I delivered to the Circle. She was almost bouncing in joy when I told her Irving had accepted her request to go study the theory of magic. I wonder what face she will make when she runs into Caridin. I just hope she makes it there safely..._

_ Alim seems to have entered his role as Warden Commander quite well, although he does feel, and I have to agree as well, that the order does not have much more time to waste here. The Blight won't wait for all of this to get worked out, and there is still the matter of an intelligent Archdemon to consider. The only problem is that **someone** has to be here to keep that prince of ours hydrated, if not nourished._

_ This is all so depressing. To think even after all this time there would be no changes in Raonar's condition. No good changes at any rate. I am sure Alim put his now significant spirit healing magic to the test in order to prevent that lad's body from getting bruised, or worse, from lying on his back for so long. At least his tears dried up after day five. Just how much grief was he carrying?_

_ The only person who worries me more is Faren. From what I saw of him since I came back, which was several hours ago, he's like a ghost. He barely speaks and Kallian has no idea what to do about him. According to her, when he isn't drifting like a wraith from here to there, he works out in an almost self-punishing way. I was also allowed to deduct that there are some... familial difficulties at work there._

_ Speaking of self-punishment, I was shocked to learn that Sten hasn't slept at all since our departure. He's been standing guard on the right of the entrance to Raonar's room without interruption. I have no idea what kind of semi-trance these Qunari Kossith can enter that lets them ignore a body's needs. It is mindboggling. I thought he was joking about sitting in that cage in Lothering for weeks on end. I should have known better. _

_ Shale has been doing the same, on the left of the entrance, right across from Sten. As a golem, she doesn't have as great a trouble doing it, but still..._

_ And I should not forget to mention that the other two golems that came with us, the ones that got "resurrected" by that spirit creature, are doing much the same thing as Shale and Sten, only outside the entrance to the antechamber that separates our commander's quarters from the rest of the palace. There is no way anyone with ill intentions could slip through, if they even worked up the courage to face those two pairs of self-declared sentries. _

_ The others are dealing with the wait in their own way, even the dogs. Anor, Theron's wolf, has become a sort of pack master, keeping an eye on Rinne. From what I've been told, Theron "had a few words" with the she-hound. It made her agree, though with great reluctance, to not go _near_ the palace._

_ There is only one alleviating factor in all this: Leliana. She sings or plays her instruments several times a day. I do not know how, but she does it so easily and so immersed even while in the same chamber with those two golem "guards." She's probably hoping the music will help Raonar somehow, poor girl._

_ She was singing something as I started writing this down actually, but she stopped mid-tune for some reason. I wonder why that-"_

"Wynne!" The shout was followed by Alistair practically barging through the door. "Wynne. Come quick!"

"What?" Her mind quickly dashed through the possible reasons for such an abrupt interruption. "Is something the matter? Has he gotten worse?'

Alistair seemed confused but he figured out what she meant readily enough. "Not that! Not him! It's Theron. Remember those maple logs? The ones Theron has been cutting, carving and varnishing this whole week? Well, we finally know what they were for!"

Wynne could only hurry to keep up with him as he all but ran out of the room. What could have gotten him so worked up? "What are you Wardens up to now?" As they neared the exit, she could hear a strange sound from outside. Like a soft tune, very out of place in Orzammar.

"Remember how Kallian was annoyed at Theron making a bow from Fade stuff?"

The elder mage blinked at that queer choice of words, but she'd been filled in. "What of it?"

"Well," Alistair stopped with his hand on the handle to the enclave exist. "Between his glimmer stick and the horse tail hair, it turns out he was making a different sort of bow than we thought."

When the door finally got pushed open, Wynne could barely believe her eyes, or her ears.

"-. .-"

There wasn't much chance to sell anything these days, but Nazim Garef wasn't surprised anymore. Oh, he'd been shocked for a couple of days that there weren't many nobles left that felt like buying his top notch jewelry. Even with half of his customer base removed, he still didn't expect his business to go barren quite so badly. Then again, all the other merchants seemed to be in the same position as him. The marketplace was almost deserted.

After the news spilled over into the commons about what had happened, of the botched succession and the coma Prince Raonar had ended up in because of... a broken heart of all things... it was like everyone, himself included, could understand precisely jack shit of what was going and had gone on in their home city-nation over the past half a year. King Endrin's reputation had taken a nosedive and prince Bhelen, if he even deserved that rank anymore, had become a black spot in Orzammar's history, despite his supposed repentance while dying.

And the people were back to worshipping the ground Prince Raonar walked on. Or they would be, if the man could do any walking, which he could not anymore. As it was, everyone Nazim knew was praying to the Ancestors for his recovery. And he meant _everyone_, all in spite of the rumors that filtered down from the upper levels, about some evil magic that supposedly surrounded the prince when he came out of the Assembly building. It was probably upper class rubbish. Everyone knew dwarves couldn't do magic. Nazim had seen that moment during the Glory Provings of the previous month, when that warden's sword started to glow, but lots of runes could cause that.

As if that wasn't already weird enough, prince Trian had fallen into a deep depression and barely left his remaining brother's side now. It was weird, given the tensions between those two that everyone remembered. And Nazim could say for sure that Trian was depressed.

He'd met him in person after all.

The man glanced at his unhappy apprentice. Not for the first or last time, he wondered if it had really been the best idea that he hadn't lied to him about Trian's reaction to the gift the 10 year-old had made for him.

When little Aaron found out Prince Trian was alive and well, he was ecstatic. He wanted to do something for him from the bottom of his heart. That heart that was bigger than anyone's in that hole of a city, in Nazim's honest opinion. The small, blond-haired boy was still a beginner at jewel crafting, but he'd obviously put everything he had into making that bracelet and those buttons. He'd scraped every ounce of experience, which wasn't much, and etched those pieces of geode and, though it was supposed to be beyond him, topaz with a very peculiar spiral pattern. He even refused help, dead set on this being his first independent accomplishment.

The jeweler hadn't been there when Prince Trian gave Aaron a speech about how he could still make something of himself even if he _had_ ended up with both legs amputated from above the knees after an accident. It must have been quite a speech, because the boy had literally showed up on his doorstep the next day and begged him for a chance to study under him, saying he knew he was the best there was at gem processing and that there wasn't much else a kid like him could try that didn't require constant walking or standing.

The jeweler still remembered that scene as if it were yesterday. The kid was suspended on his crutches and that makeshift prosthesis that filled the distance between the stump of his right leg and the ground. To this day, Nazim didn't know _how_ Aaron could balance himself on those things and still bring his hands together in prayer. He finally let himself be convinced him to give him a trial run when the little one said that he wanted to make something of himself to honor Prince Trian's memory.

It wasn't just the thought behind the words. The man caved in because it was just too saddening to hear a child speak such things. Orzammar was too harsh a place, making the boy lose his role model no more than a day after gaining him.

Nazim had been reluctant, but it only took a week for his reservations to crash and burn. The boy may not have possessed the keenest of eyes, but he was so eager to learn and so determined that he surpassed every expectations he had, and then some. After a month, he found out that whatever accident left the boy crippled had also claimed the lives of his parents, leaving him in the care of his uncle, who wasn't in the best of material situations.

It didn't take long for him and his wife to practically adopt the lad.

He'd shared his joy when they heard that the Aeducan heir was still alive. For someone in his state, the blond boy could just be so... _alive_. He encouraged him while he worked during the day, and coaxed him to bed when he tried to stay up at night. And when he was finished, he'd have gladly taken him to the Palace, but the child refused for some reason, so the jeweler wholeheartedly played the part of envoy.

Only to learn that Trian didn't even recognize Aaron's name. To his credit, the Prince accepted the modest gifts gracefully, even humbly. Hell, just the fact that he admitted visitors was a huge deal, especially from the lower castes. His highness even apologized for not being able to react in a more jovial fashion before excusing himself. The prince's grim face made the craftsman's explanation of Aaron's identity catch in his throat.

Nazim was _still_ reeling from having the most important person in Orzammar _apologize_ to a random artisan like him. It was probably why he didn't have the presence of mind to tell Aaron an innocent lie. The boy tried to downplay his disappointment at not being remembered, saying that he didn't recall his highness asking for his name when he spoke to him, so he could understand. It was obviously still bothering him though.

That Trian said he didn't deserve to receive any gifts was what really broke the young apprentice's spirit. Aaron was on his fourth day of brooding, upset and confused that his idol had such a low opinion of himself and that he couldn't do anything about it.

Not that he didn't try to distract himself. "Okay, so a plus b divided by a equals a divided by b, which equals phi... But then applying the quadratic formula leads to phi equals one plus square root of five, all of it divided by 2..." Aaron chewed on the end of his pencil, blue eyes glaring at that parchment where he was writing those strange calculations. "That doesn't make any sense!"

The master craftsman, smiled to himself, leaning against his booth, and refrained from reaching out to muss his hair. Of course it wouldn't make sense. It was all gibberish, but he didn't have the heart to tell him that. Besides, what kind of 10 year-old kid would choose _math_ as his hobby?

"It's not gibberish!"

Nazim winced at how easily his thoughts had been guessed.

Aaron was on the verge of loudly complaining again but he stopped and looked past his unofficial stepfather. "Master look! It's one of the Grey Wardens!" His exuberance was tinted with sheer curiosity. "What's he carrying...?"

Upon turning around, the man could do naught but stare in confusion. That elf, the one with the tattoos on his face, and the rest of this body too, based on what he could see of what parts of it weren't covered by his leather armor, was making a beeline straight for the proving grounds, which were across the marketplace and beyond the bridge, above the lava pool. He was carrying some strange... thing that resembled a lute but was... huge and _weird_. "Forget what's he carrying, where is he going? The proving grounds have been closed down for over a week."

"Wait master..." Aaron maneuvered himself to get a better view from where he sat on the barrel. "I think I know what that is! It's one of those instruments from the surface encyclopedia Paragon Gherlon wrote... a... cello... I... think... huh?" Both of their jaws dropped to the floor when, even while carrying that huge musical instrument, the elf jumped as if he weighed nothing and, after finding purchase on the statue flanking the end of the bridge, leapt to the opposite one and used it to propel himself up and up until he landed right on top of the proving arena. "Er... master, can all elves do that?"

Remembering that scene where that mage basically jumped from a 20-meter height and floated to the lower levels, Nazim was tending to believe so. His recollection was cut off when Theron Mahariel produced a folding chair from under his arm. "Where did _that_ come from?" And then promptly sat on it.

The elf took some time to set his large burden in place.

And then Orzammar shivered.

The air stilled momentarily, but then it entered a vibration so subtle that it was almost impossible to sense. A wave, like breath, washed over the city, centered on the spot where the warden had decided to hold his performance.

The shiver in the air made room for a murmur, and then a hum, even though the Warden had yet to commence his performance. It grew stronger as the neck of the instrument took its place on the musician's shoulder and thin fingers assumed their positions upon the strings.

And finally, the artist allowed his bow to slide across them.

It was a wonder. The tune started slow, so very slow, but was being heard perfectly in every part of the undermountain. The soft note ignored distance and borders. It drifted into silence, and came again. It acknowledged the sadness shrouding Orzammar's people, it wept with them, sighed alongside them, floated, echoed deep inside their somber thoughts. A heartbeat pulsed behind the solo, and then the note turned smoother, constant yet always different from before. It called to everyone to pause what they were doing, to turn their attention to the source and simply watch and listen.

Nazim somehow knew that he was experiencing something absolutely amazing, something that made history. He may not have been able to tell why, but he didn't have to, just like he didn't need to look around him to know his kinsmen were coming out of their homes to watch and hear.

The musical note reached high.

The heartbeat paused.

Then it came again.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

Four times.

Then repeated.

And when the solo became an orchestral symphony, the player's body erupted in starlight. Another note, and light erupted again. And on the second third, the song entered a crescendo as the chain on the player's skin emerged and spread, leaving the steadily growing crowd struck speechless. The chain passed through cloth and wood and metal string as if they weren't really there. It spread farther and farther, until a surging beat affixed a shape to it. It was hovering in the air around the warden, a giant ascending spiral of white light, humming in concert with the Song of Arlathan. It started narrow at the player's feet and widened greatly as it reached higher and higher. And the chain seemed to have no end or beginning. It grew and grew, ring after ring, until it was lost in the black rock above.

And higher still went the glorious melody, pulling all listeners, uplifting their spirits, as the light around the man started to change in shape and rise above him. The player just kept on producing his mighty composition, but alone he was no longer. No one knew where the sounds came from, but neither did they care. All they could do was let the uplifting sensation fill their hearts.

And then the player's soul ascended and took shape, floating at the center of the upward spiral that the elf maintained from his now trance-like state. The musician wasn't just playing Arlathan's song anymore. He was conveying it, passing on the skill and talent of all those who came and wielded the song before him. All those who had taken to singing it again, after so very, very long. All those whose pain and sadness resonated so perfectly with that of the dwarves.

The apparition waited as an amethyst-colored mantle settled on him from above, surges of immaterial energy always arching between it and the spiral's borders.

And then, so very slowly, it held out a hand.

Nazim only saw what came into being above it because jewelers were required to have the sharpest of eyes, so he could see far off.

It was a flute.

The Song of Arlathan became a verseless hymn.

The flute of light and the specter disappeared.

The song went on, and no one wanted to do anything but listen.

So they did.

"-. .-"

It had been so long. So very long since all he'd been able to do was stare blankly ahead, at the angled ivory monoliths, and the endless expanse of water whose surface they dotted. Some went up and up, until they melded seamlessly together with others of their kind and lost themselves beneath the surface of the ocean that made up the sky. There wasn't the slightest of waves to disturb the water surface, nor the faintest of breezez to cause ripples.

The water was a perfectly smooth mirror, reflecting upon itself and unto infinity. It could do nothing else when the world was a sphere of glass which let no light escape its boundaries.

Had there been even the smallest shred of intent, hed've prompted his mind to remember that he didn't need the illusion to crack in order to know that the ocean wasn't just water anymore. All the information was there, even if he made no use of it, that the water level had risen greatly as it mixed with that unending stream pouring out of his chest, where that spike protruded from, and from his left arm, hanging over him as he lay precariously on his other side.

Yes, the color beneath the perfectly still fluid mirror was surely red.

He'd gazed motionlessly ahead for a long time, at the reflection of the spire he was on. Even from that distance, it has been all too clear how the pool of blood finally grew too wide for that platform, spilling over the edge and trickling down the alabaster. The moment it reached the water was the first and only time since the stat that any ripple dotted the sea's surface.

The rise of the waters was practically imperceptible, but it was there. It had to have been. How else could the level have reached as high as where he was? That is what he'd of argued, if he felt like doing so.

Which he did not.

He did not feel the urge to do anything. Not even think about how absurd it was that he could bleed enough to fill an ocean.

It was only when said ocean level spilled over his resting place that he finally reacted, even if it was only a slow twitch of his eyelids. His sight's point of focus moved, from his distant reflection to the edge of the water that ever so slowly drew nearer.

His awareness cut off, or he just couldn't bring himself to acknowledge time anymore when, suddenly, he was already partly submerged, that water and diluted clot having already embraced the part of his head that made contact with the fine stone, almost up to his eye. He would have smirked at the irony that the thing responsible for life was going to drown him to death. He could muster no intent to do so though.

It was only when he realized that his beard, the beard _she'd_ arranged, had been sullied and stained red that a long lost reflex struggled to get out.

He didn't tense all the way, but it was enough to sent a small shock outward, enough to shatter the illusion of the perfect mirror. For one, clear moment, the dwarf saw just how red his world really was, and he would have considered it fitting if his hearing were to suddenly be assaulted by the deafening noise of the shattering spires. Seeing the few things in that place crumble was all that was left to happen.

It did not.

The water stilled again, and the reflection was completely different.

The abruptness with which the remainder of his self-awareness returned to him would have clashed with the moan of the world, if there had been any possibility for the latter to be disturbed by anything. The silence faded into the a hum so soft he'd have missed it if it did not gradually rise, until it made way for the first lute strings to be plucked.

So when the ocean began to recede and the red staining his face withdrew as if was never there, his dawning surprise forced him to look at it, and the water beyond it, where something new all too clearly cast its mirror image. Something violet, floating high above.

No.

Some_one_.

The fallen one's neck moved in a surreal tandem with the music and guided his eyes upward.

And his sideways view fell on the violet apparition in synchronicity with the start of the flute's tune.

It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard.

He knew who it was from the start, but the softness of the tune completely enraptured him, so he didn't even wonder what that person was doing there. He simply stared, unblinking, and listened as the power of that music filled that world with every change in the placement of the fingertips. The flute was weaving itself into his memory and dead emotion, breathing life into them in preparation for the change.

All the while, the man in lavender steadily descended, not opening his eyes and not heeding anything except his melody. A long, all-encompassing mantle was draped over his shoulders, but it cast no shadow over his other vestments, nor the surroundings, despite not casting any light. Even the flutter went by unheard, or simply contributed to the song of reality.

The dwarf's point of view no longer included the sea, or how the bleeding from his heart continued. Even though he could see it far away in the reflection of the sky, he paid them no attention.

But it was only a matter of time before the elf sung his way to the water.

The red in the sea was pushed outward when his feet, bare save for a wrap around the middle of his soles, settled on it, as if the water and blood had suddenly become like oil and water. And so it continued, with the melody vibrating through the light above and the darkness below it, willing them separate with soft drumbeat that came from everywhere at once. The flute went on, almost a sigh itself, as it ever so slowly began to fade into the background.

The fiddle that took over became the only sound in that place to have a distinct source. It was behind him, the prince thought, but he did not and could not try to turn. All he could do was the same as before: listen as it knitted with the lute and the last breaths of the violet elf's instrument, picking up speed and taking over the entire dimension, imposing movement upon tranquility.

And finally, Theron Mahariel, for it could be no one else, even with his face clear of tattoos, let his blue flute disappear into nothing and looked down, not facing him completely but regarding him all the same. "As I surmised. There is too little of you here." The sky flashed through images of recent past, becoming clearer with every note of the aria. "Mind and emotion..." the elf turned his gaze upward to watch the sky or remembrance. "Without identity or the physical body. It is a wonder this place you've carved here continues to exist."

Raonar didn't even think of responding.

"But then again," even while murmuring, the elf's words carried everywhere. "You did not need to. Not when the others here don't want to accept you yet." A rare smile tugged at his mouth. "They want you to live on too much so they have been preserving your spot here from outside." His eyes went half-closed and somber, but he kept staring at the moving tapestry as it initiated a backwards view of the exile's life. "Unlike you yourself."

"..."

The sky lingered on a slowed recollection of the dwarf's most recent camp watch. "How much can I go through and still live." Theron voiced Raonar's own dilemma as the scene moved farther back in time. "Why does death keep spitting me back while it claims others so easily, even when I try to force its hand." The memory of the formless one loomed above for a moment, but the darkness did not fall down upon the world. "Why, when all I do crumbles to dust along with everyone around me."

The prince couldn't figure out if he truly felt all those things.

"I suppose wanting immortality and complete freedom of expression through ecstatic peace for the whole world is a nice dream to have." The voice was bland but not belittling. The sky had changed to the ashes of Duncan's pyre. "But this guilt you feel for being privileged has led you down an unfortunate descending spiral." Surprisingly, the scene moved forward in time for once.

The tortured left arm of the fallen one began to throb ever so weakly as the crown of thorns and its gnarled sprout leaked more blood than before.

"Ah." Theron spoke in what could be interpreted as triumph, fully turning his back on the exile, his feet only barely disturbing the now clear water he was standing on. Dimly, the blond dwarf noticed that the blood in the water was flowing in currents, forming gravity-defying, fluidic cliffs all around them. "And here we are." The memory froze in the image of Raonar's left hand crushing the neck of Leandra Untaam's demon doppelganger. "I must say it is a fortunate thing that your greatest wish was practically impossible. It made sure this creature could not understand it."

The left arm stiffened as the spike sticking out of his elbow grew and sprouted a bud. For the first time in an eternity, the prince of the dwarves experienced absolutely terrifying shock.

"It is a shame," Theron mused aloud, not seeming to notice the happenings behind him.

Raonar would have called out, shouted or at least mouthed something as the bud opened in a large mass of needles and that _thing_ grew from it, but he failed to form an intent for even that.

"It is because your identity body is disconnected," Theron answered his confusion as that sultry-looking demoness leapt at the musician's exposed back, arm reared back to stab with a talon of sickly dark fire. "It is in identity that Intent is formed." He casually twisted around on his heel to smile at his one-person audience. "The mental part turns it into an idea, the emotional part determines the drive behind it and the physical enacts it. If even one is absent, action, existence itself, is impossible. Truly, you should be unable to even form the intent to listen, let alone watch all of this. Fortunately, my song can bridge the gap well enough to compensate."

Oh, there was definitely enough intent to gape at how that desire demon had been frozen in mid-jump. So that is what Raonar did, after widening his eyes. Even with the faster rhythm of the melody, it was like all had gone still.

"So," Theron addressed the desire demon. "You were going to try and take him over back then, when he seemingly crushed your neck and was emotionally susceptible, but the link he had to the Fade realm of his spirit hierarch forced you to hide instead. One move and the Zenith would have noticed, pulled you in and destroyed you." The sky faded from the traumatic event to the fight against Pride in the deep roads. "I can only imagine the urge you had to drink from that boon that the Fade Beast got fooled into granting. Your desire to exist won out though, did it not?"

The prince still could not move from his position on the ground, but he probably would not have been able to due to the weight of the revelation alone. He'd been carrying that... that disgusting _thing_ inside him all along...

The horned woman was trembling but still frozen in that position, floating in the air.

"So you waited," the elf continued, blandly staring at the helpless entity. "Taking a form inspired from his psychological issues and slowly sinking into his thoughts." The sky settled on that memory of when Alim, Leliana and Sten found the warden commander deep within that barrier of crystal shards. "Always causing his will to bleed out like blood. I suppose you never expected him to have so much of it, did you?"

The fiddle in the background had long since faded to silence.

"So finally, he fell into rage and you took advantage of it, fueling it enough to force the connection to the Land of Peaks and Rivers to tighten. After that, you broke it altogether, and let loose a storm upon his psyche, hoping to at long last break him and take over that physical shell." The lilac mantle and his dark brown hair floated around him as the elf shook his head. "I would pity you if you were anything more than a cesspool of discarded human emotion. Just what did you think would happen if you succeeded?"

No answer.

Not surprising. "Are you familiar" -slowly, foretelling doom, the sage's hand rose- "with the phrase" -he practically grabbed onto her terrified and confused face- "The straw that broke the hala's back?"

Despite it being miles away, the reflection of the demoness's terrified face was all too clearly seen by the immobile, splintered man.

"It is a simple enough explanation, truly," The hunter's... no, the _keeper's_ voice was unmerciful. "It means that I must keep my hand _very _still if you are to exist for even a second longer. Right now, this world is weighing down on you from every direction, just short of what is needed to obliterate you utterly. Just the smallest added pressure..." His fingers twitched.

The demon tried to gasp, but could not.

"...and it is over." Theron somehow managed to be more frightening than Alim when he assumed the form of death against Connor's jailor. Even the music was now completely gone. "Rejoice, flawed existence. You are the first of your ilk to catch a glimpse of true afterlife." All too easily, he balled his hand into a fist, utterly crushing her head into random magical discharges and energy of such low vibration and density that it was liquid and pus in all but name.

The paralyzed dwarf would not have known what to expect even if he did have enough will left to form an intend to think on the matter.

As soon as the sudden execution was over, violet fire erupted around the Dalish, indistinguishable from his royal garb. It blazed and went forward through his outstretched arm and consumed what was left of that thing, transmuting it, purging it and purifying it. "A pity. Despite its complexity, it never even had true self-awareness." The flames devoured everything, leaving a mass of white mist as they dispersed. The light left came together in a reasonably impressive ball, hovering above the hand of the Keeper of Lost Lore. It disappeared in a bright flash just a moment later. "And it never understood that Creators are the only ones to whom the world responds."

Raonar had no idea if he meant this place or the real world.

"Oh, both are just as real."

The prince gasped. He'd not moved even the slightest bit, yet there he was, kneeling and blinking in surprise instead of lying in a heap. It was all he could do to lift his eyes from the ground, where his blood continued to flow from his skewered arm and chest. His view crossed Theron's quickly.

He was sitting on his haunches right in front of him. "I may not be speaking for myself at this very moment, but this routine of yours of falling near death and scaring the rest of us half-way to it has become both tedious and repetitive." He lifted his right hand, though only his index and middle fingers were extended. "That it won't happen again is but a minor consolation at this point."

When Theron lightly jabbed those two fingers into his forehead, Raonar Aeducan did _not_ expect to be flung back through the air as if he'd been thrown by a catapult, but that was precisely what occurred. Slowing down to a crawl scant moments later, flying above the ocean of his bled out will was just as unexpected. The blood shot to the sky and then came down, tightening into small streams and starting to return to his body again, through every gash that covered him.

"Since your mental and emotional bodies cannot fix themselves on their own, we will just have to get the other two involved. Alas, this will hurt tremendously."

Raonar was confused. Even with the blood flowing back into him bit by bit, he felt no pain whatsoever.

"Oh, it will hurt," Theron knew his thoughts again. "Even if we do make it so that this 'will' of yours doesn't all smash back into the rest of you at once. Hold fast." With a gesture, a white chain appeared in front of Mahariel, and it spread in a spiral that quickly stretched out and out. As it got longer, so it reached closer. "Recall that the whole is the longer part plus the shorter part, and the whole is to the longer part as the longer part is to the shorter part."

Confusion was putting it lightly, but it was not expressed when the chain shot forward, enveloping the commander. The far end, out of the initial chain rings, was narrow and coiled around him the last, catching onto the tip of the spike in his chest.

"Still, it is remarkable," the voice was actually warm. 'You are one of the rare few who got to experience both of these types of afterlife, and at the same time no less."

There was no time to wonder what the hell was going on. As soon as that last line was spoken, his motion accelerated. The spiral chain pulled him after it into what could have been nothing else but a portal back towards the land of the living. The Land of Mirrorred Water disappeared in an ordered chaos of color.

And then he finally understood what Theron meant when he said it was going to hurt.

"-. .-"

Trian was smacked awake by what was literally a backhand to the face. He didn't remember when he fell asleep with his cheek resting on his brother's hand. He had a vague memory of someone in purple suddenly showing up across the bed from him before slumber won its inevitable victory, but he didn't have time to think about it too much before a mix of sock, fear, worry and elation welled up in him.

Only for a moment, because fear won readily enough when he saw that his brother was writhing in agony, face twisted and eyes scrunched in utter pain. His back contorted and sweat poured from him in rivers. Pushing shock aside, Trian launched himself forward and held him down, almost gawking at the stab wound that had appeared on Raonar's palm, and the other on his wrist.

That the wards on the walls began to glow blue was as reassuring as it was worrisome.

It was easy to throw all his panic at the door. "GET THAT MAGE OVER HERE _NOW_!"

"-. .-"

Nazim the jeweler could only gawk when the chain of light disappeared and the elf abruptly sat up and kicked his folding chair into the lava, only to throw his musical instrument after it a mere second later, keeping only the bow.

After stretching as if waking from a nap, that Elvish warden hopped down from there and went on his way as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened or would ever happen as long as he was involved. That the thick crowd parted to make way for him without saying anything made the whole scene all the more absurd.

Only one person was busy doing other than being completely flabbergasted. "Master master!"

It took some time for Nazim's eyes to focus. "Uh? Whu-?"

"I did it I did it!" Aaron would have bounced in joy if he had any legs to do so.

That sobering thought quickly got the man back to earth. He was still numb and confused when he took the note his apprentice was holding out. By the time he was at the second line, his eyes crossed together and he had to blink repeatedly to get over the spell of dizziness. The number of fractions and completely twisted mathematical arguments made his head hurt. "The whole is the longer part plus the shorter part and the whole is to the longer part as the longer part is to the shorter part... What the hell?"

The blond boy was looking at him in shock. "Master... you _sweared!"_

"Swore," he automatically corrected. "Oh! Well, don't you do it. It's wrong."

"Okay!" He was grinning almost enough to split his face in half. "So? What do you think?"

"Oh yeah, er well..." Nazim sighed. "What am I looking at again?"

The child pouted. "It's my spiral! I figured it out!"

Nazim looked at the long parchment full of incomprehensible symbols that only architects were known to bother with but, for the life of him, he couldn't see any spiral. Deciding to wing it, he skipped over to the end of the other side of the paper. There was just a sloppily-drawn graph there, along with a number. "1.6180339887?"

"And that's just the first ten decimals! Isn't it great?"

Nazim blinked.

And then blinked again, not masking his honest smile. "Yes, it is." He just couldn't bring himself to tell him that it was all nonsense.


	67. Third Intermission 3: Overdue Overflow

A/N: I originally intended to write two more chapters before getting people out of Orzammar, but I ended up deciding to write a single, long one instead.

* * *

**Chapter 64: Overdue Overflow**

"-. .-"

In retrospect, it wasn't a surprise that he'd fallen asleep with his head lying on the side of his brother's bed again. As encouraging as it was to see Raonar move under his own power for the first time in two weeks, just holding him down as he twisted and turned had taken a lot of whatever energy Trian still had. And even with that in mind, witnessing so much pain on that face at once had taken even more out of the tired Aeducan scion.

Even after that mage elf came running, there wasn't anything anyone could do but hold his sibling as still as possible. Even Alim didn't know how to react when the skin and flesh tore by its own volition and left Raonar's left arm, as well as the left side of his upper body, covered in gashes and deep wounds that would not close, as though he'd been driven through a torture rack and hadn't been taken out.

Trian would have thought his brother had died for real if he didn't continue shaking, and sweating rivers because of the fever, deep into the night. Hell, when he finally stilled, Trian was worried instead of relieved, afraid he'd finally passed on. Fortunately, he hadn't, but the small relief only served to give Trian's mind enough of a respite to worry about how his flesh tore open and stayed that way.

The firstborn stared down at the shallowly breathing form for a while, completely stunned by... everything. Those wounds... it was like his brother had been stabbed over and over, only the injuries just refused to close, magic or no. Alim could do nothing. _Wynne_ couldn't do anything, and she'd been frantic, even more so than _him_ when she saw that large, gaping hole in Raonar's chest. How that heart kept beating while essentially stabbed, and without the blood spilling out, was beyond him.

Even through the thick layers of bandage, Trian could almost see them all, those gashes and stabs, and how they made it clear they refused to heal.

And to bleed.

That was the truly mindboggling factor about everything. His brother's left upper body looked like it had just been skewered by dozens of blades, front and back, but there was no bleeding, except the faintest red smudge here and there, where they tied the bandages particularly tight.

Trian had talked to the mage long and hard over the past half a month. He was aware now of what "anomaly" his brother... was. He was also aware that _that_ wasn't what led to this. All the confusion would have made him angry, but by the time he was clear-minded enough to think, he was already kneeling and trying with all he could to stay awake. That's what big brothers were supposed to do. Watch over the younger ones. To be there when they woke up from sickness.

To be there for them.

Something he hadn't done in over a decade.

_Dammit._ His mind said over and over.

He didn't realize how tight he'd clasped his brother's injured hand, even when the knots holding the bandages together dug into the skin of his hand.

_Stone dammit._

He didn't remember when he finally lost the feeble hold on consciousness.

The first thing that came to his attention when the void allowed his awareness to slowly reemerge was something soft and warm brushing across his face, and it wasn't the sheets it was resting on. It was a smoother texture, one he knew well, despite not having had any direct interpersonal contact for the past ten years, beyond the occasional handshake.

No, that wasn't quite true. Now that the haze was clearing from his mind, he remembered that things had changed. His dear brother had changed everything.

And just like that, a single thought hurled him back into his depression. Pulling his eyelids away from each other didn't even cross his mind. Neither did feeling around for his brother's hand, but he did that anyway, even though the haze of slumber.

It wasn't until his fingers curled around it that he realized how that warmth on his face was a bit too intense, if gentle. Just like before. It made him feel sadder somehow. His brain finally identified two different textures on his skin, the rough one, the bandage most likely, and then the smoothness of the fingers on his cheek, and the thumb as it went across his temple and cheekbone, back and forth, back and forth, now that the rest of the hand had been brought to a stop by his grasp.

Back and forth.

It was only when he tightened the hold and heard a low hiss that he finally begun to understand what was happening. His eyes opened and his vision trailed up along the bed, over the arm and finally settled on the only other pair of eyes in that room. It was an image he didn't know what to make of. Even half-open and directed at him, his brother's eyes looked lifeless. If not for how Raonar continued slowly stroking his face, Trian would have thought he was still unconscious.

Unconscious. He wasn't unconscious. Not anymore...

The firstborn's head shot up, and he didn't catch on to the pain he was causing until he'd already shuffled close and hugged that tortured hand near his heart. He hesitated a moment, but then lightened the grip despite his reluctance, though only marginally.

Through it all, Raonar cringed and shut his eyes in reaction, and his few, tight breaths were all that could be heart for a minute or so. As they lessened, the runes lining the walls began to shine a bit brighter. Trian didn't care. He had attention to spare only for one thing: Raonar was awake. Stone, he was awake again...

It took everything just to blink back the traitorous tears, but he managed somehow. "Wel.." He almost felt his tone break but forced his voice to become level. "Welcome back..." Internally, he was berating himself. Here he was, being gently roused from sleep. Even when trying to do something for a change, even when it was just watching over a helpless family member, all he'd managed to do was fail again.

Raonar tore his eyes open and gazed up at him like it took all his energy just to keep his eyelids apart. The elder's heart sank deeper with each second. Those bright, once soulful eyes had no business looking so dull, so dead. That once unshakable voice shouldn't sound so frail and hopeless. "You look so old, Trian..." It brought a mental curse that the dwarf barely stopped himself from saying out loud. "Why... do you look so old...?"

He instantly regretted skipping all that sleep. How could this sibling of his so easily make him feel like all he'd done was make wrong choices?

It almost made him gag, how his younger brother reached up to touch his face again, all with that ruined hand. He'd have pushed it back down, told him to lay still, but he couldn't do anything against that look. So he waited until the warm touch settled on his skin again, only then realizing just how hot it was. The fever hadn't broken? No, that wasn't it. It was just the arm, Raonar wasn't sweating anymore, but his arm burned regardless, and Trian wondered if he could even feel anything with it.

The first prince finally gave in and took hold of the extended arm when it looked like it couldn't muster he energy to stay extended on its own anymore. He opened his mouth to say something, but he didn't know what it should be, so he closed it, focusing on the feel of the fingers still on his face.

When the younger spoke again, it was the same, listless tone. "I thought you were father for a while..." The image of a cold, dead man flashed in his mind for a moment. "But no rest for the wicked I guess... The Ancestors just don't seem to want me..."

"Don't talk like that..." He couldn't take hearing it, not without breaking down. He would _not_ break down. This wasn't about him._. _"Just... don't..."

The other either didn't hear him or didn't process his words. He continued to gaze at him, blinking slowly, once in a while. It made Trian afraid. Afraid of what that stare lacked. There used to be a time when he couldn't have kept eye contact with him for so long without feeling like he was receiving more than he deserved in return. Now... now he couldn't feel anything except despair.

It made it worse when he couldn't tell if it was coming from his brother or if it was just his own, reflected.

"Are..." His heart sank when his brother drifted off, but he seemed to latch onto his train of thought somehow. "Are you in any pain...?"

"That doesn't matter, dammit!" Trian snapped, voice swaying. "You're the one who's-" _Wincing because I just clutched onto your hand too hard. _He forced his grip to relax but couldn't voice his apology. _Stone's mercy, I'm so sorry... _He couldn't because he wouldn't be apologizing for just that. He couldn't because he didn't deserve forgiveness after all he'd done.

Raonar's eyes moved around, glancing at the runes on the walls, still faint in their shine. "Please... just answer..."

"No." He inhaled and refrained from wiping his nose. He was not going to cry, not now, even though he wanted to yell at him to worry about himself for a change. "I mean no, I'm not in any pain."

The younger one stared over his shoulder at the writing on the wall as the glow steadily intensified. "Did... Alim come up with those?'

Trian just nodded.

All at once, Raonar's body subsided, his eyes fell closed and a shudderring breath left his lungs. The runes all around erupted until they were just as bright as the lyrium veins that shone behind the thick glass panes lining the lower parts of the walls. Shallow breaths became deeper, less agonizing. At least, Trian hoped that was the case.

Many minutes came and went, but the silence was something Trian didn't dare to break. His willpower didn't get him past that point, however. Which is to say, after he kissed the back of his sibling's hand, he brought it near his heart, and just held it there instead of letting go of it and, thus, stop making it hurt more than it already was. Maybe whatever curse had fallen on it would transfer to him, and then _he'd_ be the one taking the pain instead of the other way around. Some part of him knew that would just make his poor brother feel guilty over it, but Trian honestly preferred that to the absolute lack of emotion he was displaying now. In silence, he took in what he could. The hair, the beard, the mustache, they were as white as ever, but they still seemed... less than before.

"-ou still awake?"

Trian started, belatedly realizing he'd missed his dear brother asking him a question. "What?" Was his underwhelming reply.

"I asked what day it was." Raonar repeated patiently.

"Oh." he dreaded giving the answer. "Eluviesta third."

A pause.

Then a blink. One so fast Trian wasn't sure it had actually happened.

The firstborn was ready to lunge and stop him from jumping out of bed. All his muscles were tense...

...but instead of that, the second son just withdrew his hand, making a couple of attempts at mouthing something before stopping and looking blankly at the ceiling.

Trian frowned at the loss of contact but did not reach out again. He knew he should probably keep his mouth shut, but he couldn't bear the silence. Not after so much time of just sitting there and waiting. "The whole city's been praying to the Ancestors every day for your recovery." He tried not to show his disgust at how fake the cheer forced into that sentence sounded. "And your friends have been taking turns visiting..." Except Faren, who'd never managed to cross the threshold for some reason_. "_And that big guy, Sten I think, has been standing guard right outside the door practically non stop. Shale too. You really..." He trailed off when he noticed the surprise his brother was broadcasting.

And it wasn't of the good kind. "What do you mean? They're still _here_?"

The only reason Trian didn't freeze up was because Alim had warned him that Raonar would not take the news of them still being there well. "They haven't been ignoring the Blight," he said quickly. "They didn't even all stay here actually. Some of them went topside, to that headquarters of yours, and the mages. But Alim and Wynne had to stay to..."

The previous emotion flickered out and his brother turned impassive again. "...to keep me alive."

Trian pointedly tried to turn the subject away from that direction. "And that tattooed elf has been doing something in the city. Building some musical instrument I think. He did something strange with it yesterday, on the roof of the Proving grounds. I... think I could hear the music in my sleep, all the way in here..." He didn't know what to say more, which finally let him realize that he'd been fidgeting and crumpling the bed sheets between his fingertips in the process. With great effort, he forced them to still.

The recognition went almost as soon as it came, and then the ailing dwarf resumed his blank upward stare. Trian knew what was coming. He knew and he'd even prepared a whole spiel, but what he'd thought up as a rousing speech would be a bad idea with his brother in that state. So when Raonar asked "What about the Crown...?" his answer was short and to the point.

"Still undecided."

If Raonar was surprised, he didn't show it. "So then... what's the situation now?" He didn't even look at him as he asked that.

He should have told him not to worry about it, that he should only think about recovering, but he remembered all other times he tried to make a point, only to have it turned around.

So Trian told him. He started with Frandlin's preemption of a violent fallout, then the imprisonment of the would-be traitors and their incarceration of three days. During that time, the Shaperate, most notably First Shaper Czibor and scholar Ghertek, were very diligent in the task of writing a full summary of recent events, and of the mess of the prior year. Once the draft was completed, scribes worked through the night to make about a hundred copies that were posted all throughout the quarters of Orzammar.

Many people of all castes visited the shaperate after that, to read the public records of the assembly session. Gertek had been writing a new book about the Aeducans since before Endrin had even died. The interest from everyone in the city made him dedicate himself exclusively to the goal of completing it, but with all the new data, he had to start from scratch.

The account went on with the first emergency Assembly gathering, and the brief schism between the noble and warrior castes. Once all the traitor houses became essentially powerless and defenseless, they had no choice but to take drastic measures.

The imprisoned deshyrs had been set free by that point, and their houses had to hold them accountable or fall along with them because of all the other damning evidence that Frandlin's network of spies, as well as the relations and plants of everyone else in the upper quarter, had on them. A bunch of the traitors volunteered to give their lives to the Legion of the Dead. Not all of them managed or were permitted to save the honor of their houses that way, though. A few killed themselves. One even tried to murder all his immediate family members before doing so, even his 6-year-old daughter, but he was thwarted because of Frandlin's forewarning.

It helped that the young scion of House Ivo had made a point of rounding up Bhelen's more unsavory contacts and spies he knew of and brought them to justice even before the deshyrs were freed, "just in case." That way, the bastards weren't there to help further the atrocities.

Some of those who didn't choose the Legion were exiled to the surface, with just the bare necessities to get them started, which was just right since, as Raonar had said, the temperature really was low this time of the year. The really bad eggs were shipped to work the mines, though.

As for those who'd been in with Harrowmont, they didn't all get off scot free. Trian had actually felt vindicated when one of the imprisoned deshyrs bargained for his life by offering evidence to convict the remaining ones who'd conspired against him and Raonar the year prior. Sure, in the end the man was still exiled, but his family was not, despite him really only caring about himself. That was mercy enough, the prince felt.

At the end of it all, only two of Bhelen's ex-allies' houses were found corrupt enough to deserve total exile, and the rest had been reduced to having a single, minor warrior house as their retinue, as well as the bare minimum of lower houses for income. Finally, half a dozen of the conspirators were allowed to stay in Orzammar. Harrowmont, of all people, was responsible for that, arguing that they deserved something for how they only pleaded for their families to be spared their fate instead of trying to weasel out. His words had been: "I feel it is not too much of a risk to allow their houses to decide whether or not they will permit them to stay among them."

Most of them would probably spent the rest of their lives as prisoners in their own homes. After all, they'd also been slapped with a ban on weapons, which made it too dangerous to venture outside much. Lord Ivo and Wojech were among these. And, of course, no honor provings were allowed and there was already progress in trying to outlaw the practice altogether.

Finally, at the end of it all, no one was executed and, to prevent descendants from being thrown into Dust Town and stripped of their caste and identities, neither was anyone erased from the records. Trian didn't tell his brother that only happened because he'd... _strongly _spoken against the un-person punishment.

When he finally believed there was nothing else he could say on the matter, twenty minutes had passed and Raonar hadn't moved or even opened his eyes for at least five. It made it seem as though he'd fallen asleep at some point, but that assumption was short-lived.

"... so Orzammar still has no king."

Trian wondered if his brother had already forgotten having been told that the crown was undecided. He wanted to say he wanted him to have the final say, but he somehow knew it would be a bad idea. "That's right."

"Tch..." Beyond that, the ailing dwarf said nothing regarding the summation, but a few seconds later he spoke again, still staring at the ceiling. "What happened to Vartag?"

The firstborn couldn't say he was happy to hear that name. "He's in prison." His tone was kept deliberately flat. "He's the only resident of the dungeons right now in fact." Honestly, Trian wasn't angry at Vartag for killing Bhelen as much as he was for him indirectly putting his brother in this sorry state. And the bastard had even killed Merrick too, a young man with a great reputation of being the most honest-to-good resident of the Sword Quarter. That fighter was the only other person besides Bhelen who died that day.

The stiffness in the other one's posture diminished a fraction. Trian knew it broadcasted relief. Somehow.

"So he's... sound?"

He finally understood what the other one was worried about. "Yes, both in mind and in body." He couldn't keep his frustration quite hidden. Why did his brother have to worry about even scum like him? Trian still remembered that third day after the whole mess, when the guy's father came to him and outright disowned Vartag, even having the gall to swear he had nothing to do with what he did and that he'd been tricked into participating in the attempted coup, and that he only always wanted to prove his friendship to Aeducan when he agreed to back Bhelen's "deluded attack."

Trian didn't need Frandlin's written reports to know that the bastard was lying through his teeth. _Someone_ raised Vartag the way he was. Trian told him as much, in none too subtle terms. The idiot _had_, after all, chosen to bother him on the same day he'd confronted Piotin. Needless to say, the prince heir's patience wasn't at its best, and for all his supposed scheming, the "honorable" ex-deshyr was stupid enough to think Trian didn't know of his involvement in the attempts on his life.

Gavorn's patriarch was really only fishing for a pardon that would offer him some protection from the angry houses that wanted someone to vent at. His house was completely defenseless after all, and the perfect scapegoat. Really, Gavorn would have been the third house exiled, but the decision was postponed until the assembly decided exactly what to do with Vartag himself, and with his son who was still living with a branch Aeducan family as part of the "useful exchange of experiences" that Bhelen had arranged for, prior to discarding his first manservant.

Trian honestly had absolutely no idea what to do about him. It was a small blessing he was just five years old and, thus, not old enough to start asking too many questions.

Two days later, the head of the house, and Rolik Gavorn too, were caught trying to slip out of the city due to a guard they'd bribed (whom had been instructed to "accept" bribes and report on who offered them, another stroke of brilliance on Frandlin's part). They were separated from their possessions, cuffed in manacles and unceremoniously tossed into a cart and shipped to the mines within an hour of violating their house arrest.

The real miners will have a field day bossing them and all the other new riffraff around. It was a less known fact that the mining caste didn't do much of the pick-axe swinging itself. That was a task primarily left to convicts.

Upon completing that thought, Trian felt truly glad that he wasn't experiencing any sort of glee, or even simple satisfaction over the unfortunate, albeit just, predicament of so many people. Sadism was something he wanted to never let himself be tainted with, not just because it would be deserving of self loathing but because it would be the closest thing to spitting on all the effort and honest affection that Raonar had put into him, was _still_ showing him if the way he was roused from sleep was any indication.

Then again, even if he were to do so, his brother's fundamental feeling towards him probably wouldn't actually change, the same way they still hadn't when it came to a certain other person. His next question made it all too clear. "And Bhelen...?"

"Interred in the Aeducan crypt until a decision is taken in regards to his official situation." No surprise met that answer. "The Shaperate didn't and won't perform any of the services to return him to the Stone."

Silence fell again. Trian didn't realize how much time passed until he saw just how crinkled he'd left the sheets. Again. It was strange that he could fuss so much even though, logically, he was tired enough hat his body should have had energy conservation, and, thus, motionlessness, as its priority. He found himself amazed that his sibling could be so unmoving after essentially being dead to the world for so long. Even more than that, it was outright ominous that it was impossible to tell if he was even thinking behind that placid stare.

When he finally learned the answer to that dilemma, he sensed the first stage of panic taking hold. "This really isn't a nightmare is it? Or is it really..."

"..." Trian stared, unable to process the words.

With painstaking slowness, Raonar pulled his good arm up and passed his hand across his face. After that he grabbed at his hair. "What the hell have I been doing? "

What the sod was he talking about? He'd just woken up! "No, don't get up yet..." Being glared at like that by him hurt more than Trian wanted to show, but it was nothing compared to what he felt when that look changed into the most tortured facial expression he'd ever seen. He withdrew his hands. He'd half-reached to stop him, but he gave up on the thought and watched, trying not to grimace at his sibling's failure to keep the pain off his face. His aching arm and the stiffness in his muscles and joints gave him the semblance of an old man dragging himself to stand when he knew he should give up on the idea.

Of course _he _didn't give up, even though it was the sane thing to do. His brother had his back to him now, bare save for the bandages wrapped around it, sitting on the bedside opposite from him. Letting the daze pass, he finally stood on his own feet, refraining from steadying himself against the counter nearby with visible effort. After another minute, he tentatively made a small step forward, and when he managed not to trip or collapse, he made another, and then another. Through it all, Trian couldn't help but think he looked like a ghost. The white bandages and pants certainly gave that allure, especially with the pale light of the lyrium and runes on the walls.

The shutters had been drawn over the sections of the walls that normally allowed the light of the lava beyond to seep in. That made the overall lighting dim at best. Combined with the white hair and clothing, it made Trian feel like he was watching the phantasm of his remaining family member disappear forever. In a way, maybe it was true.

He didn't remember standing up and walking around the foot of the bed, but his mind caught up to his actions when Raonar pulled their father's signet sing off his finger and waited.

Nothing happened.

So he pulled the Lifegiver off too. "No, don't!"

Still nothing happened. No seizures, no coughing of blood, no other bleeding. It brought the elder brother such relief he feared he'd collapse. The only reason he didn't was because he needed to be standing, just in case he had to jump forward and stop the other one from doing so.

But when Raonar dropped the rings on the nearby counter and made as if to pull at the bandages around his torso, Trian couldn't stand in place anymore. "Brother, stop."

"Stay away." The younger held an arm out as he backed off, averting his sight.

"No." He reached out again.

"Stay _away_ from me." His brother just took another step backwards, fist held against his own chest and his good arm extended, telling him to keep his distance.

It hurt so _much_ to be treated like a threat that Trian didn't have time to guess on his own what was actually wrong. "Why? Why do you...?" His tone caused a visible wince. "Why are you backing away like I'm your enemy?" A horrifying possibility was clawing its way through Trian's mind, out of the depth he'd shoved it into.

The secondborn jolted and clutched at his ruined arm, face scrunched in momentary agony that, nonetheless, didn't prevent him from backing from Trian's advance yet again. "No, please..."

And he sounded desperate. Why did he sound so desperate? "What the hell is wrong?" Dammit, he was desperate too! "Did I do something to upset you somehow?"

"How the _hell_ could you upset me when I don't even know if you're real!" That shout had their eyes meet for the barest of seconds. Next thing Trian knew, Raonar had stumbled past him, trying to cross the room but ending up precariously balanced against the foot of the bed. "You can't be, this can't be, if it is... oh Stone, what did I almost do?"

"What in the Ancestors' name does that mean?" Somehow he knew that wasn't going to help, but what else could he say? His mind was drawing a blank. Losing his remaining family to death would have been bad enough, but this, this... this was so much worse. This was unreal. He couldn't lose his brother like this, not to this, not to _madness_. "Of course I'm real!"

Fear and disdain mixed together. "Like before, right?" He wasn't making any sense and, judging by the look on his face, he knew it. What before? "I can't..." He wheezed out, flinching as pain no doubt flared through his arm as he moved to use the other one for support. "I can't believe it... I can't, I don't... This whole... Too much about this is just impossible..."

It dawned on Trian then, that he realized why he found this so horrifying. He wasn't a genius of interpreting emotions by any means, but his brother was right. "Are... are _you_, of all people, in _denial_?" His brother _was_ right, it _was_ impossible. He'd been there, he'd _held_ Bhelen as he died, you didn't just forget that.

And Raonar just _did not go in denial_.

"I don't know!" He almost buckled as pain flared again and his voice became tight. "How should I? It's not like I knew last time!"

"What do you mean last time?" He advanced on him without meaning to.

"The damned Circle demon! No, don't come near me Trian, I can't... I can't tell-" he tried to push him away with his good arm.

Trian latched onto it. "Then strike at me!"

His brother's head snapped up to stare at him in surprise.

"I'm not leaving! I'm not going anywhere, so strike at me and see I'm not an illusion!" He was holding onto his arm with both hands now. "I know I don't deserve it after everything I've done, but please, _please_ Let me be here for you for once."

"Oh so _now_ you want to be here for me!" That brief flare of anger dissipated all too quickly, and his poor brother looked harried and tormented again. "How can you be here for me Trian when you look like you're about to cry yourself?"

"Of course I want to cry!" He snapped and immediately cursed himself for it. "I can't stand seeing you like this."

"Well I don't even know if it's really you I'm seeing!" He tried to struggle away, but Stone, he was so _weak_. "I can't... and I can't find out, not again." He pulled as far back as he could and hung his head, and Trian was shocked, Raonar had hung his head, he'd _hung his head in front of him_ and that was absurd! "This has to be a dream, but it can't be..."

"But..." This didn't make sense! He was delirious! "But dwarves _don't_ _dream_!"

"Yes we do!" He snapped back to glare weakly back, eyes showing more sheen that normal. "Apparently, we do! We just don't remember it, but I do! The few years, since... Dammit, that doesn't matter!" He hung his head again and began to shake, slowly at first. "Oh Trian, what did I almost do... What should I do... I know, but I can't... I just can't..."

Trian had never felt so lost, but what happened next made it all too clear what he should do.

He felt the tremors come through his poor brother's arms first, clenched as those fists were around the fabric of his shirt. So he did the only thing his conscience allowed: enveloped him and embraced him tight. There was an eternal moment when the tortured man froze completely, so Trian pulled his face as close to his heart as he could and held him there as the other hand circled his back. "Cry."

So he did.

He shuddered hard, once, and then burst into tears, like the breaking of a dam.

It was like holding a cave reed, as though it took the outmost care not to break him. Like the smallest mistake would let a gust of wind blow him away and made sure he was lost to him forever. And then there was a huge weight pulling Trian down, so he allowed himself to fall to his knees along with his poor brother instead of letting him go. He wasn't going to let him go. "That's right. Let it out." _He'd_ taught him this. He'd _made_ him who he was. "Let it all out."

"Oh my god," he sobbed. "Oh my god, oh my god." How shaken could he be that he wasn't even drawing on the Stone anymore? "I almost killed you, oh my god. I've lost it Trian, oh my god..."

The heir's eyes snapped open and he felt his chin press against his sibling's head as his mouth fell open a margin. It finally dawned on him that it _wasn't_ Bhelen's death he was horrified at.

Then the whole explanation came spilling out. "I've been awake for two hours with my fingers around your windpipe, oh god," Trian's eyes just became wider and wider and his breath stopped. Then came a jolt, more pain from those damnable wounds. "I couldn't... I couldn't tell if this was like before, but I couldn't, I can't!" The breathing was hitched and pained "If this is just possession again, if it's a dream, I can't... I can't kill you again, I can't-... i-if this is a trick, I'll never break it because I just can't do it again. I can't, I can't tell the truth anymore, oh Stone..."

"What do you mean? What before?" This delirium made Trian feel shivers crawl up and down his spine. It was just like with father.

But he wasn't listening. "And it can't be true, this can't... I _know_ Bhelen's dead, I held him I... you can't just forget that, but this can't... If this is real, that means everything else... But it's impossible, what Theron did is basically the realm of the divine, it just makes so much more sense to think this is the trick..."

_What?_ Oh paragons, what should he do? What was he talking about, was this anything he should be looking for sense in? "It's not a dream. This is real-"

"How can it be, dammit!" Trian felt his soaked shirt tear in his sibling's death grip. "I have a fucking hole in my chest! How the hell am I still alive?"

"I..." With sudden clarity, Trian knew this was a turning point, that what he said next was going to make all the difference, but even though he tried to scramble for an answer, the silence just dragged on and on. Then again, it couldn't really be called silence, broken as it was by the sound of that outpour. His poor brother was spilling his heart to him and he didn't know what to say. Even now, after so long, he was just a fool that had absolutely no idea what to say. "I don't know."

It was always the same. No matter what he did or tried to do now, all the sacrifices his brother made for his sake, for everyone's sake, turned out to have been completely wasted in the end. He was still what he'd always been, the "great" heir apparent of House Aeducan, Orzammar's number one useless piece of trash.

Trian swallowed in disgust. How typical that he'd managed to make the whole situation revolve around him in his thoughts.

"You really don't know do you. You really mean it..." His poor, precious brother breathed out.

Even he agreed.

And then his sobs and shakes resumed. "Stone, this _is_ real isn't it?"

Trian blinked.

"If I... If you were a figment of my imagination... you'd've argued, brought proof, talked like I would've, because you'd've been _me_ talking... Oh Ancestors, I was going to murder you in your sleep-"

The firstborn finally reached the belated realization that Raonar _had_, in fact, enacted his murder at least once before. His memory clicked on the connection between this breakdown and the little Alim told him about that event at the mage tower topside. It made him feel so unbelievably _stupid_ that he wanted to sink beneath the floor.

But his brother was still talking. "-but I couldn't... last time I did I... nothing happened for a while, I'd stabbed you and nothing happened except your blood spilling over my hands-"

"Shhh," Trian took to stroking his hair. "There's no blood on your hands."

"Yes there is!" He almost shouted from where his eyes was still buried in his shirt. "Bhelen's is! I can still see it! Smell it, I... I..."

-_also_ had to kill Bhelen and... their mother, Trian finally remembered. Ancestors' mercy, and since dwarves didn't normally dream, did that mean that it was harder to tell between dreams and the real thing? How vivid must that nightmare have been, and there were also those darkspawn dreams... It explained so much.

And then, the final burst of tears finally, finally made him see why that poor man had gone so far. "I told mom I'd take care of you two..."

The world tilted dangerously before abruptly settling back into place.

"No, no_, _NO." Not even realizing what he was doing, Trian gathered him even tighter, tighter than he thought possible and didn't notice he'd voiced that denial, but he couldn't really care either. "No... Just no." The reason. This was the reason his sibling refused to make promises. He'd made _one_ and he'd _broken it _in one of the worst ways imaginable_._

"I told her 'Don't worry, I'll take care of Trian, because he'll be too preoccupied to do it on his own,' and I almost destroyed you..."

"No. No, stop-"

"I said 'I'll look after Bhelen, because he can do great things,' and I just got him killed!" He choked in pain then, his arm and heart seizing up and sending such agony through his flesh that even Trian felt an echo of it. "'You're strong and wise,' she said. 'I believe in you,' she said. Dammit... Damn you..." He forced through gritted teeth. "Damn both of you... all three of you..."

Trian knew he meant their father as the third, not their mother. Or he would have realized it, if his mind was even capable of thought. Instead, he was just so numb, staring ahead through a peculiar haze that felt warm and heavy.

"Why..." He growled pitifully. Oh Stone, he of all people was... "Why do all of you have to get yourselves killed, damn you?" Every word just barely made it out, pain climbing higher with each one. "Why can't _anyone_ in this stupid family just... die of old age, dammit?"

"I-"

"Uncle got killed before I was born, mother died poisoned, too young, father died in his fifties, Bhelen... oh Stone, Bhelen... and since I'm a Grey Warden, I probably won't even live past my forties-"

"WHAT?" Without thinking it through, he gripped on both of his brother's shoulders tight and tried to push him roughly away, wanting to see his face.

The only thing he succeeded in was contributing that last, small piece of pain needed to send that stabbed heart into a seizure severe enough to smash through the vestiges of Raonar's resolve and make him duck his head almost low enough to touch the ground and escape a gasp of pain.

The double grip on Trian's shirt was like iron, and the gasp degenerated into a long and powerful cry of anguish, like a howl, low and rumbling, but stronger by the second, and louder and painful to listen to, not because of how close Trian was but because of the tumult of emotions it sent out.

The runes flared wildly on the walls, but the pulse rate quickly became too fast to differentiate from a constant shine. In concert, the lyrium behind the glass resonated with the magical flood that Trian could feel bouncing off of him.

When the scream reached its apex, Trian's body spasmed. For one moment, he felt precisely the agony his brother was in, like bladed screws rending his flesh and bones to bits. The agony that the runes were no longer able to suppress in others.

Then, with a keen wail, the glass panes shattered.

The magic of the lyrium exploded outward in an intense but despodent spectacle of teal light, blowing the pulverized shards all across the floor. Trian enveloped his younger brother again, shielding him with his body, but there was no need. Almost abruptly the runes faded back to a dimmer state, and the floor was left nearly uniformly covered in a blanket of tiny shards all around them.

Some time came and went as the secondborn's heaves settled into something resembling normal breathing. And finally, finally he slumped, the last remnants of his energy leaving him at last. The deathhold on the shirt released, leaving bloodstains behind. From how he sagged sideways against Trian's front now, the latter could see that he was already half-way gone. Part of his face was visible from above, and that placid stare was back.

And so was his listless voice. His final words were the most chilling he could possibly have said. "Please... Trian..." He was already far away. "You at least... try to outlive me..."

He wanted to scream, to shout, loudly declare that he would do anything for him, even jump in the lava if he asked him, but he didn't get the chance.

By the time those last words had left his mouth, his brother had already lost consciousness.

"-. .-"

Gorim had been more excited than anxious when he entered the palace. After two weeks of constant worry, he finally had a chance to see his lord Aeducan conscious again. But as he walked deeper into the palace, foreboding began to creep closer to the forefront of his mind. Passing between the first two golem sentries was as uncomfortable as always. Their stare bore into him every moment he was in their sight.

But what really got to him was the scene right outside the bedroom doors. Shale couldn't be easily read, golems were like that, but her eyes were shut tight, and that giant of a man, the Qunari, had a more forlorn gaze on than usual.

And then there was that brand warden, leaning against the door with his arms folded in front of his chest and his head hanging low. It made the fighter stop in his steady walk (he was _not_ limping) and try to make sense of it. He would have voiced his confusion, but he dreaded the answer, so he gave up on the thought.

More hesitantly, he moved forward again, completely unheeded by those three. Only when he was close enough to grip the doorknob did he glance aside.

Faren's countenance was half-way between pitying and sinister, but seemingly aimed at nothing in particular. His cold eyes were pointed directly ahead.

It made him gulp.

Warring with the rising feeling of dread, the warrior twisted the knob, took a deep breath and stepped inside.

His eyes were closed and downcast all the while.

Which was why, once he'd shut the door and faced forward, the first signal telling him that something was wrong was the noise of glass bits being crushed under his boot.

He froze and stared at the new tapestry, his addled mind unable to decide on an actual reaction.

Then, slowly, his eyes traced forward and up, eventually settling on the tired, kneeling form of one Trian Aeducan, holding his unconscious brother and staring down at his face. Languishing against the bed.

Crying without realizing it.

"It can't be..." Gorim breathed out, and he couldn't hear himself over the frantic beat of his heart. "He isn't... is he?""

No answer.

Then, finally, Trian's sight seemed to focus and notice the tears streaming down his face, over his beard and his nose, and dripping on the cheek of the one below. He looked puzzled when he traced his fingertips over his eyes, but the feeling passed, replaced by what had to be the most sincere brotherly affection he'd ever displayed, wiping his fallen sibling's face clean. "No..." Gorim had to strain his ears to listen. "It's alright Gorim, he's not dead. He just... cried himself to sleep... That's all."

That's all... That's all... the hell it was. Gorim felt something rising inside him, he wanted to demand what had happened, why he wasn't called, why... why the room was turned upside down while their spot was the only one untouched by the many glass shards.

But he didn't. He couldn't make demands. Just having to walk on that scene had drained him of all the drive he'd have needed for that display.

And he didn't dare disturb his lord's rest.

So he just swallowed a knot and nodded. "Do you need me to help you return him to the bed?"

Just as slowly as before, Trian shook his head. "No... I'm not moving him..."

That was absurd. "But..."

Minutes passed.

"... You remember what he said? The night before..."

The man worked his jaw, surprised by the question. His brain scrambled to figure out what the prince was going on about and he connected it to the final thing his lord had said the night before that ill-fated mission. His eyes wondered over the Shield of Aeducan, standing, propped against the wall. The inscription around the crest, around the Paragon's Face, was absent, but Gorim knew what it was. _I am Aeducan, Shield of Orzammar._

Trian maneuvered Raonar's hand to a more comfortable spot. "When he made that declaration before that damned military commission, I thought he was posturing, overflowing with ego, but... Now I understand that he always knew what that role meant. I am the Shield. But what does a shield do? Besides protect, what does it do? He always knew what he was putting himself up for..."

"..."

"A shield protects... and with every blow it takes, it gets battered. More and more battered until it breaks outright." He passed a hand across his face, looking three times as old as he really was. "But when the shield arm itself wants to break you, what can you do?" He sighed. "Stone, what the hell have I been doing?"

So he'd left, because he didn't feel he could take blows from both sides long enough and be able to do anything else. A shield protects, but it can't really protect itself, only endure.

In the end, even he had a limit. And Trian too... "I fear if I move him now... he'll crumble into pieces right in front of my eyes. I'll just... stay like this... Until he wakes up."

And the feeling tried to bubble in him again. "But Trian, you haven't slept in four days!" Or he had, but whatever respite he could find while still in this room couldn't have been nearly enough.

The only response was a bitter chuckle, completely indifferent to having been addressed so evenly. By name. "Hah... Sleepless nights. That's the least I deserve."

"Dammit!" Gorim vented, cursing his physical disability that reminded him he couldn't drag him, couldn't force him to see reason. "Why do all of you Aeducans have to be so damned unreasonable?"

He didn't expect an answer, which made it all the more mindnumbing when he actually got it. A shrug and... "How should I know Gorim?" No humor at all. It was just a bland drawl. "Since when have I had any answers? I'm just a blind fool, remember...?"

He'd meant it all.

Gorim turned around, gritting his teeth at the noise made by the glass below. It took all he had not to yank the door. He stopped half-way through it, looking to his right, hoping that Faren fellow would have some idea.

But he was no longer there.

A questioning look in Sten's direction rewarded him with nothing, and Shale was more like a statue than she'd ever been.

So Gorim Saelac just closed to door, dragged himself to a bench nearby, flopped down on it and, after sinking his face in his hands, he waited.

He had no one nearby to tell him he hadn't slept any more than Trian himself

"-. .-"

It must have been a couple of weeks since he'd been left as the only inhabitant of the dungeon, judging by the number of times he'd been brought meals, if they could even be called that. At first, Vartag had been fine with it. It meant that he didn't need to deal with constant jeers, curses and threats from all those other fools that ended up in over their heads. But after a couple of days, it got a bit too quiet. After another two, he started to have trouble sleeping and he thought he could see shadows moving at the edge of his sight. Every moment he expected some hired killer to drop and finish him. It was made worse by how, strangely, he hadn't been dragged off to be interrogated.

Or tortured.

His rags began to tear as he half-way through the first week, and the constant silence became unbearable. It made it all too easy to remember that red stare, that red. The horror he'd experienced, feeling like his life was literally in someone else's hands. It made him cower, and Stone, the _red, _and the flashes of pain in his chest that always came with the red.

But that was only sometimes. The rest of the time, he took solace in his feeling of vindication. He'd finally killed the brat that dared to throw him away like trash, and he'd actually managed to do so much _more_ than take his revenge. He'd used his son as justification when he persuaded himself to go along with it all, but Vartag realized he didn't actually care all that much about the kid now. He'd only been an excuse. After all, with his son fostered with Aeducan, how was it a good idea to kill their leader? And even if they weren't going to do anything to a "poor, innocent boy", as if there were any innocents, killing the guy so openly was a sure way to being declared castless, which meant that his kid was done for too.

Yes, looking at it now, his kid had never factored much in his decision. He was the result of an arranged marriage anyway, and he was too meek for his tastes. It was an acceptable loss for making sure that bastard got his due.

But never in a million years did he expect everything to go so well. Initially, he'd envisioned a sort of backup ploy, maybe kill the guy while he tried to attack the assembly, possibly getting on that fool Harrowmont's good side. But when all those things came to light, it was so clear. It was so clear that all he had to do was kill him and he'd break so much more. Finally, the Aeducans would be taken down a few notches. All those great plans, smashed to bits, just by him!

And even more, he'd heard the guards whispering a couple of times, even from this far deep in the dungeon, when they made their rounds. That uppity bastard exile was bedridden and probably going to die. Good riddance. Monsters like him (oh Stone, the _red_) were better off dead.

And the rest of the city was in shambles too. Orzammar had been brought to his knees, just by him. HIM! It almost made him wish Bhelen was alive, just to throw it in his face. Who was useless now? Who was the worthless one?

Vartag fought back the urge to run and hide as an echo of those red eyes and the feeling of being torn open from within passed through him. It seemed to happen at regular intervals, accompanied by the illusions that there was someone in the shadows, watching him, always watching. So he'd developed a reaction to it. He sat back and let his head reach the bumpy wall. He let his breath settle and stared at the image of feet sticking out of the darkness in front of his cell, waiting for the hallucination to dissipate, like it always did.

Only this time it didn't. It just stayed there, and then there was a trick of the light-

-A sudden jolt of pain awoke in the middle of his gullet and he choked, shrinking back closer to the wall as he clawed at his throat. His fingers came upon something thin and hard. Panicked at the persistence of the apparition, he yanked it out with a total disregard to the dangers of doing so.

Still hawking, he stared at the four-inch-long needle in horror before flailing wildly, tossing it away. It clinked against the bars and fell inside his cell, like a persistent parasite.

"Hhhh-" He tried to call out who was there, but his throat didn't listen. He tried again, but all that came out was a pathetic croak. _Guards, Guards!_

Eyes bore into him from the darkness beyond as the grate to his cell swung open with screeching slowness. He mewled and pressed against the wall. It was back, that _thing, _oh the _red_- Even though the eyes were brown, almost, he still remembered the red. He tried to call for the guards, but again, his throat only hissed. That needle, that sodding needle had done something-

"Surface deathroot mixed with mushrooms from our tunnels." The voice, he recognized. "It's a simple formula really, just not one people would think about. That assassin elf knows his poisons." The eyes, those yellow eyes that looked like they glowed in the dark, finally stepped into the weak torchlight. "Large doses can do everything from death, and It's one of the more merciful ways to kill really, to causing deep sleep, like say, if they were slipped in the lunch of a couple of prison guards." One of those knives, those small throwing knives was rolling across his fingers. "But small ones, on a weapon, they cause a really nice type of paralysis." The knife stopped dancing. "The kind where you can still feel. **Everything**."

Vartag slurred a lisped scream as the dagger flew and bit into the flesh of his shoulder. That brand. That bastard of a brand. It wasn't enough that he'd ruined him, he wanted more now? He'd destroyed _everything_ he had, that bastard.

Cowering against the far wall, his hand found a loose piece of rock. Without thinking too much, he lunged. If he could just hit him in the side of the head-

-he was smashed against the wall with a gasp and the rock thumped uselessly in the wet dirt. His other shoulder gained a stab wound of its own and his attacker roughly pushed the knife, the second knife, a bit deeper before letting go. "You actually feel great after all you've done, don't you?" Faren sneered in disgust, pressing an arm against his neck and holding a foul-smelling cloth.

He recognized it, it was a substance used to prevent prisoners from losing consciousness during interrogation.

Or torture.

The branded face turned darker, malevolent. "Then again, I'll probably feel the same after this, so I guess I can't really judge."

Vartag didn't think he'd possibly experience that terror again, but he was. He wasn't looking at a murderer, this was... He wanted to shrink on himself, to curl into a ball, but his arms didn't budge no matter how much he willed them to, and when he tried to drag himself down, he couldn't. That wretched bastard had shoved his knee between his legs to hold him upright. Not knowing what else to do, he tried to spit in his face, but the numbness of his throat had climbed and all he managed was a hawking slosh.

He couldn't move his arms, but he felt every bit of that knife cutting him, going slowly down from his left shoulder. "Hnnnggggguuuaa!" It was a lisp wail that barely reached beyond his cell, so weak his throat had become. Oh Stone. _Oh Stone, no._

"I guess I was only fooling myself," Faren said casually as the knife continued its sojourn through his muscles. "That maybe I could actually be a good guy. That maybe I could be more than that thing I used to be." He jabbed the blade half an inch deeper, not noticing or caring about the blood flowing out. "But there's nothing like family to tell you where you belong." He pulled the knife out and brought his hand up, letting the tip hover close, so close to the right eyeball, wide open in horror. "'You'll always be nothing but Dust Town, brat,' she said. And I guess she's right."

Vartag couldn't hold it in anymore. His bile rose in his throat and he lurched forward, hacking, spilling his insides. Dimly he realized he'd been allowed to fall on all fours, and he puked and heaved until everything underneath him was splattered with yellow and green.

He sniveled weakly when he was shoved back upright. The nausea hadn't gone away, and there was pain in his stomach and his right arm, and it was from more than just the knife. He could hear his veins throb in his ears and his breathing was tight and agonizing.

His persecutor took him by the jaw and _glared_, baring his teeth. "You think you had it hard, do you? Well, I used to think I had it well enough, for a brand, until I was 14 or so. The old woman mostly drank herself senseless so we only had to deal with her half the time, and my nug hunts managed to keep us alive. Then dear old Beraht decided it was a good time to "harvest" the good gems of that dump."

He could only moan as the dagger traced a small, shallow cut on the side of his neck.

"I suppose it was just unlucky that he set his thugs to take my sister away for a "test" when I was there. Of course, they didn't think I could do much, so they thought they could ignore me while they started feeling my sister up." He Stopped cutting him, just to make sure he would be understood. "One of them died with my bare hand through his gut. The second one, oh his death was the most unforgettable. It had to be, since I threw myself at him and tore his throat apart with my teeth."

Vartag tried to shut his eyes, but a prick in his windpipe warned him against it. There was real pain flaring through his chest now.

"There was only one asshole left, crawling away. He was begging for his life, telling me that he had a daughter of his own to provide for and he was just following orders. I knew he was lying. I knew who he was, but even if it were true, I wouldn't have cared. Better off an orphan than with scum like that for a father, even in that cesspool." He pulled the tip of the knife out, and a small spill of blood followed. "Oh wait, I'm not sure I thought about that back then, while I clobbered him to death with a broken chair. Still, it's odd, you know? You'd think I wouldn't remember that so clearly, I _was_ in shock and pumped up and all, but it _was_ the first time I killed. The first always stays with you. The first and the last. It's kind of like sex."

Vartag felt something warm flowing down his legs, and realized it was his own urine.

Faren glanced down, unimpressed at his own leg getting drenched. "Hn. I've been in worse shit." He eyed him again (oh Stone, _those eyes!_). "Yeah, the first and the last. They were my first and last kills for a while, until I killed Beraht. Even now, I only regret not having enough time to work him properly. It was a rushed deal, you know?"

The disgraced noble would have begged for his life, he'd have done anything just to escape, or for it to end in any other way, but all he could do was blubber incoherently.

"But you, oh," Faren's eyes narrowed dangerously. "What you did is so much _worse._"

"Urgh!" A third knife sunk in Vartag's left elbow.

"You couldn't have just gone on your way, you couldn't just leave things well enough alone, you sick _bastard!"_ Only now was that cold rage becoming hotter, voice cracking with some bubbling grief of his own. "You ruined _everything_, you fuck! I can read between the lines! Even though that mage didn't say it, it's obvious. Even though he's awake, his heart will _never_ recover. You've _ruined_ him and I can't do _anything_, you sick piece of shit!"

Vartag was gasping for air, hyperventilating because of dread or physical torment, or both, he didn't know.

"But what's worse is what I know he'll do once he wakes up again." His hand around his jaw was like a vise. "Even with a gaping hole in his chest, he'll come here, he'll look at you, he'll _see_ and _know_ everything about you, exactly the sort of scum that you are, but because he's the closest thing this crapsack world allow to a saint, he won't lift a finger against you." Something like shame passed over him, but Vartag didn't notice it in his terrified fumbling. "He'll look at you, and then he'll just _forgive_ you."

Another stab in the arm, and the accompanying cry. Cries, yes. Vartag could feel tears flowing freely now.

And then the tormenter pulled his face closer until the eyes were just an inch away from each other. "But what was it you said? Oh right." His irises seemed to flash. "'He doesn't _deserve_ redemption' was it?"

A pathetic yelp was all that came out when Vartag's head was shoved back. He felt heavy, and numb, but there was still pain and his chest felt like it was going to explode.

And then Faren was staring him down, his palms digging into the wall on either side of Vartag's head, just like with that monster, before. "When Beraht died, the first thing I felt was disappointment, because I only got to cut off his hands from the wrist down before slitting his throat." He didn't look murderous. He looked hungry, but it wasn't normal hunger. "And now it's the same, but so much worse you shit. I want it, to tell you and show you. I want, so much to tell you, and I suppose I am, that I'm going to break every single bone in your fingers, and then, one by one, I'm going to cut them off. And once I'm done with those, I'll just work my way up-"

Something tore deep inside him and Vartag's world went black.

"-. .-"

Waking up in Trian's arms was the strangest thing. When Raonar realized his situation, he couldn't help but stare up at that face. It was astounding that he'd somehow turned rigid enough to be still kneeling so upright even while unconscious, only slightly balanced on the bed next to him. He really did look old. The returned exile didn't know how long he'd been asleep this time, but since Trian had had time to fall asleep himself, it probably had been a while.

He reached up to cup his face and Trian didn't stir. He didn't even shift. He was so out of it. Confusion plagued the second son's mind for a brief time, but then he remembered just what had happened.

Ah.

Trian's arm was still under his head and around his shoulder, holding him, so Raonar allowed his awareness to drift as he looked inward. It was so foolish to lose his composure like that. So out of character. Even during that whole mess in the assembly room, everything had been calculated, every statement, every "outburst", just so the impact of everything he did would reach the absolute maximum. Sure, his emotions had been real, but never out of control. Even Trian's wretched revelation melded seamlessly with his plans. Everything should have... no, it _had_ all worked...

But that scene in his mirrored mind, or whatever it was, had been so unbelievable, and having it end so abruptly had left him in shock. He didn't even consider how easy it was to confirm whether or not this was real. All he had to do was see if the link to the Fade was still there.

Ah, and there it was.

He didn't want to think what would have happened if he didn't have this unnatural connection to the Fade to fall back on.

Settling back into his body reminded the prince how much it hurt, but he was used to it by now. It was like a toothache. Wretched, unbearable for a while and very distracting for as long as it lasted, but then it became more manageable as the mind decided to shift attention away. The agony was more like a dull ache now, not really all that intense.

He climbed to his feet and frowned at how Trian didn't awaken even after moving him so roughly. Just how tired was he, how long had he stayed there?

Raonar shook his head and reached down to pick him up, one arm under his knees and the other around his shoulders. He grimaced as he stood again, and not just because of his pain. Trian was heavy, much heavier than he expected. The situation didn't get any better when he started to go around the bed, only to step on glass crumbs. With a start, he realized he hadn't even noticed the state of the room. So he really _hadn't_ hallucinated that explosion.

He hissed but resumed his walk, careful to brush the worst of the broken glass away this time. Once he was close enough, he carefully settled his brother on the sheets and maneuvered him in the position he knew he found most comfortable, on his right side and with both hands under the pillow. He wished he could smile then. To feel something. Trian literally slept like a baby.

Remembering the cuts he'd just gained on the sole of his foot, the warden picked up the Lifegiver and slipped it on his finger, breathing out in relief as he felt the magic begin to knit his skin back together. He looked at the Aeducan royal signet ring as he waited for the healing to finish, but decided to leave it there.

The mirror was the next stop. He had to see. He had to _know _for himself, so he pulled the bandages apart, just enough to show that wound.

It was bigger that he expected and he could only stare, his mouth slowly falling open. Shaking his head, he smoothed the bandages back over it and stood there, shock still. His eyes traced the runes on the wall, and he already suspected what would happen if he were to do what was needed to have them stop shining.

With an effort of will, he pulled on the boundaries of the Veil, forcing it, commanding it to fold in on itself. He gasped as the pain flared, but he stubbornly pushed on. It got more painful the more he suppressed the magical outpour, but he needed to see, he needed to prove to himself he could bear it.

At last, the light of the runes faded completely, and he was barely holding himself up with both hands braced against the vanity desk. Sweat dripped off his nose and had soaked his beard and hair utterly, but he fought off the pain until it, too, became nothing but dull, background noise. He wasn't going to leave the room until he was sure he could force down that painful aura he had no idea how he was causing.

It must have taken twenty minutes, but Trian didn't move even once.

Then came the last test, and it was a strain on his multitasking abilities, especially with the physical suffering, but he managed to spare a small part of his attention for manipulating force into shape.

It was pathetic. Nothing compared to what he used to be able to do, but enough. Barely, but still enough. He walked to the door never touching the floor or the glass covering it, using a forcefield foothold that never extended more than half a meter in front or behind.

He probably didn't need to bother trying to be silent while opening and closing the door. Trian didn't look like was getting up any time soon. When he stepped out, however, he was glad he did. Only Shale was guarding the entrance, and she gave him a strange look, like she never expected him to see him walk out and couldn't decide if she should be elated or annoyed.

Sten was nowhere in sight. Raonar hoped he'd finally gone to sleep a bit. What really caught his eye was Gorim though, precariously balanced on the bench to the right, also sleeping. Another one. Just how many people had lost sleep because of him? This was getting...

Pushing that thought deep down, his annoyance with not having some slippers or shoes of any sort was replaced by relief. He had places to be and things to do, and with luck, he'd be able to sneak off without Gorim hearing. Walking barefoot was best for such purposes.

So after throwing Shale a meaningful look, he did just that.

"-. .-"

Gorim was ready to slap himself. To think it had taken that Golem getting too annoyed with his obliviousness to actually wake up. It had been ten minutes since Shale had hit him on the head, though it was probably just a light finger poke for her. And still, he couldn't find his lord Aeducan anywhere in the palace. What if he'd left? Where had he gone? What was he _thinking_ walking around?

It was nostalgic really, for him to run around worried about this or that. Or trying to run. Not for the first time, he mentally cursed that bad leg for holding him back. A great sight he was, limping through the corridors, stumbling past confused guardsmen and servants and asking the same question only to get a negative answer and sometimes a hopeful inquiry into his master's state.

He finally found him closer to the room he'd been standing outside of than he'd expected. "My Lord! You're... awake..." His enthusiasm was cut short when he could feel the grim atmosphere bearing down on him. This was Trian's room. His highness probably didn't realize it. He'd probably just chosen the first thing that looked like a living quarter in order to get some clothes. He had some uncannily fitting noble attire on now, and only the bandages on his left hand betrayed anything about his condition.

But he was staring at the contents of that drawer as if he'd been petrified in that position for ages. Even with his back completely turned, it was easy to see. He'd gripped on its sides so hard that his knuckles had turned white.

"My lord?"

With deceptive calm, the prince reached in and took out a scarf. A scarf of silver-lined silk with cyan colored embroidery.

The world slid from underneath him before instantly flashing back into place.

"Oh no..." Gorim bit his tongue, hoping for dear life his whisper hadn't been heard. _Oh no_. What was that doing here? _Oh no, no, no!_ _It should have been with Harrowmont!_ Had Trian retrieved it? This was the absolute worst thing that could happen. The chances of his Lord Aeducan somehow sneaking off and reaching _this_ room of all places, and looking around for clothing in the exact same spot were astronomical, it was impossible. Why in the world did that man have to always achieve the impossible, even when it was the absolute worst thing that could happen? How did he manage to look exactly where that thing was and _was not supposed to be, oh Ancestors' mercy, please don't let him realize-_

"Your leg..."

_ Stone dammit! _"No! Don't even think about it!" It was the first time he outright yelled at his highness.

The voice was so eerie, so discordant in its detachment. "I _knew_ something was strange when people constantly dodged the question of how that assassin managed to get so close to Harrowmont so soon after father's passing, and so easily... dust's blood... I made it happen..."

It was like a noose had been wrapped around his brain, preventing it from working, choking it, and as Gorim kept his mouth shut he knew there was nothing he could possibly do to salvage this catastrophe.

"So that's how it happened..." It was the opposite of awe, but there was no word for the feeling. "Bhelen somehow got a hold of this scarf after I gave it to Rica, and he gave it to that assassin to gain quick entry to Harrowmont. And then there was the struggle and you ended up crippled for life..." There was a pause, heavy and ominous. "Astounding... It figures that the undeniable real reason for me to feel guilty would come when I can no longer feel anything at all..."

"My lord, you couldn't have known-"

"I _know_!"

Gorim blanched. It ached to be reprimanded with such tone.

Lord Aeducan folded the scarf, the queen's scarf, and left at a brisk pace, determined to pass him without another word or even a look.

"My lord, please-"

"No," he stopped next to him, but looked in the opposite direction. "No... I'm sorry Gorim but I... I can't look you in the eye right now."

He left and closed the door.

Gorim didn't remember that his leg was killing him until half an hour later.

"-. .-"

There was a time when he wouldn't have walked around Orzammar without armor on, or at least a chainmail vest, but now, even though he had nothing on except a white buttoned-down shirt and cotton trousers of the same color, he didn't feel even the slightest urge to scour the area for potential threats. He didn't really feel anything actually, not even the faintest puzzlement over why in the world he'd been able to even find white clothes, or why he'd chosen them.

No, that wasn't quite right. he did feel something, a small desire to be ignored as he steadily traveled the Diamond Quarter, barely causing noise as his sandals tapped the Stoneway. To be ignored or, at the very least, not approached by anyone.

In this, at least, he was fortunate. Maybe it was because of his pace, not quite brisk but not quite slow either. Or perhaps it was the bland, half-lidded stare aimed ahead but not really looking ahead. Or perhaps that warning look he'd shot one of the more daring passersby had already become famous through the almighty prerogative of the rumor mill.

Most likely, it was the place he was coming from.

The prison.

He didn't even realize he was going there at first. When he arrived, though, he was even more surprised. He definitely didn't expect to be the first person, besides Frandlin, to see Vartag's body, dead for less than a day. One of the guards looked like he was about to faint when he saw him come in. Why, he had no idea. Well okay, he did have some idea, maybe shame over failing his task, or relief at seeing him, or both (_My lord Aeducan, you're well again, Stone be praised!_)but he didn't really feel any motivation to unravel the mystery.

When he was led to the cell, Frandlin Ivo was pensively studying the sight, slowly moving his lips in a way that made it clear he was going over everything this could mean. When he saw him, he stared in surprise for a moment, but then gave him a long, searching look, a full once over.

Afterwards, he nodded to himself and jumped straight into giving a lowdown of what they'd learned about the mess. No inquiries into his health, no awkward silence, no stupid questions. Just the silent message that he was going to respect his choice to deal on his own with whatever was on his mind, but that he was there if there was anything he could do.

Ivo's scion had grown into a remarkably perceptive man.

Vartag had been killed the previous day, during a two hours-long window when the guards had been drugged unconscious (their lunch had been tampered with). They couldn't really make much more of it though, because of two things.

For one, the whole affair had clearly been murder, but whoever did it was abysmally sloppy. A needle and a few knives had been left behind at the scene, which may or may not have been because of rush over not being sure how long the guards would be out of it. The weapons had already been sent to the apothecaries to check for toxins.

The second point was that it didn't look like the knives had actually been the cause of death. The amount of blood lost was minimal, and the pool Vartag was lying face-down in was more vomit and piss than anything else. Add to that the faintly blue tint of his wide-eyed face and the total lack of suffocation evidence and you had only poison or a heart attack left to consider.

"I see..." was all he'd said before leaving.

His "talk" with Trian had left him completely confused and unsure of what to do. It was ironic that the revelation about just how Gorim had been crippled was what finally made him understand what was left for him. Confronting Vartag may or may not have counterbalanced that in turn, but the chance was no longer there. Alas.

He had one more place to visit before going back to the palace, one final time.

Ah, and here he was.

He briefly wondered if he should feel in any way hesitant, but dismissed the thought and pushed the thick, stone door of the Aeducan crypt. It slid open slowly, with a grind that he felt should have sounded much thicker.

Like all dwarven burial grounds, it opened into an antechamber, a sort of sitting room. There was just one other door, at the other end, beyond which was the descending staircase. On both sides were rows of stone chairs, intermingled with braziers and alcoves for lighting candles. The real light came from above, though. Like in the Dead Trenches, the ceiling was almost completely made of lyrium, shining, exuding something like a ceaseless drizzle of motes of light.

He'd been here many times.

Somewhat glad at finding the place empty, he proceeded beyond the other door. Well, doors really. It was a really large double entrance, and the staircase was more like a floor carved in even, overlaying levels. There was even a smooth path in the middle for when a procession had to carry a coffin in.

All house heads had special resting places instead of getting one of the many alcoves in the walls of the catacomb. Kings even more so. The Aeducan crypt was pretty large really, which made it all the more curious that the runed braziers were all active, blazing. It could only mean that someone had been here not long before him. He wondered who it could be. It was still very early in the morning. Six if he had to guess-

-he came to a sudden halt when he got his answer and felt the world slip from beneath his feet. That he managed to become still as a statue instead of collapsing was nothing short of a miracle.

For ten full minutes he just stared at Pyral Harrowmont as he stayed there, with his eyes closed and kneeling at the foot of King Endrin's grave, hands brought together in prayer. He looked old two weeks before, but now... Stone preserve him, him too? If he was calm and collected, one wouldn't be able to tell from all the lines on his brow, and the corners of his eyes. And his hair, even that was a shade of gray lighter.

It shamed Raonar to realize he'd been hoping to somehow escape the city without facing him. Somehow. He knew it made him a coward, and he would have probably gone to see him just to avoid becoming that, but even so... What could you say to a man whose life you'd essentially turned upside down for what eventually turned out to be absolutely nothing? _"Mark my words," _he'd written in that letter. _"If __Bhelen learns, Trian, and you Lord Pyral, will die. Do not even __remotely__ doubt that."_

Stone, it had all been such a _lie_, and only to himself. He'd made the mistake opposite of the one everyone else had. He'd so massively overestimated Bhelen and, in his scheme, he had taken Harrowmont and so many other people for granted. He thought putting himself through so much was going to make up for it, but now it all seemed so foolish. Everything had been pointless in the end. It left him at a loss for what to say.

And then Pyral took a deep breath and pulled himself up with painstaking slowness, joints popping. Dwarves were supposed to easily reach 100 years of age under normal circumstances, and go on living full, hearty lives for quite a while afterwards, but Harromont was still in his sixties and already he was so far worn.

And then his surrogate father turned around and saw him, and the aghast expression his face had morphed into without him realizing.

He felt something stirring inside him, and realized it was the sensory blowback from Harrowmont stepping within his range. Pain ghosted over the aged man's expression. In his shock, Raonar had lost hold on the agonizing aura and it was reaching several meters all around him. It hurt all the time, and with each person experiencing it, the feedback made the pain go up.

So the prince shut his eyes and ducked his head, trying and failing to prevent his clenched fists from shaking. Focusing to the exclusion of all else on the throbbing pain it awoke in his left arm, and his chest. Channeling every ounce of will into suppressing the torrents again and losing track of time and the outside world as he did.

Maybe he was a strange creature, but he'd always preferred guilt ten times over the feeling of absolute uselessness he experienced every time his best wishes got turned into something that hurt everyone else. He'd always been like that.

It was a much more bitter realization to see that he'd always been a danger to those around him, and that now it was in a much more straightforward way. He could accept that his actions could have consequences, but _directly_ inflicting suffering upon his people was something he rejected with his whole being, and yet, that was what he'd done, and what he was doing again. Just the smallest slip of his willpower and that pain would flare through everyone again...

Stone, it had all been for nothing.

By the time he opened his eyes and looked up again, the flames of the braziers had dimmed and he was all alone. He'd probably been alone for a long while. Poor Pyral, he'd probably felt rejected but still respected him and walked away. He'd probably learned about his breakdown too, before coming for his visit here.

Moving came hard to the warden, but he managed to remember how to put one foot in front of the other, his mind recovering from the daze his aching arm and chest had left it in. He didn't even glance at Endrin's dark stone casket as he passed it, or at Bhelen's alcove next to it.

His target was a bit further in, at the end of that branching corridor. He brushed the dust off the inscription stone and read the years again, even though he knew them better than anything. On any other day, he might have started to tell stories, talk to himself as though she were still there, chuckling at his antics.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the scarf, his holiest possession turned into a murderer's instrument. "Looks like you were wrong about me mother." It hurt to see it go, but he folded the scarf and left it on her coffin. "Kind of means you got my name totally wrong, huh?"

He thought he could leave it at that. He hoped he could walk out without any more feelings simmering, without the urge to say his piece, but it was not to be. He only got five steps past his father's tomb when he could no longer stop himself from glaring at it, and Bhelen's tomb too. "I could say so many things," he murmured, the disdain and disappointment in his words startling him, not that it showed. "I could call you so many names. Selfish, arrogant, conceited , _greedy_ men..." He paused, and then his voice perfectly conveyed his opinion of them. "Murderers_._"

Or were they...

For once, he wasn't interested in semantics. "But in truth, there's only one word that can truly encompass everything that you were..." He glared at them in turn, long and hard. "_Idiots_. Both of you are _such_ idiots."

At last he was able to will his feet to lead him away, and the braziers shut, pair by pair, as he climbed up the stairs. His pace was set, rhythmic.

Only to freeze again when he reached the antechamber and found Harowmont still there, sitting on a chair with his back to him, hunched forward. He was just a couple of meters away, oh Stone, what should he do...?

Raonar couldn't, _wouldn't_ look at him. He couldn't see another person he'd exploited start shedding tears of relief at seeing him alive. And it wasn't because of some sort of guilt, but because it only served to drive home the point that, in the end, he'd not managed to do a damn thing. Everything he'd tried, all the effort he'd put, everything had been turned, twisted, used to bring Orzammar and everyone in it closer to ruin. He'd always _known_ this could happen, and he'd vowed to keep trying as long as he could, but that was just _it, _he _couldn't_ go anymore. One slip, one loose rein on his emotions, and what happened, the _red_ would happen again. To everyone.

Harrowmont stood and rounded on him, wrapping his arms around him before he could blink. It was such a shock that he didn't move at all. The man's heart was pumping. He could feel it so clearly with their bodies pressed so tightly together. The poor old man was clutching at him like he was the only thing that mattered. It made no sense. Even though he had no children of his own, the man still had a wife, he had nephews, he had his own family to be attached to instead of him, why was he-

His thoughts were derailed. Dear Pyral planted a kiss on his right temple and hugged him again.

And then he let go and turned around to leave, and leave he did, with large steps, a shuddering breath making his throat tremble as he closed the stone door after him. He probably hoped it would be enough to prevent him from being heard as he drew breath through a nose that only one thing could cause to sound so clogged.

_It's the thought that counts, huh?_

There was blood staining the left side of his shirt. If it had appeared now or was already there since the first time he walked in on the older dwarf, he wasn't sure.

Poor Harrowmont. He probably thought he could drop dead at any moment.

Raonar swayed and involuntarily covered his heart with his good hand.

Then again, he was probably right.

"-. .-"

This time, Trian didn't take his time with revelry. As soon as he realized he was waking up, which meant that he'd fallen asleep like a useless sot _again_, he shot to a sitting position almost giving himself whiplash. His vision blurred from the sudden movement so he cradled his throbbing forehead with his left hand and felt around with his right for the edge of the bed, eventually finding and swinging his legs over it.

He didn't really wait for the dizzy spell to wear off though. He shot his eyes around the room, praying to the Ancestors that-

Ah, there he was. Standing in front of the mirror.

Putting on the black armor of the Legion of the Dead. He already had the cuirass and leg armor on, and the boots. The left pauldron was what he was affixing at the moment.

He'd heard him wake up. Trian was sure of that, but he didn't really have his mind on it. He didn't even think of checking for broken glass on the floor before standing to his feet. "What are you doing?"

No answer. His brother just finished the spaulder and proceeded to the brace that would cover his upper arm, over his chain sleeve.

"Brother-"

"You know, I always disliked massive armors." That low baritone was so mild, so casual in its utterance that it made Trian stumble, figuratively and literally, even though he hadn't tried to take even one step. "I still do." And his white-haired family member droned on, like he hadn't been in a coma for weeks. Like he _hadn't_ suffered the worst panic attack of his life less than a day earlier. "They're so annoying to put on, and so awkward to move in. And it's almost impossible to use your fingers for anything with those gauntlets on."

"..."

"And they always wear you down. You can't walk around in them for too long before they start holding you back." He finished the elbow pad and picked up his bracer. Tuck tuck, clink. "Yeah. I always did feel like I needed something to hold me back... To prevent me from going too far."

The words were left unsaid, but Trian somehow _knew_ what the message was. Something to hold him back, in absence of some_one_ to do it instead. Someone he respected. Someone he could share the load with. Maybe even defer to...

"I hate my name too." The mild disinterest conveyed through that utterance made Trian shoot him a baffled look. "Seriously, it's such a chore to pronounce, it doesn't mesh at all with our multi-syllable family name, it's in some language that no one's heard of before, from some sealed scrolls mother somehow dug up." Tuck, click. The bracer was affixed. "Rah-oh-nahr. Ugh. It's the one reason I have no problem being addressed as 'my lord' or 'your highness.'"

"Brother, what..." the firstborn trailed off, still staring.

"And don't even get me started on the meaning." He was fiddling with his right pauldron now. "'Raonar' is supposed to mean luster, brilliance, something deserving of being looked upon in awe. Stone's mercy, what was mother smoking when she found it?" He actually craned his neck to glance at him with a deadpan look. "Did you know that was originally supposed to be _your_ name?"

Trian blinked. As a matter of fact, he did not.

His sibling had his back to him again. "Mother wanted _you_ to be called this, but father didn't want his firstborn and heir to have such a troublesome name, so they compromised and agreed to name the second child that instead. Emphasis on 'child.' Father hoped for a daughter, since it would make the name unusable and he could argue later that the agreement didn't extend to the third "child" if they ever had one."

This whole anecdote had come so far out of left field that Trian was seeing strange spots.

"So instead of me getting a less presumptuous and more fitting moniker, like Duran or something, I got landed with this weird sound mishmash." Tick, clop, pat. His second bracer got its turn. "And then little brother came around and, after a nice childhood and a fairly uneventful adolescence, led one of the most wasteful lives in history..."

There really wasn't anything he could say to that. So he just kept staring at his brother's back.

"We could have been great, you know? The three of us, Instead of turning into so much dust..." White eyes drifted to the pile of shards, crumbs and grit. Had he been the one who swept the room clean? "Even after all this mess, I could have gotten him assigned some menial labor. He'd have been approached by his more sneaky allies and we would have rooted them all out. After that, as time passed and he learned some humility, some common sense, I'd've managed to get his relationship to the city thawed out, bit by bit."

"Brother, this can still-"

"The two of us could have handled the backroom politics, making sure no blackmail or threats could roam around. Keeping all those spiteful people in line. And you..."

Him. He knew what was coming, and he probably shouldn't have felt so hurt, so betrayed. But it was clear, really. A puppet king. He couldn't have become anything else. Then again, it wasn't like he was much of a "resource" that his brother could mold into something great. He was just-

"You would have been the most important."

Trian gawked, lifting his eyes from the floor. He hadn't realized his gaze was downcast. And now, his brother was looking at him, straight at him, with a ghost of that strange affection he used to convey when he was six years old and thought his big brother was the best thing in the world.

"A stubborn piece of work, completely uninterested in all this venomous cheating." he turned around again and, after a pause, picked up the gauntlet. "I said this before. An agent dropped into a difficult environment usually has to change, to adapt in order to survive. But if it has enough protection, enough help, it can bullheadedly refuse to give ground and, instead of dying, it just keeps one _being_ until the environment has no choice but to mutate instead." For a while, he looked at his reflection in the full-size mirror. "You could have started a chain reaction so grand. Someone who didn't doubt. You never really had a problem in that area, you always wanted to do what was right. Your only failing was that you were confused about which was which for a while."

It was such a humbling experience, to realize that his younger brother had always been doing the same thing, grooming him into a king. _His_ king.

The change of subject came like a smack on the head. "Figures that the garb of the dead would fit me so perfectly."

"You speak as though none of this can still happen."

"That's because it's true."

"No it isn't! I'm still here, _you're _still here."

"You're still half asleep if you can actually say that." That flat rebuke bit deeply. "Maybe you haven't noticed Trian, but I'm not all here and I doubt I ever will-"

"You can-t know that-"

"-and it's not like anything I did actually turned out well anyway."

"How can you say that? If not for you then-"

"I know how Gorim was crippled."

Trian's mouth clamped shut. That was the worst thing that could have happened. "That's still not... Oh, Stone dammit."

"And none of you told me," the voice was totally cold. "You, Gorim, Harrowmont, Baizyl, all of you have been keeping this from me. You may as well have been lying to my face."

"That's different!"

"Is it?" Raonar glanced back at him before turning his back again. "And how long until you started to outright lie to me? And to everyone else?" And he didn't seem to actually take it personally at all. "How long until you slipped and start doing the same mistakes I did?"

"What the hell are you talking about? You _never_ lied!"

"Yes I did!" It was the first time he'd raised his voice during that conversation, and he was rewarded with a jolt of pain. The secondborn managed to react with just a slight twitch but it was there, and it left him stiff like a statue. "To myself. Stone, if you only knew what enormities I wrote in that letter to Harrowmont, painting an inflated image of Bhelen, letting my pride affect my reactions, that he was _my_ brother, so he _had_ to have possessed high enough political acumen that such drastic actions were required on my part. When in fact, the only reason he got so far was my own indulgence. When in fact, the only reason he ever really got an assassin close to Harrowmont was because I provided him with the _perfect tool_."

Trian flinched at the anger broadcasting, mixed with obvious physical distress.

"And now, now... now you're starting to do it too, and all because I put you in the situation. Before long, you'll start telling "white" lies, and then you'll have to tell others, bigger ones in order to cover up those, and before you know it your words will kill, often even without you meaning it."

"No, no I won't! You're not the only one who would die first, I swe-"

"Don't!" His brother shouted and flinched at another flare of pain, still not turning to face him. "Don't promise Trian, don't make promises, because when you break them, you'll feel guilty and inadequate, and your lowering self esteem will lead you down the path where you'll just keep breaking your word and your morals because you'll think 'hey, I broke that one, most important promise which means I just can't keep my word, so I should accept it and stop bothering.' And then, eventually, you really _will_become the sort of scum you think you are and you won't know how it all happened."

"You..." Trian was stunned. He talked as if... "Why do you speak as though you believe you're already at that point?"

"I _don't _believe that, but who's to say I'm not deluded? If Bhelen was deluded enough to _want_ to believe father killed uncle, what guarantee is there that I don't have some stupid conviction too?" That didn't make sense. "I did all I could to make sure I could say that, from at least one point of view, I didn't actually lie throughout all of this, but that only made me have others do it in my stead. Gorim, Bazyl, Pyral... Paragons help me, poor Pyral... what I had him tell father... That lie, that one lie I had Harrowmont say ended up in father's death."

"But that wasn't your fault, Stone blast it!" Train snapped. "Father's death wasn't your fault! Please, you have to realize, it wasn't your fault and Bhelen's wasn't either!"

"Dammit Trian, that's the PROBLEM!" The inactive runes flashed as the white prince whirled around and swat the air aside in barely suppressed rage. "My plan was flawless. Perfect, Spotless in its execution. I did _everything_ right, and in the end, he still died." Even with sweat beading on his brow, nothing could stop him from saying the rest. "How, by the Stone, is that supposed to make me feel any better?"

Trian didn't know when, but he'd sat on the corner of the bed at some point, staring dumbly at the only other person there.

Raonar let his weight bear down on the desk behind him and locked his eyes on the pile of debris.

And the silence stretched on and on.

It came as a surprise to Trian that it was he that broke it. "Did..." He ended up staring at that pile of mess too. This was such a difficult thing to ask, even more so than he'd expected. "Did father really... do that to uncle?"

"I don't know, Trian." All businesslike again. His brother moved in front of the closet and pulled the doors open. "Does it matter?" He picked out a cloak, a black one, and tossed him a passing glance as he made his way to the mirror again. "It's not like it can lower your worth."

"What are you getting ready for?"

"You know the answer."

"You can't just leave!" Trian jumped to his feet. "You're not healed! And why the sod leave at all?"

"Why not?" Again flat and cold.

The first prince almost broke out running. He wanted to charge over, grab him by the shoulders, shake him and yell at him until he came to his senses, but something stayed him. "So what, you think you can just walk out and act like you don't feel anything about this?"

The ceramic clasp of the cloak crushed into bits in Raonar's metal grasp. "They don't care about each other, why should I?" He tossed the cloak on the back of a chair and went to the closer for a different one. "They _killed_ my mother," he found one, "they sought your death _and_ mine, some of them just because this was the _game_," He made for the mirror again, not looking at him even once. "They _killed_ my little brother Trian, why should I still care what happens to them?"

"You don't mean any of that and you know it!" The heir couldn't hold it in any more, he couldn't stop himself from lashing out. "You think I can't tell there's no venom in anything you said? If there is anything true about you, it's that you can't _not_ care! If there's anything at all sure about this is that you've always cared about everyone too much!"

"Feh!" The cloak flourished around him, settling over his body. "Of course I care. This is, after all, the one area where logic just can't seem to have the appropriate effect. Regardless of how I feel about this, I just can't seem to shake off this attachment I have to this carved-out rock."

"Listen..." Desperate for some leverage, Trian tried the one thing that seemed to work during the assembly mess. "Look, I understand how you feel-"

"No! Fortunately, you don't!" Suddenly, he was facing him, silver orbs glaring right at him. "You don't know how it feels to see everything you spent your whole life on come to nothing! You don't know how it feels to be shown that your best intentions, your greatest efforts only ended up in the suffering of everyone you ever associated with! You can't understand how it feels to have your holiest possessions turned into murder weapons for the sake of some stupid life or death game that "nobles" define their existence by!"

"Dammit man! Anger is still anger!"

"But that's not even close, dammit!" The walls shimmered again, both arms swat the air aside and the _red_ flashed in those haunted eyes. "You think I feel insulted? You think I'm whining? You think that's what this is? It's not that simple! You want to know how I feel? You want to know how I sodding feel? The only thing I feel right now is a complete and utter _shame_! I am ashamed I was _ever_ born a dwarf, because when I think of my own people, I am absolutely _disgusted_!"

Trian reeled back as if punched in the face, but couldn't try to pick that way of thinking apart. He couldn't because he felt the same way at one point, before realizing he wasn't much better than most. And yet... Something was _off_ about this. What his brother said... it sounded so much like complaining, but it couldn't be. Somehow, Trian knew it wasn't. Wished it wasn't. "What could have possible left you like this?"

"Astounding!" Sarcastic disbelief was dripping in spades. "Trian... This isn't about just one time. This isn't something minor. Don't you get it? Don't you know who you're speaking to?" White flared around the doors to the closet and they shut at his glare. "I can move things just by looking at them. My battle skill is peerless among our people. My charisma is damn near unsurpassed, oh, and let's not forget." He lunged his arm at the pile of trash and a bolt of force smashed it apart, throwing dust and broken glass in every direction. "I can sodding destroy things just by waving in their direction. I've gone above and beyond the sodding apex of our race's development, and yet everything I've done has amounted to _nothing_. Again and again, I did my fucking _best_ and it wasn't enough. I gave everything except my life, but nothing worthwhile came out of it. And I had plenty of help, so you can't say I tried to do it alone either."

As Trian struggled to figure out just what point his brother wanted to make, Raonar gingerly retrieved the broom and dustman's shovel and started cleaning up again, steadily and methodically. And then... "Maybe _we're_ the disease."

"..."

Raonar went about his task as he talked. "We cheat each other, murder each other, murder each other's _children_ to feed our pride, our feeling of being in control. Even when we work together we only do that when we decide to cheat _everyone else_ in some way or another. And let's not forget, at least one prince in our history sold his soul to a demon just to gain the power needed to murder their own subjects instead of "losing" them to the darkspawn. He didn't even contemplate the blatantly obvious choice that he could have sold just his _own_ soul for the power to kill those creatures and let his kin escape. No, their "subjects" had to be _theirs _to kill_. _And as if that wasn't enough, we are mired in lies, not by tragedy or necessity, but choice. All we produce is lies. Lies upon lies upon lies. Maybe the darkspawn are just this world's immune system, trying to get rid of us."

"Okay, that's enough of that!"

"Oh, but it is not," he coolly drawled as he emptied the shovel into the waste bin and went to fill it again. "Didn't you ever wonder why the Darkspawn even attacked us first? The humans have this silly legend that it was some magisters breaching the golden city in the Fade that became like this, that that "Maker" of their cursed them, but isn't it odd that they somehow ended up in the Deep Roads instead of Tevinter? Isn't it strange that _we're_ the ones that have to deal with them?"

Trian eyed him warily. "What are you trying to say?"

Raonar paused with eyes narrowed. "Isn't it far more likely _we_ led to the appearance of the darkspawn ourselves."

"... You can't be serious!"

"Oh please!" he scoffed, resuming his cleaning routine. "There are thaigs older than history that were built by magic. There were times when we worshipped strange gods, probably these Old Gods themselves now that I think about it. When we had lyrium idols that could warp minds and twist sanity around, the same way control rods work on golems, even though they're essentially dwarves themselves."

The eldest stared, mystified.

"This darkspawn disease may just be a failed experiment on the part of some stupid dwarven alchemists from times long past, or the result of some rituals conducted with the help of surface mages. All it would have taken was for an ancient thaig to stay sealed for a hundred years or so, and then get breached and there we are. Or, my personal favorite, an attempt at making a cursed toxin that worked too well. I can imagine it now, some evil noble with slitted eyes, in front of a cauldron, cackling "mwa-ha-ha" at how he was _so_ going to get back at that nemesis of his for humiliating him at the last royal feast by winning the attention of the woman he'd wanted for himself, the one with the curviest hips."

The elder's mind was spinning with the implications and unrelated hypotheses.

Raonar emptied another shovel and looked pensive. "I shudder to think what the surface world would react like if it turned out either of those was the case. How suddenly our surface kin would become despised, or at least distrusted." Finishing that, he walked to the mirror to readjust his cloak. "Stone's blood... So much evidence suggesting that we're a cancer all on our own..."

"You don't believe that.' It wasn't a question. They both knew that.

The warden slumped against the vanity desk so suddenly that Trian almost charged at him, thinking he was going to have a seizure again. Only his words prevented him from doing so. "Do you get it now Trian?" That haunted voice was back. "Everything I've done turned out for the worst, and that can _only_ mean that I just haven't been doing a fucking thing right." He wasn't even bemoaning his own fate. He was just stating the only thing he had left to cling to. "It can only mean _that_. The only alternative is that Orzammar is determined to commit suicide, that no matter how much I or anyone else struggles, _nothing_ can make any difference anymore, and I just can't accept that." He faced his sibling then and crossed his arms and threw them aside "I _won't_." He was utterly, completely rejecting that possibility. "I _refuse_!"

The heir continued to stare, unable to form any response, shaken as he was, again and again.

Raonar was leaning against the desk now, both hands together rubbing his face. "I always told myself that I'd keep going, that as long as I still had a sound body I would push forward, but now I don't have even that." He let his arms drop to his sides. "There's only one thing this broken husk can be of any use for now." He faced away another time but only stared at his reflection "To go up against the Archdemon and die along with it."

"No, stop it." There really wasn't anything left to try. "The city's already accepted you back, the people _want _you back..." His words broke off. Speaking to someone who wasn't even looking at you was just depressing, but he still had to say it. For him as much as for himself. "**I** want you back."

Raonar was looking at the door and had his right hand holding onto the front of his cloak. He didn't walk forward.

"Look, you don't have to do anything." Finally, finally he took some steps towards him, even though he could only cross half the distance. "It's my turn now, I'll... I'll handle things somehow. You just stay, you need rest until y-"

"I'm dying."

That stopped him easily. He'd been fooling himself. He knew it, but just as his brother refused to accept that Orzammar was a lost cause, Trian couldn't accept that rather than heal, there was a higher chance of... whatever was holding the blood back to just... suddenly stop working.

"I'm not staying." It was barely heard. "I can't stay here and be useless. Guilt would be manageable, but not this."

His brother made a step, and it hurt. It hurt to be walked out on that way. It hurt to have to use underhanded means too, but not as much. "Then you _are_ a liar_._"

The warden literally stumbled.

"'Don't worry, big brother.'" Trian didn't even try to contain his frustration and rage. "That's what you told me when we finally came out in the open. 'I'll take half of whatever venom they spew at us' you said, and then you went ahead and took it _all_!"

It was the first evidence of hesitation of that whole morning, but a sigh was the only true reaction to that. "Oh Trian..." It was such a pained murmur. "What you've seen so far isn't even close to half."

"Dammit all!" Trian yelled. "There really isn't anything I can say, is there?"

"No... There isn't." He didn't look back. He purposely strode towards the door and reached for the handle.

"You'd better come back." Trian drew a shaky breath and closed his eyes in an attempt to school his features into something resembling calm. He wanted so dearly to run to him, to hold him and not let go. "You still have to make me king." But he couldn't. He wouldn't. He wouldn't be the only one of them to get closure. He couldn't let his brother suffer on his own again. It was so clear now, how much sorrow he felt, how much pain, everyone's pain he bore on his own.

If guilt and rejection were the only things he could draw on to suffer along with him, if this was the closest thing to _being_ there for him, there was no question as to what he would do. If he couldn't make that pain go away, he'd suffer too. He deserved so much worse. He'd caused all of this. If he hadn't been the first to betray him like that, everything would have gone so differently...

"Don't do this to yourself big brother." He'd hugged him. While Trian was keeping his eyes shut and striving to hold himself back, Raonar had turned, walked to him and hugged him. "You're a good man Trian." _No. _"And you've already paid for your mistakes." _No. Please No. _"So don't inflict suffering on yourself. It was never something I wanted people to do." _No, brother, don't. Don't. _"Thanks for trying to guilt trip me into coming back." _No. Don't give me comfort... _"But I don't expect to be returning." _Damn you, brother, for doing this._ _For never letting me be there for you... suffer with you... _"And I don't want guilt to ruin you later on, for not hugging me when you had the chance, for not doing your best to make me change my mind." He felt it then, the warmth in the embrace that somehow made itself felt even through so much dragonbone and steel. The warmth of his cheek against his own. "So do it now."

So he did. What he'd originally wished for but held himself back from. He could feel the familiar feeling of tears streaking his face as he wrapped him in his two arms as tight as he could. "Please..." The best to make him change his mind. It was such a short and simple request, and even though he knew what answer he would get, he put all his feeling into it. Everything. "Please stay." He didn't want to let go. He didn't...

But when his brother pulled away, his arms released him despite his wishes. "I always thought you were the only person in a better position to help our people than me." Those eyes were staring through him, somewhere far off, far back. "But I can't do it to you. If I was still sound of body, I might be willing to try but... Like this, you'd be alone. No _one_ person can fix this mess, and I won't be the one to start you off on that road... To sacrifice you." He looked up in his eyes for one last time. He was still shorter and, oh Stone, he looked so tired and pale, and worn. "As it is now... Orzammar isn't _worth_ you Trian."

It was always like this. He was a fool that just couldn't think of anything right to say.

Raonar smiled sadly and took his right gauntlet off, the one he'd so painstakingly tied on with his non-dominant hand. Just so he could reach up and wipe his tears. "I really am I horrible little brother. I made you cry again." The hand slipped behind his head to pull is lower, closer. Close enough for a last kiss on the forehead. "I'm practically a dead man walking, Trian." Their brows pressed against each other. "So thanks, I suppose. For outliving me."

There were no more words after that.

His brother just left silently, closing the door behind him.

Only after a long time of staring at it did Trian realize that the Shield of Aeducan had been left behind.

"-. .-"

The assembly session had started a while ago, but the main topic had been derailed almost from the start by the news that Vartag Gavorn had been murdered in his cell. No sooner had the report been delivered that accusations of conspiracy begun to jump from one side of the hall to another, voices rose and fell, gasps and cheers intermingled.

Only one Denek Helmi sat back in his chair and sighed, uninterested in participating in the bickering. His vision kept being drawn to that weapon in the middle, the one nobody had been able to pull out, even when more than one of the mightiest fighters tried at the same time.

Thus, he was the only one who noticed the sword in the stone starting to glow. It was faint at first, but it steadily intensified until the light from the runes was literally shining from within that skull. With each second, the young deshyr's mouth gaped farther and his eyes grew wider. He kept leaning forward, drawn by the sight and what it could signify.

And then the assembly chamber doors burst open with a loud smash.

Everyone suddenly gained the countenance of a frightened, wet nug.

Lord Aeducan stood in the doorway, eyes closed.

And then he strode forth, right up to the glowing sword, reached down and, with no visible effort whatsoever, pulled it out as though the floor was not even there. A piercing snik filled the air and white light surrounded the azure blade as it emerged, not in the least disturbing the skull it used to keep in place, but it faded just as quickly when the sword found its sheath.

The prince turned his back on them all, not acknowledging their presence the slightest bit, and walked out.

Then again, there was probably no need for him to even try to convey any feeling. Laryn's skull glared at them all more than enough on its own.


	68. Myth Chase Arc 1: Nexus Portentous

Due to some work, a business trip overseas and some family matters, I'll have a lot to do over the next couple of months. This means that whatever hopes I had of narrowing down the gap between updates have been butchered and ground into dust. Alas.

* * *

**Chapter 65: Nexus Portentous**

"-. .-"

_Excerpt from journal of Senior Enchanter Wynne_

_ 05 Eluviesta, 9:31, Dragon: Even though we left Orzammar early enough yesterday that we would have reached the Circle Tower by evening today if we hurried, we ended up spending more time than expected at the crossroads. Rinne just wouldn't leave when Raonar told her. It took him two hours just to talk to her and reassure her enough that she finally agreed to accompany Theron, Shale and Kallian to Soldier's Peak. That wolf and even Gwen's mabari went with them. The latter happened when it was clear Rinne wouldn't leave without a big enough incentive, and though it was Gwen's idea, she definitely didn't look all that pleased after the fact. Nor now really._

_ Looking back, I'm astonished they managed to convince that dog to go willingly at all. It was probably owed to the incredible patience Raonar exhibited while he essentially explained the reason. To a dog. Knowing the hound probably didn't understand half of what he was telling her._

_ Then again, even people would have trouble wrapping their minds around the fact that it would only take the dwarf one slip of his temper for that painful aura of his to broadcast and hurt, probably kill the unborn cubs. All this is made worse by the fact that he could keel over and die at any moment, which means that there is a very real possibility for those two to never meet again._

_ Maker's breath..._

_ I'm not surprised Alim decided we would go to the Circle again before anything else. There is no other place we can check for some way to undo what happened. Whatever it is. I was taken a bit off guard when Raonar didn't even look like he intended to reclaim his position as leader, although I guess I shouldn't have. Still, it's is so puzzling, worrisome even, to see him follow, and so silently when he used to be just short of a chatterbox. He barely said a word since we left and that was so strange that I had to look back and check if he was still with us, multiple times._

_ The snow helped him walk more silently than usual too, so eventually I just couldn't take the strain on my neck from twisting it back so much and just moved to the back of the party, next to Sten, who seemed to have had the same thing in mind as myself when he chose that spot. I am still confused Faren didn't do this, but he's been very strange since the day Raonar woke up. If possible, he's even more quiet and reluctant to interact with anyone. Even Kallian. I think Alim noticed it and sent the lass off with Theron on purpose._

_ I'd half expected Oghren to make up for the silence of our two dwarves. He offered to join us a week after Raonar's lapse into a coma, boisterously saying we could use a replacement dwarf. Faren glared at him long and hard and he made the addendum "extra fighter, sheesh, I didn't mean nothin' else." I still wonder why Alim agreed and why Oghren didn't reconsider his decision to leave Orzammar behind when Raonar suddenly showed up again. The berserker seems a bit adverse to him for some reason. Probably having something to do with Branka's death._

_ Even he failed to dispel the gloom though. While he had a strange reaction upon seeing the surface, he's only been walking and drinking from his seemingly inexhaustible supply of ale since. Zevran only managed to force a couple of stealth insults at him before losing interest. Gwen and Alistair are the ones who did most of the talking the past couple of days, mostly for our benefit if I were to guess._

_Tomorrow we'll be at Kinloch Hold to see if we can find anything in the library or the sealed vault that can help us. If not, maybe Caridin will have some ideas._

_ And this is another surprising turn. Raonar knows we are going to the tower only for his benefit, but he didn't protest at us getting sidetracked because of him. I guess that when he said he was passing on the leadership mantle, he meant it, but that he would totally remove himself from the decision making process still came across as mildly shocking. _

_ At least we haven't run into any more darkspawn splinter groups. Would that the news about everything else were as encouraging._

_ We encountered old Tegrin, that dwarven peddler at the pass. He told us that the armies of Teyrn Loghain and that of the Bannorn clashed once already on the western fringes of the Southron Hills, alongside the Drakon River. _

"-. .-"

"It's strange..."

Gwen stopped sharpening her sword and looked across the fire. Alistair was lying sideways, propped on an elbow and with his chin on his right fist. He was staring very intently at their map of Ferelden, even though the light from the fire rune disk didn't make it all that visible. She wondered briefly where that big glowstone was but didn't dwell on it too much. "What is?"

The man glanced at her as if he hadn't known she was still there. Gwen wondered why. Even though the others had left to sulk, or put up the warmth runes around the campsite, she hadn't moved. And she wasn't exactly silent while scraping that sharpening stone along the edge of that weapon.

Plus, the fire was magical and, thus, didn't involve any crackling wood to mask her routine.

"This battle that dwarf merchant talked about. The timing and location are all wrong." Alistair said, returning to his squinty eyed inspection of that map.

Suddenly interested, Gwen abandoned her activity in favor of walking and sitting in front of him.

"See here?" He tapped the spot with his finger. "They fought here, near this bridge, just a short way to the east of Lothering, _south_ of the river Drakon."

"So? It's a good location to secure. The most direct route towards Gwaren, Loghain's land. The road branches off of the old imperial highway and goes right towards the port. Either the Banns wanted to make for that direction or Loghain preempted their move somehow."

The templar shook his head. "But that's just it, it's _too_ good a location." He eyed her with a frown. "Remember how we left Lothering behind?" Gwen nodded. Who could not? They'd fled from the spilling horde after all. "The darkspawn were already that far north of Ostagar, and they didn't all go west, which means that they would have spilled all around the Korcari Wilds. From there, it was either the Brecilian, the Bannorn to the north, or both. Arl Wulf's lands would have been the first to go either way, and that choke point would have been overrun almost immediately. By all accounts, it should have been lost and corrupted as early as four months back."

Gwen started to see where he was going. She remembered that the blighted clouds were visible even from Solider's Peak during their second visit there, but strangely not during the most recent one.

"To actually meet in battle, the army from Gwaren would have had to go north, through Dragon's Peak, and then march along the northern edge of South Reach. Logically, the opposing Banns and Arls would have amassed here by the time it arrived." He pressed his finger somewhere on the northern half of the central plains. "_That's_ where the civil war would have seen its first battle, but instead the first fight happened _here_, just north of the eastern Korcari Wilds." He tapped his chin in thought. Gwen realized he must have shaved again. She always wondered at how he managed to keep his face so clean and do it without anyone seeing him.

"You think the Banns got inventive?"

"No." Alistair frowned. "I _think_ Loghain tried to take them from behind and partially succeeded. See, there's only one way he would have managed to get so close without being spotted, and so fast." He tapped the spot where the marshlands began. "Loghain sent his troops through the Brecilian passage, taking advantage of how the Banns didn't watch over that area after the darkspawn spilled into Ferelden and showed signs of going that way. Somehow, for some reason, he must have kept scouts in the Southron Hills even though the darkspawn were coming that way."

Gwen was chewing on the tip of her thumb. It was a habit her parents hadn't managed to get her rid of. "But if that's true, it means..."

"Right. It means that the darkspawn didn't, in fact, spread that way." The man narrowed his eyes, thinking. "It means they suddenly decided to pull back and go somewhere else long enough ago for Loghain to have enough time for a strategy shift. They probably headed back south trough the wilds. And if the timing is right..." He blinked. "It was probably around the time we ran into the Archdemon in the deep roads."

Gwen stared. "Huh. Talk about an equivalent exchange..."

"No, this is worse than it looks," he replied grimly. "The civil war essentially broke out a couple of months too soon, and Loghain took a huge risk here. And his lighting strike _failed_." Gwen was wondering why Alistair didn't sound elated about it. "That means that the front established here is going to last for a while, and if the Darkspawn come back, just a _liiiitle_ bit further east, the soldiers' supply lines will be cut off. Worse, there won't be many people to fight the horde if it decides to go to Gwaren while the armies are busy killing each other behind them."

"The apparent withdrawal of the darkspawn was misinterpreted when the dark clouds receded..." Gwen was really worried now too.

Alistair pushed himself to sit. "And the darkspawn may just decide to attack both armies from the side. I hoped Loghain was only deliberately downplaying the Blight by calling the horde a minor darkspawn incursion in front of the people, but now I wonder..." He rubbed his eyes a couple of times, unable to mask his concern. Gwen couldn't stop feeling a bit awed. He really was concerned for _everyone_ in Ferelden, regardless of the side they ended up on in this civil war. So much for him feeling like he wasn't king material. "Andraste's flaming sword, this is the perfect recipe for disaster."

Gwen blinked as Alistair didn't even realize what he'd just said. "Oh Maker, you're starting to sound like him..."

"Eh?" He either didn't understand her mumbling or really was clueless.

"Nothing important," Gwen sighed. "I'm turning in." She bend forward for a light kiss on the lips and stood up to leave.

Alistair didn't try to hold her back. He just returned to staring daggers at the map. He was probably going to spend his whole watch shift doing it.

"-. .-"

_Excerpt from journal of Senior Enchanter Wynne_

_ 10 Eluviesta, 9:31, Dragon: Well, even after a few days of research here at the tower, we haven't accomplished much, probably because Irving and Greagoir have proven reluctant to allow us access to the sealed vaults._

_ Since I am a senior enchanter, I should be allowed in by default. I expected them to be wary of Alim being allowed in, but not this total refusal. He'd even there before once, although admittedly without permission, and there are plenty of templars about to keep an eye on us were we let in, most of them quite cordial. Many of the ones that were freed from demon control have been discharged and are under supervision, but the rest, and the ones who replaced them, are quite glad that their comrades are more or less safe instead of dead, although they are somewhat anxious as well._

_ If we don't find something useful, I'm going to insist that we be allowed inside._

_ We first applied that flesh-growing salve our Tranquil manage to distill only once or twice a year, but it didn't work at all. What a waste. I recall being told that Raonar had some and used it on a warrior under his command during that mission that got him exiled. Nothing ever seems to be simple nowadays._

_ After that, it was back to square one._

_ Daria Amell has been helping Alim in gathering artifacts and picking out whatever books could help us in any way. I think Morrigan, who is doing much the same thing, doesn't realize that the glares she's been sending her aren't subtle in the slightest. I think Daria has been involving herself more and more, and trying to capture as much of Alim's time as possible, just to mess with our apostate. I am certain the witch would have started sabotaging her with arcane bolts if she weren't in need of hiding her status as mage._

_ The younglings have proven quite eager to help bring and replace tomes as well, much to our elf's slight annoyance and Morrigan's clear chagrin. I wonder why they are so eager. I know that helping Grey Wardens would have almost any child enter full hyperactive mode, but still._

_ Caridin and the tranquil have been studying and testing the enchantments on the Lifegiver to see why they don't seem to have what it takes to counteract whatever curse (I can't think of a better term for it) that Raonar is under. Nothing was uncovered yet, so they've decided to try a different experiment today. Hopefully we'll get some answers at last because the Blight isn't going to wait for us forever._

"-. .-"

She didn't really _have_ to be there for the test run. The only people whose presence was required, barring a dozen twitchy templars, were Caridin, Alim, three other mages (Daria, Irving and Wynne), five tranquil (including that Owain guy) and, of course, Raonar himself. That didn't mean she didn't want to be there for this though. Well, actually it did. She honestly didn't look forward to seeing those unhealing injuries fully, but she'd made her decision.

She wondered what those four left behind at the Lake Calenhad inn were doing. Oghren she could get. He thought someone he knew worked there She was most puzzled over the fact that Faren had chosen to stay there. She'd have thought he'd not want to be away from Raonar's side. At least Zevran was there in case things got weird.

Gwen blinked. Zevran in the position of weirdness _buffer_ instead of cause was... peculiar.

Having Sten stay behind as well was the only other unexpected choice on Alim's part. Gwen had brought it up with him. She was, understandably, concerned that the Qunari wouldn't appreciate being kept away from his "kadan", especially when he _knew_ they were going to conduct _magical experiments_ on the latter. Alim acknowledged her point and said that he wasn't going to have the party stay at the tower for more than several days, the time it took for Theron and Kallian to catch up with them.

The Blight wasn't going to wait. All the mage could afford to do was find a book, a scroll, _something_ to go on, a trail towards a spell or some such that would help Raonar somehow. Maybe. _Then_ he'd leave the research in the hands of someone else (Daria, if Gwen were to guess, or maybe that Finn, even if he did seem obsessed with keeping his clothes spotless) and tell the dwarf to remain here while they rounded up the other allies. _Order_ him to stay if he objected.

With luck, it wouldn't take more than two weeks to go to the Brecilian Forest, enlist the elves and return to Kinloch Hold to check on whatever progress was made. There was no conceivable reason for the Dalish elves to _not_ be able to respond to the call. Besides, after running into a zombie apocalypse in Redcliffe, Loghain starting a civil war, the Abomination armada at the Circle Tower and that veritable disaster in Orzammar, it would be just too absurd, contrived even, for the last of their potential allies to have some catastrophe of their own just _waiting_ for the Grey Wardens to walk in on.

They'd chosen the restored medical wing on the fourth level for the tests. It was a large, spacious room. The furniture had yet to be returned, following whatever cleansing and veil-stabilizing rituals they remaining mages had conducted. The templars were lined along the walls. Alistair was the only one further in and not wearing his helmet. He stood behind the dwarf and the circle of tranquil around him. She caught his eyes briefly and Gwen could, for once, not read anything from his glance.

Gwenith had elected to stand somewhat to the side of the door. She had a good view of that dwarf's front, only slightly obstructed by two of the five branded ex-mages. Caridin was opposite from Alistair and, around him and the latter, Alim, Wynne and the other two had taken post, with staves in front of them, on the rune circle drawn into the floor. Once the signal was given, they would raise a forcefield around the ones inside the circle and activate the runes. They were similar to the ones that Alim had drawn on the walls, back in the Orzammar Royal palace.

Alistair's participation wasn't really required, but Alim agreed easily to it when told that he (Alistair) only wanted to make sure whoever was at Raonar's back was someone they knew and trusted. The mage knew well how rash Templars could be when things seemed like they were getting out of control, and with Raonar things seemed to go from weird to absurd more often than not.

The atmosphere was pretty tense. Gwen's eyes fluttered over to Leliana, standing on the other side of the door. The bard was squinting and chewing on her right thumb, like she sometimes did. Morrigan would have probably scoffed at the sight if she was paying attention, which she was not. At just two feet from Gwen herself, she was leaning against the wall, arms folded in front of her chest.

"Right, so I'm supposed to just... overcharge this ring so you can see the enchantment in action better? And how it clashes with this... whatever it is?" The former commander's voice barely transmitted a shade reservation, and even that was more of an emotional inflection than he'd produced over the past few days. He'd barely opened his mouth really.

"Whenever you are ready, your highness."

The dwarf's eye twitched minutely. Caridin insisted on showing him deference and he apparently didn't appreciate it much.

Not saying anything more, he extended his right hand forward, the ring gleaming on his finger, and the process started.

Gwen felt it, for just a split second. That odd pain in her chest and arm, but the mages activated their barrier immediately as the tranquil gazed on. Magic coursed, misted around the dwarf's whole body as the emotionless mages slid some runes, one each, around him, taking some sort of readings that she didn't ask to be filled in on. She suspected she'd have failed to wrap her mind around the explanations anyway.

Raonar was bare from the waist up. The gaping wounds were there and were the only ones that did not give off light. The look on his face almost didn't betray the pain he was in, but there was one extra crease between his eyebrows that Gwen could see, even from that distance.

Several minutes into the scene he swayed and the magic pulsed, losing its constancy. "Nngh..."

"No, just a little more..." Owain urged. He sounded... faintly intrigued? Why did that set off alarms? "These readings-"

"Break it off." Alim struck his staff on the ground and the anti-magic rune flared to life below them, snuffing out whatever aura was left.

The dwarf's arm fell to his side and he winced and breathed laboriously. All too quickly, he pulled the Lifegiver off his finger and handed it to the nearest man who, in turn, passed it to Caridin for inspection.

"Hmm..." the Paragon golem rumbled. "No lingering effects at all. Strange."

"Okay, now the second part," Daria said. She waved at the ground, canceling the null magic rune and getting ready once more.

The second stage was when Raonar had to draw on the fade like he did in battle. To see how it interacted with this curse, why the inherent regeneration didn't work and if it was different from the one instilled by the Lifegiver.

The prince took a deep breath and closed his eyes, slouching forward just a tiny amount. He begun slow, lighting up like before as the forcefield appeared around the group again. His hair started to glide and the shadows on him faded, more and more until they were gone. Gwen could practically feel the amazement and bafflement on the faces of everyone who hadn't seen it before. The templars were outright spooked and tense, Irving's mouth was ajar and he would have probably looked ridiculous if he the light didn't obscure his face.

They'd been _told_ about what he could do, but to see a dwarf, of all things, do something like this, summon more energy than any mage could (except Alim and Wynne, but they didn't know that) was nothing short of remarkable.

Then the hum reached their ears, even in spite of the forcefield, and it wasn't truly a hum at all, more like the far away sound of a great waterfall. It became clearer as more magic poured. Even Gwen could feel the air becoming thick with it, forcefield or no. Motes of light slid through the barrier in spite of the four mages' efforts.

"What in the Maker's name..." Yeah, Irving was shocked. It was probably his wavering that allowed the energy to seep out. The white light shone bright, almost completely concealing the one at the center, and the tranquil were shielding their faces with their hands, runes in their grasp pulsing erratically.

Gwen reached out and indulged in the minor fantasy of directing that white, glistening, translucent strand that had ended up floating in front of her. She didn't expect a reaction, and that only made it more surprising when the energy curled and writhed, settling above her palm. Not meaning to, she thought about the magic folding, compressing, and it _did_. She felt an odd heat behind her eyes as it gathered in a tight, shiny ball.

Raonar hissed. "This. Is... a bad idea-" he gasped out. One of the tranquil took a hold of him, only to double over, scarcely noticed in the ocean of near-impregnable brightness.

She should have been paying attention, but she was mesmerized by what was closer. By that... response, that small globe... She crushed it in her fist, and it was like a rush of adrenaline flooding her, from her fingertips all the way to her lungs and brain.

And then the pain stabbed through her.

"Uoogh!" The scream wasn't hers. It came from the center, but she did shut her eyes for a moment, enough to miss the white turn _ red_ for a briefest of instants.

"Shut it down, NOW!" Alim shouted, striking the anti-magic glyph active.

But it wasn't nearly enough.

Yells and cries of fear or pain echoed off the stone walls and ceiling, barely registered through the explosion. The connection did shut down, but only after Raonar fell to one knee and the Veil _boomed_, like it had done only a few times before. The forcefield didn't collapse, it outright cascaded, unable to contain the energy, and the shockwave blasted away everyone who was close by.

Caridin staggered back half a step, the stone floor cracking under him.

Only Alistair managed to negate the effect somehow. He was already close, one hand on the dwarf's shoulder. "Not now!" The exile slapped it aside and stumbled back, wheezing, forcing the magic to come back, to _stop_, but it _refused_ and there was ghostly pain awakening through everyone again, bit by bit.

"What... what is this?" Gwen froze. The shock, the _awe_ was wrong. Tranquil expressing shock, surprise, or any emotion was _wrong_. "By the maker, what did-?" Owain stood up dazed, rubbing his pale face, palm lingering over the lyrium sun brand on his forehead. "What did you do?" Stupefaction, gratitude, Gwen didn't know which it was. Gwen didn't know _how_ it was.

Wynne groaned as she pushed herself to her knees. "Owain? Are-" She cringed and clutched at her shoulder. "Are you... alright?"

"Alright?" He was delighted. "This is... I feel incredible! I feel... I _feel_ I can _feel_!"

"What did you do?" Another tranquil breathed, just as off-balance. "It's like... you brought a piece of the Fade into this world..."

"They... they're reverting!" A templar shouted, finally getting a grip on himself.

"What?" Another echoed, pulling his sword out in panic. "Is that even possible?"

"It's not! It shouldn't be! "

"Get the Templar Commander in here!" "Unnatural!" "What IS he?"

That made the other three tranquil jump to their feet and look around wildly. "It's back... My mind is my own!" One stared at his hands, and flames took flight from them. "My magic..."

"Restrain them! They're about to lose control!" A third templar cried out. Gwen barely had time to gape at how poorly they were reacting. _Over_reacting. This couldn't bode well and-

"NO! Stay back!" Owain lashed out, spraying fire from his palms. The flames didn't reach anyone but they did make the Templars come to a stop instead of charging him. "My magic, my mind... I didn't even _miss_ it..." He seemed on the verge of tears, but anger took over and he glared at the templar closest to him. "Don't y-" He did a double take when someone thumped on the floor unconscious.

Alim had put the tranquil farthest off to sleep. "No one do anything rash."

"What's going on here!" Greagoir stormed in, Cullen hot on his heels. By pure coincidence, he was on he same floor and close enough to hear the commotion. "What's this shouting about reverting Tranquil!" He finally noticed Owain and his burning hands. And the other three conscious. branded mages, huddled together in a forcefield precariously held by one of them. "What in the Maker's twisted dreams..."

"You!" Owain snarled. "You! YOU gave the order! You did this to me! I should-!" he spasmed and clawed at the front of his robes, tearing fabric. He barely kept on standing.

Gwen knew what he'd just felt. Like being stabbed through the heart and the left arm. She'd felt the exact same thing as he had, and so had everyone else. She could see some spots, but her vision was mostly unimpeded otherwise. She knew what Raonar had just done. He'd let the aura out, just enough to give everyone pause before the armored men jumped the enraged human, but that could only mean he'd felt the same pain, only multiplied by the number of people he'd affected.

He was still conscious, somehow, but the Cousland heir doubted he'd be able to keep kneeling upright if Alistair didn't have his shoulder firmly grasped.

"No..." The tranquil that had stayed silent so far, the young one, Fern if she remembered well, began to mumble. "No no... no-no-no-no-no no..." He clutched at his head and fell to both knees. And he sagged further and began rocking back and forth, as much as the forcefield allowed. "No... it's fading..." back and forth. "It's going away. I'm going to forget again."

"You did this you that child... Greagoir you _bastard_!" Owain howled, apparently recognizing who Fern was. "He's been one for two years... he must have been fourteen when you put that brand on his forehead..." A bolt of force swatted aside one of the templar recruits that had tried to jump and restrain him. "The way he was before wasn't enough for you? It wasn't enough that it was your templars' fault he was like that in the first place?"

"Owain, _calm down._" The templar commander didn't quite manage a order.

"Calm down? I should do my best to kill as many of you as possible." All too quickly, his voice was blank and cold, and though his palms were facing up, wrapped in blue flames, Gwen assumed the tranquil brand was taking effect again. His glare was like steel but appeared to be losing the sharpness as it drifted from one templar to the next, until it came to a stop. He was staring at the one he'd struck just a short time before. "All of you so self-righteous when you're often so much worse than any abomination. Bah! Even if start murdering, I know you'll just raise some other poor fools and force lyrium down their throats."

Everyone with a weapon had it pointed at him now. Even Alim seemed ready to counteract whatever he was about to do. Strange that the Templars hadn't managed to bar magic from him though.

He smirked bitterly. "Mark my words Templars... You'll _all_ end up worse off than us in the end. And you deserve it." He threw his arms wide and the flames roared to life around him-

-only to be snuffed out by a tornado that Daria Amell sent at him. By the horrified look on her face, she didn't understand how she'd interfered in time, only that she _had_ to.

Owain was swept off his feet and rolled on the ground instead of being incinerated to death by his own fire, but he rushed back up as fast as he could. One templar got his hands on him but he burst aflame again, though only for a second. The armored man let go with a yelp and dropped his sword.

"Don't just stand there you idiots! Stop him!" Greagoir yelled.

"No!" Owain saw the dropped weapon and scrambled to pick it up. "I'll kill myself before I forget again!" He was about to push it into his gut when Alim's spell knocked it out of his hands. "Why are you taking their side?" He pleaded desperately. "They were going to do this to your friend! I saw the writ! I was ordered to _scribe_ it!"

"I see what you're trying to do," the elf replied somberly, lowering his wand. His staff had been blasted away earlier. "You can stop. It's done."

Gwen had no idea what was happening but, shockingly, Owain did as he was told. He opened his mouth to utter something, but his face dropped and his posture slackened.

There was silence.

And Owain looked around, unfeeling but curious. "Why are you all staring at me like that?" There was nothing left in his stare and his voice was all bland. He did not grimace, or even blink when he saw the beleaguered templars. His face showed no emotion, even when he looked at a shocked Raonar barely managing to sit up, eyes locked on the lifeless body two meters in front of him.

_Wait..._ Gwen's logic processes came to a screeching halt. When had that happened? _What_ had _happened_? Why was that Fern kid dead?

"Andraste's mercy, what a mess..." Greagoir sighed, palming his face.

No longer having a reason to stand back, the woman slowly walked forward to see if she could make sense of things. It became all too clear, and all too soon. There were holes in the boy's scalp where his fingertips used to be. Holes that had been burned through hair, skin and bone, all the way into his brain. The young tranquil had killed himself when he realized he was going to turn into that empty husk again. When he fell to his knees and grabbed his head, that must have been when... "Maker..." It had been _slow._ _Gradual. _What kind of willpower did that boy have if he could do that? Gwen was sure she wouldn't have been able to withstand such pain, but that boy, at sixteen, had burned, drilled holes through his own head, just like that.

Raonar was more wide-eyed than she'd ever seen him. Gods above, it was one mess after another with him. She wanted to say something, to do something, but she was at a loss. And she was getting angry.

And then the pain crashed into her, into them all. "Guah!" Raonar gasped and, just as suddenly, the air vibrated and another wave of magic blasted everywhere as he hurled himself up and away.

With a leap she didn't see because of her shut eyes, he was crashing through the door. He'd pushed against it and that went against the type of hinges, but instead of stopping him it only led to the hinges being torn asunder. The wood and metal entrance met the ground with an ear-splitting crash that made everyone except Caridin jump.

"Give me that!" Alim shouted, lunging at the Lifegiver that was still on Caridin's open palm. "No one leave this room until I come back!" And he all but flew out after him.

Silence fell, but Gwen didn't notice. there was only a loud throbbing in her ears as she suddenly felt very, very angry, and it wasn't a cold rage. No, it was simmering, bubbling. It was the sort that demanded an outlet, and when she laid her eyes on the dead tranquil, and then the others, once again completely, impassive her mind was filled with undeniable, hot clarity.

She had her sword out and the subject of her rage pinned against the wall faster than anyone could turn after her.

"-. .-"

Alim cursed aloud as he ran down the winding corridor. It was just like that man to seem half-dead one moment and then move like the wind the next. Even more absurd was that he was running away.

He caught up with him barely in time, barreling through the door into an unused dormitory, fingers digging into the sin around the hole in his chest. Expecting the painful backlash, Alim abandoned all restraints and flooded his body with as much magical energy as he could safely contain. His adrenaline spiked and his mind was clear, even as the pain that wasn't his awake in his bones and flesh.

"Argh!" The dwarf tripped over his own feet when the feedback reached him and hit the floor hard. "Guh... no, don't!" He desperately held out a hand, pleading with him to _stay away_ because having people in his range only made it worse.

But Alim could judge the situation better, _saw _thatit was already going out of control. Letting him isolate himself wasn't going to cut it. "Try to hold still!" Alim was on him in an instant, holding him from behind. His left hand found his heart, his blood, and his right held his head up, feeding soothing currents as it came to rest upon his forehead. Raonar struggled weakly for a while, but his gasps finally settled down as a second will imposed itself on that tear between worlds and ordered it, commanded it to calm.

Alim usually refused to take control of another person's blood, but he had no reservations about clamping down on the wild emanations given off by it here, by that curse that wouldn't go away no matter what he tried.

Minutes later, Raonar groaned helplessly and sagged in his arms, sweat dripping off of him as he breathed evenly again, deeply and heavily, but at least it was a steadier rate. He could have let go right there, especially since the broken dwarf was _heavy_, but he didn't. Instead, the mage silently murmured a few words and channeled healing magic through him, helping ease the pain however he could.

He stopped some untold time later, when that large hand came around his much smaller one, the one on top of his heart injury. He wasn't pushed away. if anything, that hand grasped his tight and kept it there. "We're leaving."

It wasn't a request. Alim realized it easily. He didn't know how he felt about it, but he _did _know what he felt about the mess he'd just run out on.

Alim put the Lifegiver back where it was before Raonar took it off, and whether the latter took his silence as an agreement or something else he didn't bother wondering. He was too busy holding himself back from going after him as he walked out of the room and down the stairs. Once he could no longer hear the dwarf's heavy steps, Alim Surana glowered at nothing and let loose a short, tight grunt of frustration.

The wooden frame of the bed six feet from him split apart.

The mage made his way back to the test hall. He was going to have _words_.

"-. .-"

Daria was still reeling from what had happened. That alone was enough for Cullen to remember he still had feelings for her even after all this time. Thus, he couldn't really prevent himself from acting on the impulse of surreptitiously inching closer to her.

That, coincidentally, put him quite a distance away from Greagoir, at whose side he was supposed to always stay unless told otherwise.

Greagoir inwardly cursed that man's infatuation as he was grabbed by the front of his cuirass's collar and shoved so hard backwards that he smashed against the wall. His armor absorbed most of the impact but also had the disadvantage of putting more distance between his head and the wall. He grunted as the two hit and the metal collar dug into the back of his neck. That was going to bruise.

"What the _hell_ was _THAT_?"

Greagoir did his best not to let the shock show on his face when he finally stopped grimacing from the blow to the head and the large blade just millimeters from his throat. Lady Gwenith Cousland was stronger than his men, stronger than even _him_ from how easily she'd manhandled him, even with that armor weighing him down. And more than that, she'd descended upon him so fast that he didn't even have time to think about self-defense.

Admittedly, he hadn't expected it. He'd come to the conclusion, long ago, that women have a fickle temper and there's no point in trying to predict what they are about to do. He kept telling himself that was the only reason for how fast he'd been pinned against the wall... but he couldn't believe his own thoughts as he stared at her. That young woman was in his face and her auburn hair, loose as it was, had whirled with the motion. It was framing her face and made her eyes stand out, even more than the righteous anger blazing inside them.

Glancing over her shoulder he saw that the other two women in their group, as well as that templar warden, had them surrounded, deterring his underlings from reacting. Even without seeing their faces he knew some of them could remember very well their possessed behinds being handed to them during the wardens' first visit. Knowing that he had to make sure he didn't look weak in front of his men, he narrowed his eyes and held her stare.

"I asked," Gwen ground out, motioning with her head in Fern's direction. "What the hell _was_ that?"

"I might ask you the same thing," he answered bluntly, allowing some sarcasm to seep into his words. "What _was_ that?"

He could _feel_ her anger flaring, putting his templar sense on alert as the leftover magic in the room reacted to her emotions. "Don't dodge the question," she growled, touching the tip of her sword to the skin on his neck. "Answer me."

"You first."

Gwen glared even harder. "Who. Was. That Child?" She pulled on his armor and slammed him against the wall again. "His willpower was beyond anything I've ever seen. He burned holes through his own head without making a sound. There's no _way_ he could have failed his Harrowing. Who was he? Why was he made Tranquil? Tell me or so help me you won't be able to say anything to anyone ever again."

The templars finally snapped out of their daze and shouted for her to step away from the Knight Commander, but their advance was preempted when the Alistair, Leliana and Morrigan readied themselves for battle. Even the Witch finally dropped all pretenses and turned her palms upward, wreathed in fire. "Let us allow their drama to play out, shall we? 'Tis only fair."

"I asked you a question, _honorable_ Knight-Commander." Gwen put in all the venom she could when emphasizing that word.

Greagoir had believed it had already run its course, but it seemed as though this particular matter was eager to come to the surface again. He noticed he felt conflicted, but he just kept staring at the warden. He didn't suffer judgment from anyone, least of all outsiders, so he refused to give _these_ people the chance to pass it. Moreover, they were Circle internal matters. On that note, he sent Wynne a heavy look, telling her as much, but he was perturbed to note that she returned it unflinchingly.

Gwen didn't miss it, so she picked up on the silent conversation. Not tearing her eyes away from the man, she spoke. "Wynne, what do you know about this?"

To everyone's surprise, Owain was the one who answered. "Fern Hadley. Very helpful young man." He drawled. "He was branded two years ago and has been helping me with organizing our inventories, even the items of the lower vault. Hardworking young man, and very smart. Good with numbers, memorized all books in the library, very good at drawing the likeness of artefacts and other people. A boon to our archives. Yes, he was very smart. Quiet, but smart. I would have preferred it if he didn't die. Alas."

"What a convenient helper." The sarcasm was pouring off the lady Cousland in waves.

"You do not understand and I am not prepared to make you," Greagoir snapped. "This matter is not the concerns of the Grey Wardens."

A familiar voice cut his argument like ice. "That stopped being true ten minutes ago." Alim strolled back in the room, lifting the door off the ground and propping it upright against the wall with a casual tilt of his head. "Fern Hadley." He began to speak as though reading from a paper, even though he was only staring at the dead young man. "Human from Sheared Rock village in Highever. Identified as mentally challenged at age two when he adopted the habit of building and drawing things in excruciating detail. He proved almost unable to communicate with anyone and showed restricted and repetitive behavior."

Gwen still didn't stop glaring right into his yes, Greagoir noted with unease. He was more off balance from recognizing the words. Alim was reciting the report he, the Knight Commander, had written down.

"Identified as magically apt at age four, when he kept a the town hall from collapsing in on itself during a fire long enough for everyone in it to escape unscathed." Gwen gaped even as she kept gazing at the knight commander. "Coincidence had him with his parents in the market square. Upon sensing the flames rise within, even before anything was visible on the outside, he took off running as fast as he could to his home's back yard, sat on the ground and stared without blinking at a perfect replica of said town hall that he'd made out of sticks. Each time one of the beams holding the town hall up broke, so did the corresponding stick of his replica. For as long as he kept replacing the sticks, the hall stood."

Greagoir held back a grumble, barely, but he realized he may as well go for it now that the information was coming out anyway. "From how he ran seemingly before the fire started, some suspected he was the cause of it when they found him looking at the destroyed replica of the town hall, the only one damaged in his miniature back yard village, so the Templars were summoned."

"And that only happened because you templars are always branding us mages as evil monsters!" Alim snarled. It was the most intense display of anger of the past few months. "You literally dragged and hauled that poor boy here and just isolated him in a small room like an animal, thinking it was okay and that he didn't really want to have contact with anyone anyway. Only after Owain, still an apprentice, managed to somehow get him out of his shell did the real story finally come out, in drawings and sculptures, and an unsurpassed illusion weaving aptitude. And then Uldred told you Owain was researching blood magic, and you and Irving believed him, so you made him tranquil without batting an eyelash."

"But that's not right," Alistair cut in. "Owain told us he willingly chose the brand instead of the Harrowing, when we first came here and started carving our way up."

Alim shook his head and looked at Owain. "If you tell it to them enough times, Tranquil will take whatever they're told as the truth if they haven't seen it or heard it with their own eyes. And as odd as it sounds, your life prior to the lyrium being burned in your forehead doesn't count as your experience after the fact. When you're Tranquil you don't think of your life before."

"Come to think of it you can actually make _any_ person believe whatever you want if you say it enough times," Leliana contributed offhandedly.

"We templars have to do whatever it takes to keep the world a safe pla-" Greagoir had to stop when Gwen almost drove that sword through.

"Don't even _think_ of using the 'whatever it takes' justification in my presence again."

"The evidence we were presented with-"

"Was fake!" Alim snapped. "Jowan and I _told_ you it was!"

"We weren't about to believe two young, probably biased and maybe even enthralled apprentices over the two foremost mages!"

"Bah! Foremost my ass!" First Enchanter Irving winced at Alim's outburst. "Whatever it takes? Look how well that turned out! The tower taken over by abominations. How the _hell_ did someone whose whole meaning in life was to care for a disabled child even _fit_ the idea of a malefikar?"

"Well, by your definition, Jowan wouldn't have fit either!" Greagoir shouted back. "And look how well _that_ turned out."

"That's right! He didn't fit! If you can't pick apart stupid from power-hungry and desperate from crazy, you should never have been put in charge." He looked at Fern's body sadly. "But I guess it was useful, wasn't it? After Owain got made Tranquil, Fern freaked out and shut himself off from the world entirely, so you-" he air quoted "-'were forced' to make him Tranquil as well. Either that or kill him before "his emotionally stunted mind caused a magical accident" right? I guess the insane apprentices are lucky that way, that they're never eligible for the Harrowing." His eyes were full of disdain.

"You've said enough!" Greagoir warned. Too much was being revealed and he didn't like how he was hitting so close to home.

"Well that's too bad," Alim drawled. "Because it _was_ useful, wasn't it? Having a Tranquil savant with essentially unlimited memorization and visual replication abilities. Perfect memory. A perfect slave. And let me guess, assigning him as Owain's assistant was supposed to be your way of coping with the guilt after later realizing me and Jowan were telling the truth and you'd destroyed two innocent persons. And even then you never suspected what Uldred was."

Greagoir looked pointedly away but said nothing as the black magician strode to the middle of the room and brought his hands together. No more was needed for a great red and yellow flame to appear and envelop the lifeless boy. Greagoir wanted to protest but he couldn't form any words.

"Blood magic this, malefikar that," Alim said with scorn as the fire reflected off his eyes. "You templars only persecute blood mages because you can't shut down their powers. It was never about the ability to affect the mind. That skill is one you templars are more obsessed with than we mages are ourselves, and that doesn't even make any sense." Steadily he allowed his arms to come apart and allow the flames to rise. "You don't need blood magic to affect the mind. Putting people to sleep, giving them worse nightmares than they can think of, _raping their minds _until there is nothing left of them except quivering, crying lumps of flesh." He balled his fists and the fire was snuffed out, leaving only a pile of ashes behind. "All that... All those things, I learned them _here_, during regular classes."

"..."

"By your logic, it's okay to be able to set people on fire, to know how to turn them into vegetables by bombarding their minds with dark visions. Even draining life energy fits into the standard curriculum. It's okay as long as you templars and your precious Chantry are firmly in control of us, right?" The elf drew a spiral in the air with his index finger, and a small twister pulled the ashes up into the air. "Control. You hate it when you aren't in control, that's all there is to it." With a final gesture, a transparent, glimmering ball of ice formed in the air, trapping Fern's ashes safely within. it was about 15 centimeters in diameter. "I'm glad I helped Jowan escape from this place."

The elven mage took the ice sphere under an arm and addressed the nearest and most gobsmacked templar he could find. "Even without blood magic, I could make you all jump in the lake right now." Everyone twitched. "But I don't feel like it. You templars are prisoners in your own way." Cullen tensed. "Try to enjoy your life if you can. In a few years, all that lyrium you're drinking will leave you just mindless drones incapable of remembering anything but your names."

Greagoir watched as that young elf just made for the door.

"We're leaving."

Gwen narrowed her eyes but stepped back, sheathed her sword and followed along with the others, Wynne included. The elder mage merely looked back with an unreadable face before shuffling through the exit in silence.

"-. .-"

Alim was completely aware of his surroundings. Of the stairs as he climbed them down, of the corridor as he strode through it, of the excited cries of the younglings as they spotted him and how they became curious and them worried when he passed them by without any sort of acknowledgement. he heard clearly when Alistair began to assure them that "your hero isn't angry with you, it's just that something really bad happened upstairs and we have to go and do something elsewhere for everything to become well again."

The black magician almost snorted. Something bad _had_ happened upstairs and, indeed, they, the Wardens had to go elsewhere in order for everything, the world, to get well again, as in fight off the Blight. Alistair hadn't even lied, it's just that the first and second parts of his statement weren't actually in a relation of causality. Raonar had rubbed off on him more than anyone realized.

That thought made him frown more deeply and he hastened his pace, making good time to the first level of the Tower, just above the half-submerged cave that was the only way to go in and out of Kinloch Hold. Once he was in the area he wanted, he opened his side pouch and let a brush and a bottle of ink fly out and take their place, floating at elbow level.

"Alim, wait!"

He didn't show it, but the elf was surprised. Of all the people coming from up above, Wynne, the eldest and presumably slowest on her feet, had caught up to him first. She must have been really eager to get away from that situation, or maybe she just wanted to make sure he didn't do anything rash.

She needn't have worried. He was not about to do anything rash. At all. Radical, noisy and sure to be interpreted as hostile yes, but rash? Not in the least. Dipping the brush in the flying ink bottle and using it to paint a long string of runes and characters on the wall as he walked past was part of an idea he'd been forming in his head over the past two days, just in case all his other studies turned up nothing.

"Alim, what are you doing?" The spirit healer sounded worried. He couldn't blame her for it really. She probably recognized some of what he was writing. "Is that Arcanum? No, old Elvish? Both? Alim, please tell me you aren't going to do what I think you're going to do."

The elf decided against actually trying to read her mind, which he was fairly certain he could do now. He figured it would be best to first test it on some enemies. "I'm not going to bring down the tower," in perfect deadpan.

Which, he knew, was neither a confirmation nor a denial. "That still allows for much," she muttered.

Yes, everyone in that motley group was _definitely_ sharper than they were a few months before.

Reaching the door he was looking for, he allowed himself to feel surprised that Wynne didn't attempt to stop him or try to get more out of him. She just followed quietly as he tried to open the door to the vaults. When it didn't budge, he sighed and effortlessly waved at the lock to spring. Soon he had crossed the distance between the small set of stairs and the anti-magic door he'd been unable to bypass when he was helping Jowan and Lily find the former's phylactery.

He wasn't aiming to be discreet this once.

By the time he'd made his way half-way back, most of his companions were next to where Wynne had stopped.

Te elven mage suddenly came to a halt and shot his hand out, striking the wall to his right, on the other side of precisely where he'd painted the runes not long before.

The wall exploded inward, completely covering up the cries of shock and alarm on the part of those present, and those on the other side of the wall.

And in the span of less than a second, all the debris just _stopped._ The part of the wall that had been blown inward was suspended in the space between Alim and those who'd followed him down. A large chunk of rock, ancient dwarven construction as big as Alim was, hovered in mid-air, surrounded by countless smaller ones and much dust and other floating debris. Not even the smallest spec of dust came closer than an inch from the elf himself.

Surana calmly stepped around them, reached for the large one and then shot his hand towards the magic-nullifying door.

If anything, the crash was even louder than before. The large slab and the rest of the stone followed where he pointed. All of the debris just flew and blew the door in, along with its hinges and ten inches of the wall they were built into.

There was no time to delay. Soon, templars and mages both would rush to see what was causing the commotion, so the Warden purposely made his way through the dust. His wand was out before the two enchanted suits of armor detected his intrusion. Within the span of two seconds they'd both been frozen solid.

He hadn't let it show, but when he made that ice ball with Fern's ashes inside, the ball now in his pouch, Alim compressed into it all the energy Raonar had filled that room with. There was much of it left to fuel spells. He didn't even need to draw on the Fade much, or his own blood.

He kept ignoring the increasingly loud calls to "Wait up!" to answer "Where are you going?" and to realize that "You're insane!"

He knew what he looked for in that large chamber full of old things from both existing and fallen civilisations.

"Greetings..."

Alim didn't react. Alistair tripped though, and then Gwen, Leliana, Morrigan and Wynne paused in their stride just behind him. "Holy crap, a talking statue!" Was the man's intelligent remark.

"Astute!" Morrigan deadpanned. "Hmm, I wonder if this is a failed attempt at creating a golem or a genuinely petrified creature."

The voice sounded far and close at once. Like it was a combination of several echoes. "I am the essence and spirit of Eleni Zinovia, once consort and advisor to Archon Valerius. Prophecy my crime, cursed to stone for foretelling the fall of my lord's house."

"Foresight?" Gwen murmured. "Like that spirit from the deep roads?"

Alim still had doubts as to whether or not that thing they'd met really could tell the future, but he didn't voice them.

"'Forever shall you stand on the threshold of my proud fortress,' he said, 'and tell your lies to all who pass.'" the statue lilted. "But my lord found death at the hands of his enemies, and his proud fortress crumbled to dust, as I foretold."

Alim remembered the rest of the conversation so he took over, in the same smooth rhythm. "Stone they made me and stone I am, eternal and unfeeling. And I shall endure till the Maker returns to light their fires again." He sighed. "Yes, I know. We've been through this."

"Wait, what?" Leliana and Wynne both gasped.

The voice paused before it made itself heard again. "Alim. You come seeking answers to a dilemma on whose resolution rests the fate of another, not your own."

"That's right." He wasn't going to skirt the issue. "Will we find the cure for Warden Commander Raonar here in Kinloch Hold?

Another heavy pause, but the answer did come. "Ask me not for boons you will receive regardless. The answer to your question will be given by this day's end, without warning or request, away from this island, and the White Commander will receive it himself."

"The White Commander?" Morrigan echoed with some amusement.

"He'll say it sounds cheesy if we tell him what a doomsaying statue just called him," Alistair guessed.

"I believe so as well," Leliana agreed.

"Why be so cryptic?" Alim asked. "You were fairly straightforward and literal before."

"I am not providing you with an answer from my own vision," she said. "These words I am passing on to you on behalf of another who wishes to ensure the coming into existence of a future memory. Tell the White commander this. Or better, show him."

No one knew how they knew, but somehow they were sure that statue wasn't going to tell them anything more.

"Well _that_ was enlightening!" Gwen drily assessed, still not over her anger at Greagoir.

During their animated-discussion-filled walk back, Alim drew his wand and levitated along the two frozen sets of armor. As he expected, Greagoir, Irving and that same dozen templars were there waiting for them, along with some curious mages, ready to demand what the hell they were thinking and doing.

"Well, doesn't _this_ seem awfully familiar," Aim smirked. "Irving and Greagoir, cornering little old me and company as we come back out from the vault chambers."

"What on earth are you thinking blowing up the wall child?" Irving asked in shock.

"And what in Maker's name are _those_ doing here?" Greagoir pointed at the floating frozen armors.

"Oh, that," Alim flicked his wrist and one of flying suits of metal was deposited, bridal style, in Caridin's waiting arms. The golem paragon had conveniently appeared on the scene. The other armor was allowed to clatter uselessly on the floor next to him. Brittle as it was from the cold, it even cracked in places. "I damaged those things enough that they need fixing, and Caridin there has the best knowledge of runes on the surface and underground alike. Now he can look at the runes all he wants and you don't have to worry about breaking any rules about allowing third parties access to the vault and enchantments. And when push comes to shove, you can blame me for the damage. Everybody wins."

The templars and first enchanter found that they were completely incapable of processing his words. It didn't help that the message was delivered through a completely flat tone.

"We didn't take anything else from the vault!" Alistair hurried to say and, for some reason, a last part of the exploded wall decided that was the perfect time to break loose and smash down into the floor right behind them. "Er, think of that as... collateral damage while working to stop the Blight? Ehehehe..." And he rubbed the back of his head.

"What did you even go down there for?" Irving ventured.

Alim pointed with his thumb over his shoulder. "They just followed me to try and make sure I wasn't going to bring this whole place down," Ignoring the sweat drops, he went on. "As for me, I asked that foresighted statue a question. That's it. Now we're getting out of your hair."

"You think we'll just let you go after all the mess you've caused?" Cullen asked through his bafflement.

Alim finally noticed he was there too but didn't dignify his reaction with a reply. He knew that there was only one direction that whole thing could take from there. Well, only one that didn't involve any further conflict anyway.

It finally seemed to dawn on Cullen too, given the Knight Commander's lack of further action. "Commander, what should we do?"

Greagoir and Alim stared each other down for a while.

And then the latter blinked as though a horrible realization came to him. "Oh shit, what time is it?"

There was a pause.

"Er, past nine I think, why-?"

And the mage way suddenly a bat and flying through the door all the way on the other end of the room.

"-. .-"

Carroll hoped he'd get a better post by now. During the tower lockdown, he'd been relegated to the boring task of guarding the pier and forbidding Kester from ferrying anyone to the hold. The only "excitement" was getting "persuaded" by a very annoyed Alim Surana to take them across the lake. Ad by "persuaded" he meant that the elf threw him off the pier and into the lake just by looking at him, after which he proceeded to dunk him several more times before the templar yelled his assent.

Kester was back to his normal duties, but Carroll was now stuck guarding the lower entrance to the hold. The boats could only reach the tower by coming through a waterside cave, to a small underground dock of sorts.

And just like back then, the Wardens became the only source of "excitement," although he had to say that what the dwarf did was easier on his nerves than a vampire bat screeching in his face and _glowing_ into that same elf that made short work of him before.

"Gyaaah!" Carroll was glad the guard shifts were held alone now that the Templars were undermanned. It meant no one heard him scream like a girl.

"You! Tell me, did Raonar come by here?"

Carroll peeked from behind the barrel he'd chosen as a hiding spot. "You mean that dwarf? Well..." He looked awkwardly at the end of the cave. "Eeeek!" He cowered behind the barrel again when light engulfed the mage a second time. The templar _refused_ to think it was wrong or cowardly to hide from an overpowered knife-eared freak. He _refused._

And screaming was good for the lungs, so there!

When he finally gathered enough courage to come out, he was faced with the other wardens giving him pointed looks. "Sorry, ehehehe, just uh... dealing with some rats." There was a pause. "They were big! This big! Really!" He even started to wave his hands in emphasis.

Morrigan had had enough stupidity to last a lifetime. "Oh shut up and tell us what happened before I turn you into one of them!"

"-. .-"

The winter was only just passing on so the days were still quite short, which meant that it was already dark when Alim flew out of the water cavern and soared above the vast waters of the lake. The darkness was just right for bats to feel comfortable and his echolocation stretched far.

The mage would have tried to squeeze more information out of that templar fool if he hadn't already guessed what he was in for. What was that dwarf thinking? If he was doing what he thought he was doing... All it took was for him to start hurting just one second and he'd drown for real this time.

At last he detected him, so he did the one thing he was sure could not startle him too much. It would use up a lot of energy, but it was necessary nonetheless.

The bat stopped closing the distance and surrendered its form. A cloud of gold light shone for a moment and there was just a black-clad elf there now, flying above the water. Alim took a moment to familiarize himself with the feeling of weightlessness before resuming his advance.

For someone with white hair, Raonar was remarkably hard to spot from that high vantage point, and the full moon had much to do with that. Even though, logically, the moonlight would render everything more easily visible, it also caused the reflection on the lake's surface to be particularly large and glimmering. It was the perfect background for the man to blend in, giving off only the occasional white flare.

The white commander had his hands together behind him and his back slouched just the tiniest bit. He was walking.

Walking on top of the water.

True, the gait was slow and careful, but still...

Alim stopped in mid-air and blinked a few times. That was a strange thing to do if he ever saw one. Then again, his flight was an unusual feat as well. As morbid as the situation that led to it had been, the fact remained that holding that tear in the veil, even for a short time, had left him with a much greater connection to the Fade, and an intuitive understanding of it, the kind he'd never thought possible.

He drifted closer from the side, to avoid startling him too much, knowing that having to keep the veil confined to his body had completely eliminated Raonar's radar.

"I'm still a Grey Warden you know."

Alim almost fell in the lake. Right, so that one sense still worked fine at least. "You know that if you slip you'll die, right? You can't swim, remember?"

"I don't need to, as you can see."

The black magician grimaced at the cold tone but didn't call him out on it. Instead, he watched what he was doing, now that he could finally see what it was exactly. Even without shining like a strobe light from everywhere, the man was stepping on forcefield footholds that formed before him, just below the water surface. It explained why his boots still splashed against the water.

The elf stared as he floated along at the same speed. "I think now I know how Anders always manages to escape the tower." Really, he should have thought of this earlier, but Daria was the one who always got inventive with forcefields, not him. He was more of a "move things just because" type and he never really had the mind to run away either. He'd _wanted_ to go through his Harrowing. "You could have at least gotten dressed properly before leaving. It's still cold this time of year, especially for you dwarves."

Raonar shrugged his bare shoulders, not showing the pain that accompanied the movement.

He was _always_ in burning pain these days, Alim suspected. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

"Okay."

When they reached the shore of the Lake Calenhad docks, about ten minutes later, Alim Surana couldn't help but gawk. His landing was a bit rough because of that too. "Festis bei umo canavarum. What on earth _happened_ here?"

Zevran materialized out of the shadow of the stables. "Ah, we were going to send one of us to the tower with a message. You see we-"

"Is anyone hurt?" Raonar blurted, jogging over to where Faren was squatting next to a pile of men's corpses. There were about eight of them by Alim's count.

"I'm fine," Faren said shortly, not looking the other dwarf in the eye. "No one got hurt much. These guys attacked us after Zevran got the bartender to tell us what he knew about brother Genitivi."

"We kept one alive for questioning," Sten said in his usual monotone from a way to the right. he kicked the now unarmored man in the gut, the leader apparently. A pained moan was the only reaction. "Wake up, basra!"

"Kost, Sten," Raonar murmured. "I doubt duty to the Qun demands that you kick a man when he's down.

The giant, of course, had a reply to that. "There is no cause to show mercy to those who've already tried to take our lives." Although he did not kick him again.

"Where's Oghren?"

"Here!" An arm stuck up from behind the corpse pile, not that it managed to stay upright much. "Hear hear... here... ufh..." That had all been slurred more than anything else.

"He's just drunk," Zevran told them. "At any rate, I believe I recognize what these people are from their helmets and the crests on their cuirasses."

"So do I," Alim realized aloud. "But why would dragon cultists become so bold?" Distinctive noises finally notified him that the leader was waking up. "Ah, just on time." Soon he was in front of the human. He was a large man, the elf noted, muscular and wearing a look full of defiance and hate. "While the others get here from the tower, I may as well get some practice in." His palm hit the prisoner's forehead and both their eyes glowed white. "Let's see what you know."

"-. .-"

The view was everything a troubled mind could want in order to calm. A seemingly endless expanse of water with mountains beyond it. The full moon's white reflection on its surface. Raonar had even managed to find a nice, high spot that let him gaze upon that midnight scene without Kinloch Hold being part of his perspective.

The wind was what most would consider somewhat harsh and cold, and the ground was still half-frozen, a patch of snow just inches from his knee, but because of the ever present burning feeling in his left side he felt none of it, even as the breeze, bordering on a gale, blew into him from the front. The current felt chilly and heavy against his eyes, but no reflex made his eyelids come down.

Not for a time.

But eventually his dull orbs began to run dry, so he turned them upwards, staring at the moon directly. It was a marvelous thing, one that surfacers didn't appreciate as much as they should.

Finally blinking, he looked down at the tome in his lap. It was a very carefully-bound book, with covers made of leather. Aeducan's face, his family's crest, was encrusted in silver on the front. It felt warm to the touch. At least, that's what Alim had told hm. Raonar couldn't really feel much anymore, through the pain and feeling of fire.

Like he did every evening since leaving Orzammar, he opened it at the first page and stared. It was still blank. He just didn't seem to come up with a beginning to whatever Trian expected him to write down in it. It hadn't been outright stated, but it was easy to guess that his elder brother had initially ordered this made for himself, to keep as a journal.

"I'm not here to try and persuade you to stay again."

Raonar tensed. This was the second time when his mind ended up in the mirrored sanctum without clear intent, and without him losing consciousness first. Blinking, he lifted his head and stared up at the sky, now akin to a moving tapestry that reflected not the present, but the past.

How strange, to look at his own memory from such a detached perspective. So many details he didn't notice before, like the sad-looking guardsman a couple of feet behind him and the way the sentries at both ends of the Hall of Heroes delayed in closing the gateways.

Still, he supposed there had been a good reason he didn't have eyes for them the first time around. Even now it was mind-numbing to see Trian making as if to kneel.

He stepped forward and grabbed onto his shoulders before he could do it all the way. "Trian, what the hell!"

"Falling on my knees to beg is the only thing I haven't tried," his voice was like lead. Heavy with feeling, more than he could ever put into words. "I _will_ do it if I have to." The dwarven guards shifted uncomfortably. "Please..." And that was when he held out that empty book. "Take it."

Raonar lowered his eyes from the replaying memory, letting the sounds wash over him. He risked looking up again only when he knew he and the others were walking down the mountain.

His mind drew a blank. He hadn't looked back so he didn't know until now that Trian had come all the way out of the Hall of Heroes to see him off, even though the air and wide space made him dizzy and sick to the stomach.

Ancestors, what a mess.

"You truly did a number on him."

The dwarf started.

"I hope you do not mind me dropping by," Theron said shortly, walking up to stand next to his sitting form without making a sound. That strange and bright violet mantle fluttered majestically around him. "This place certainly did not seem adverse to my presence."

Raonar had too many potential responses competing for dominance so in the end he just did the natural thing and stared at the Dalish elf without saying anything.

"You know, it falls to you to decide if you share your experiences with this place. Just keep in mind that when you do, you also share them with everyone beyond, all those who have come before." The keeper bent his head to the left. "And whoever else among the living can come here, which is just myself for now."

"Where did you even come from?"

"I am currently lounging in a tree and playing a flute."

The dwarf could not help but sigh at that.

For a relatively long time, nothing else was said. The prince drifted off and looked at that open book with nothing in it to be read. He supposed he should feel opposed to the idea of others coming to his little corner of the world beyond death, but he didn't really feel much of anything. Even his natural curiosity took a while to reach a high enough level that he finally deigned to ask why Theron was even there.

He was pre-empted. "You really did depress the living lights out of your sibling."

He didn't move. Well, not at first. After a few seconds he did decide to look up though, at the sky. It showed him holding the doorknob, eager to leave his sickroom behind. Theron had been going through the memory of the last day in the underground city for some unfathomable reason. It made him feel robbed. Invaded. "Should I enable sound for you too, great one?"

"No need to be sarcastic." The reply was coolly given, not demeaning or amused in the slightest. "I've been hearing everything just fine. I just assumed you would not want to relive that particular day. Sound, sight, smell, touch, they aren't actually _real_ in this place." His detached expression did not waver in the least.. "But I digress. What I _am_ here to remark on is how thorough you were." The image changed again. "The pile of shards and lyrium dust was a particularly effective addition, placed just where it could have the greatest effect. Very dramatic."

The dwarf noble snorted.

"So, it was waiting for you to blow it apart for an hour? And how long were you up and about before Trian finally awoke, _just_ in time to see you put the last pieces of armor on?"

"Three hours and sixteen minutes."

"Ah. That must have given you enough time to plan and go over what you wanted to say... how many times exactly?"

"Fourteen." There was silence. "No. Thirteen. I spent more time than expected on cleaning up and... getting used to... everything." He subconsciously moved his hand to his heart.

"Well, I would say it worked a bit too well," Theron concluded somewhat blandly. "Likely due your failure to hold to the whole plan for once."

It was true. He'd gotten angrier than he wanted. Only near the end did he finally get back on-script, during the 'I can destroy things just by waving in their direction' incident. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Acting like you were experiencing a false dilemma you mean..."

"..."

"And presenting the same issue from all the different points of view you could think of."

"..."

"And you really meant everything you said, didn't you?" It was odd for everything to be so completely seen through, but he was right. They both knew that. "About yourself. And about Orzammar."

"And about Trian, yes." His fingers absently traced circles on the page.

"But _why_ did you do it?"

Why why why. Always the why. People are nothing if they don't have a strong 'why' behind what they do. Theron didn't fool him, and he wasn't trying to either. It was clear as day he already knew the answer. "Now big brother will have no choice but to use his own wisdom." That had always been the point. "Anything less on my part and he would have decided to spend the rest of his life carrying on my so-called work, out of some misguided sense of guilt and debt." He closed his eyes and breathed deep in, and then out. "And that will not happen if he can't form even the slightest inkling of what I would do."

"There are worse examples he could have tried to follow though. Your accomplishments aren't exactly low profile."

The prince smirked. "Trying to tempt me with pride now? What accomplishments?" he shook his head. "Please. Look at me, the _great_ Raonar Aeducan. I _stabbed_ my brother 'for his own good'... Stone, that sounds so absurd. And more recently, I completely shattered his world view, and his view of me, for the same reason." He scoffed at himself. "I am a twisted man, even when I'm being completely straightforward. I shudder to think I'm going to be the main character of Brother Gerthel's next book."

"Hmm. Interesting thing about that..." Theron looked up at the sky again. "Whoever reads a book about you will probably consider you an unrealistic character because you'd give the impression that you always seem to know everything that happens and could ever happen in Orzammar."

The prince snorted again. "That's ridiculous. If I'd really known all that, I never would have left. I'd have sat father, Trian and Bhelen down at a table and had _words_, like I should have done right after mother died."

"And if you'd _also_ known what was happening and was going to happen on the surface?"

The dwarf's lips formed a very thin line but he said nothing.

"Hmmm." Like a fog, the world dispersed and the sky was dark and star-studded once again, and the full moon was merely a few inches higher than it was before. "Just like today's death of that tranquil boy, my death and the deaths of almost all the others in Ostagar would not have been your fault, but our continued existence now is in great part your doing." The elf was standing next to him, dressed in his normal leather armor rather than his violet mantle. His eyes were serene as they looked over the lake. "We all are here because you got us here, and you will take us much further still."

The deadpan response came immediately. "Right. I'm sure someone like me who could keel over and die at any moment is _perfectly_ capable of that."

"Perhaps you did not hear me well," The Dalish turned to look down at him seriously. "I said you _will_ take use further, not that you could or might. When you die, it won't be from this." The elf's posture relaxed. "Apologies if you expected suspense."

"Should I even bother asking what the hell happened and what in the world you are?"

"No."

The exile didn't miss a beat. "Why haven't you fallen through the ground yet anyway?"

"This is an immaterial projection. That phenomenon described by your paragon Balthan as "gravity" has o bearing on it."

"So why the sod do you move around by _walking_ then?"

The only reason silence didn't follow that question was because the breeze still gusted and all over the place.

Theron seemed to think long and hard on the answer.

So of _course_ his long contemplation ended in a simple shrug. "We will catch up with you soon." And he dissipated like dust in the wind.

Raonar stared.

And then he carefully closed his blank tome, sealed the belt in place and, after a deep, long breath, smacked it against his forehead so hard that he saw stars everywhere, not just on the sky.

Hitting things always helped to vent frustration. No question.

But as faint as it was, at least he could still feel frustration. He still had that feeling. It was a small consolation for not feeling anything about what had just happened in the tower, but a consolation nonetheless. For a moment he dared think that maybe things couldn't get any worse, but that idea didn't last long.

They were going to Redcliffe next.


	69. Myth Chase Arc 2: Regardless of Fault

**Chapter 66: Regardless of Fault**

"-. .-"

For a race that took great pride in their alleged guile, the dwarves of Orzammar were remarkably inept at giving things and people proper names. The only annoying thing that rivaled that tendency was their almost legendary reluctance to undo a past decision. The name of the second-born Aeducan prince was one example. For all her artistic talent and the love she'd earned from her people, the queen had really dropped the ball on that one.

The second-best example was Tapster's Tavern. Who in their right mind would name a tavern... Tapster's Tavern? The _Bartender's_ Tavern? Such creativity!

When she inherited the locale, Corra had been determined to do everything in her power to get the name changed and maybe forget her ancestors had been so bland-brained. One would have thought it would be easy, being the new owner, but even after half a decade of having a different sign outside the door, people still came to _Tapster's_ Tavern instead of Corra's Den. She'd done everything in her power and she'd _failed_.

Prince Raonar had picked up on her grumbling at one point, a couple of weeks before that disaster of a military commission. It was _weird_ how he sometimes just sat at the bar like everyone else, exposing his back to the whole establishment. Well, at least until Gorim tracked him down and started complaining about being sent off on an errand just to come back to the palace and learn he'd left without him _again _for some unfathomable reason (and Gorim always complained about the prince wearing that annoying headband that somehow managed to make him hard to recognize. From behind anyway).

Once he was exposed and had to leave, the prince almost _too_ casually mentioned that _Corra's Den_ wasn't much better a name than the first. And since he'd managed to get her to speak more or less freely to him by that point, she just as bluntly told him "Then I'd love to be there when you have to go see all your efforts wasted. You won't have the last laugh _then_... um, my lord."

It hadn't been said in spite, but he'd winced anyway.

It hadn't been said in spite, but Corra had felt _glad_ when he was charged for murder and treason. Not because she wished him harm, but because she'd been angry at hearing about prince Trian's death. It felt ironic and _right_ that all the second son's efforts and so-called lies really had been for nothing. He wasn't laughing then.

It hadn't been spite, but she _had_ given voice to all those whose spite of him was real.

For the upteenth time, the tavern's hostess sighed. Like everyone else in the city, she'd read that public, three-dozen-pages-long report of what had happened in the assembly (and what had led to it). The High Shaper himself had written it. She'd also been privy to pretty much all the gossip that came afterwards, especially during the period when Prince Raonar had been bed-ridden. She didn't really like the irony that much anymore.

She looked at the glass she was wiping with a cloth. She didn't remember when she'd picked it up or for how long she'd been rubbing its inside dry. She cast a cursory glance over the ale barrels and the ledger where the remaining supply was detailed. It wasn't the main ledger (that one was safe in a chest and got updated only once a day) but it served to keep track of what there still was to serve all the people who came in.

These days, there seemed to be either more patrons than usual or, like today, almost none at all. Probably because the people had more of a reason to come drink their sorrows en masse and had to nurse hangovers at home the next day.

"I need a drink."

She decided to finish cleaning that already spotless glass so she didn't turn around. "Well, even with trade still off, we have forty-six out of the normal fifty-two types of ale, four out of seventeen types of mead and, strangely, the full dozen of imported wines." She put the glass upside down on the shelf nearby. "Nobles haven't been coming down here much lately." She smirked without feeling. "Probably because there's so few of'em now. Everyone else doesn't think the wines are strong enough. Anyway!" She turned around. "We should have something to suit... your..." She blinked. "Needs..."

"What people usually have nowadays will be fine."

Corra did a double take, unprepared for the sight of that bulky man, of all people, leaning over the counter, _looking_ at her. "Prince Trian?" He almost never came down there. The only times he came to Tapsters' was when he decided to personally retrieve his "improper" sibling and second. And when he did, he pointedly looked anywhere _except_ the patrons or workers. And he definitely never came to the lower city in anything other than his armor, but now he was just wearing some random clothes. "What are you doing here?" Was her intelligent question.

His somewhat tired and so poorly hidden _depressed_ demeanor didn't change, nor did his voice. "I just said didn't I?"

"Oh, of course! My apologies, um..." She stared. Really, this was unexpected, though not an unwelcome sight by any means. He could do with some less gloom bearing him down, but he was a good sight on any day. For her. Ahem. "Well. That would be Chasind Sack Mead, which we should still have a little left of."

Prince Trian's eyebrows rose a fraction. "That imported liquor? That's what people drink nowadays? Isn't it too expensive for commone-..." He stopped, shook his head and started again. "I'd have thought people would go for mushroom ale."

"They usually do my lord but, well..." She paused and began to wipe the counter. "It was your brother's favorite so..."

"Oh..."

Corra winced at the word. He probably had no idea what his brother's favorite drink even _was_ if she interpreted the tone right_. _She waved one of her helpers over and told her to bring one of the last two kegs. Then she took the opportunity to scour the area for Gorim or... well, _someone_, but didn't spot anyone. Turning to the prince again, she found him drumming his fingers on the counter, casting furtive glances all over the tavern. It was easy to see he was feeling a bit out of place, and the weakly-concealed stares he was getting from the other patrons weren't helping. "You're here alone my lord?"

"What? Oh. Yes, I..." He looked at the door. "Yes, I suppose I am."

Which meant that there was no second or other member of his entourage to make any sort of seating arrangements. "Would you like me to show you to a private spot?"

For just a moment his eyes were grateful and maybe somewhat embarrassed. "Yes," It was like he was trying to find the appropriate words. "That would be... appreciated. Thank you."

She nodded, ignoring the butterflies in her stomach. Coincidentally, that was when the tavern wench returned with the mead keg, so Corra poured a tankard and stepped out from behind the bar. "Follow me then, your highness."

It was good that the tavern wasn't too crowded. It made Corra's job easier, since she didn't have to clear anyone from that booth in the back. "Here you are, my lord," she placed the pint in front of the stone armchair in the corner. That seat was safest, especially since he didn't have anyone with him. The position meant no one could sneak up on him. Corra liked to think her establishment was a secure haven, but she didn't fool herself into thinking assassins would shy away from spilling blood on her floor.

The booth was also in clear view of the bar, so she should be able to keep an eye on him from there. "If you need anything else, just wave and I'll come right over."

Prince Trian nodded. "Thank you."

Well, his mind was definitely elsewhere if he was repeating himself already.

Twenty minutes later, Corra was starting to feel suspicious. There was no _way_ the city at large hadn't learned that _Prince Trian,_ of all people, had come down to have a drink like the regular folk. The rumor mill never slept. People should have flocked to the bar like flies to nug dung, but no one had shown up after the man had come in.

Oh well. She was too busy to think about it too much.

From the corner of her eye, the hostess saw Prince Trian hunched up in his chair and tracing a circle on the tankard's mug. Corra pursed her lips. Brooding didn't suit him. His face was already hard and worn from stress without that dark cloud weighing him down. The drink probably didn't help either. Even though it was made of honey, Chasind Sack Mead was a brutishly strong liquor with an unexpected aftertaste of loved ones going off to war, never to return. Bitter, to say the absolute least.

She should have caught herself before mentioning that bit about his brother. She should have given him something sweeter, to lighten his mood. Well, she would just have to serve him something else, so that's what she set off to do.

"I'm here with your refill my lord..." Which was when she realized how irrelevant her thoughts had been. Prince Trian wasn't waiting for a refill. He'd not even taken one sip from that pint. He'd just been staring at the drink for almost half an hour straight. "My lord, is the liquor not to your liking?"

The man blinked and lifted his gaze as though only now realizing she was there. "What? Oh..." The surprise made way for... something. "No. My apologies but... my thoughts are scattered."

The deadpan response came out before she could think it through. "That's putting it _lightly_." If her hands had been free, she'd have used them to cover her traitorous mouth. As it was, she could only wince at her own audacity.

Prince Trian shrugged and returned to his brooding.

And when Corra _finally_ caught on to the fact that there wasn't going to be any righteous reprimand, she tilted her head and frowned. Briefly, she debated the benefits of walking away and leaving him to his thoughts for the rest of the time he stayed there, but a scouring of the area let her see the curious and even pleading gazes of her patrons, all of them silently asking her to find something out.

Well, this wasn't going to fly.

Once back at the bar, she left the establishment in charge of one of her waitresses. That done, she strolled to prince Trian's table and took the seat across from him. If he didn't need the change of brew, she couldn't just let it go to waste, she told herself. She waited to see if he was going to express disapproval in any way, but he didn't even seem to notice her blatant breach of protocol. Strange. Strange and worrying. Nobles often became offended for much less. Honor provings were outlawed now, for the moment at least, but there were other ways used "to show commoners their place."

Corra leaned on her elbow and scowled. This was the first time she'd ever gotten such a close and long look at him. The image she'd made of him was holding up. He was pretty fair-looking and had none of the powders that some upper classmen were known to employ. His nose could have been one size smaller but it didn't offset the rest of his face. More than enough of a reason to internally sigh over the fact that he was "above' her station. He would have been a great catch, for any woman.

Ten minutes after she sat down, Corra brought the pint to her lips. She didn't try to be discrete, but Prince Trian still didn't do anything other than hold his tankard and stare at it. Even when the bitterness of the drink showed on her face, he didn't look up. Didn't notice her at all really. Scowling fiercely, she brought her pint down on the table with more force than commonly allowed.

Prince Trian flinched so hard he almost spilled his mead. And considering his cup didn't unstick from the table, that was no mean feat.

Corra steeled herself under his glare. Oh, and he could damn sure _glare_, but she had to speak before he did. "Might I ask where your second is, my lord? Just so I know what direction to take when I go after him and drag him down here by the ear for not being by your side as he should."

The man's affronted expression thawed into something closer to puzzlement, but didn't lose its edge. "I currently have no second you can hunt down." The response was less abrupt that she feared.

"What?" Well, that was a weird answer. "Surely you jest, your highness. I know officially you haven't... But word floating down from the diamond quarter is that Ser Gorim-"

Trian shook his head and raised a hand to stop her. "I am afraid you have your Aeducans mixed up."

"Prince Raonar isn't here right now." Corra was somewhat surprised herself that her retort came so quickly. "According to his pledge of allegiance, Gorim should be at the disposal of his lord's immediate family in the event that he passes on, one way or another. " There was a pause. "From... what I know of upper city traditions that is... my lord."

The noble began to mouth something, but reconsidered and gazed at her for some time. It was unnerving really. The tavern's mistress hadn't previously been subjected to such an intense look. She didn't mind that he was finally paying attention to her, but still.

Absently, the woman noticed how much quieter the whole establishment had become. There were some murmurs here and there, but even those people were paying attention.

Trian either didn't notice or didn't care. "Gorim is no longer affiliated with my house."

She was taken aback. Of all the shocks, that was among the biggest she could have gotten. For a house to disavow a warrior's pledge of faith... that was among the worst kinds of repudiation possible, one that only great acts of treason could lead to. Corra was instantly made to realize that the voice in her head telling her it was a _bad idea_ to stick her nose where it didn't belong had been right all along.

She got to her feet and bowed as much as the table allowed. "Please forgive me for my impertinence my lord." What in the world could Gorim have done? What... how... It was true he'd not been down in the commons after the Wardens left but... "I did not know that the circumstances of your brother's departure from the city last week were so dark." If Prince Raonar _hadn't_ actually betrayed anyone, had _Gorim _done something? Did he somehow... cause whatever pushed his highness over the edge and into a coma? If so, why didn't anything of the sort reach her ears? And what was to happen now? "With your permission, I will excuse myself and trouble you no further."

"Do not misunderstand." Trian was on his feet as well, leaning forward with his hands on the table. "My house lost Gorim's loyalty many months ago, the night just before that damnable military commission last year. And yes, I do mean _lost._" There was no way for the tavern to become any quieter. "And Aeducan is poorer for it."

"My lord?" Baffled was putting it lightly. "Are you saying he renounced it himself? But he always seemed so devoted to your brother!"

"That he was," the prince said grimly. "And he is."

"Your highness, I don't understand-"

Trian straightened, laughing bitterly. "My word! I knew I'd have to say a few things when I came here today, but Gorim and Frandlin really did a number on you lot. The story they disseminated about what led to that mess in the shaperate's report really didn't say what my part in it all was, did it? Before my so-called death I mean."

"..."

"Yes, Gorim was devoted, as he should have been." The prince smirked bitterly. "So what _else_ could he have done when, with him and father _right there_, I told it to my brother's _face_ how I thought he was the worst thing that ever happened to our family?" The atmosphere turned cold and several people choked on their drinks. "What else could he, in good conscience, have done after I spat in my brother's face that I wished he was dead?" Corra's knees buckled and she fell back on her seat. "How else could Gorim have cut off the stream of insults coming out of my mouth after my brother finally couldn't take any more of my venom and left."

"But... b-but... The word was that prince _Bhelen-_"

"Bhelen did his scheme, but it could never have gotten off the ground if I'd had more sense in my head. Or _any_ amount of sense really. Ancestors, and even afterwards, my brother only did his best to do right by me and everyone else. It was my fault he had to turn everyone and everything on their head to this extent. And the price he paid... Stone, it's the only one that turned out _worse_ that what happened to Gorim himself."

The hostess couldn't even begin to imagine why Prince Trian of all people had come all the way down there to tell _her_, _them_, the common folk, these things. Or what he meant by Gorim's price.

The noble crossed his arms and kept her eyes on hers all the time. "Most of the things, the real things happening up there never become known down here, save through vague hearsay. Most of the crimes never really come to the attention of other noble houses either. I should know. I was _blind_ and _deaf _to them all. Those vermin in the Diamond Quarter would say that you commoners should mind your place and just go about your business as we nobles direct. For most of my life, I felt the same. It was _tradition_ after all."

Tapsters' mistress barely realized how tight she'd clenched on the armrests of her chair.

"But now? I think that perhaps that is the _problem_. Perhaps we 'nobles' have become such vermin _because_ the choice for a ruler is, by _tradition_ out of your hands." The prince uncrossed his arms. "I can't understand _how_ my brother can still say I'm the king Orzammar needs. It's _unfathomable_. He said I've changed. Gorim, everyone else, they all seem to think so as well. Moreover, the amount of goodwill and favor I seem to possess among the people of this city, even in the Diamond Quarter, is _staggering_. Staggering and _ridiculous._"

Corra could only stare.

"I can understand that Orta girl. It was my brother that retrieved the Ortan House records from the Thaig and got the house reestablished, so I can see why she would be supportive of Aeducan, but everyone else... You know what argument Gorim actually used?"

It was all Corra could do to shake her head.

"He said brother was right about everything else, so he _has_ to be right about me_ too._ But you know what? _No_ _one_ can be right about everything, and if he _was_ right about everything else, then it can only mean _one thing: _The one thing he _isn't _right about is _this._" The prince heir straightened. "No matter how much I change, the things I've done... The things I _would_ have done. No amount of record erasing will make them go away." The man leaned over the table again. "So _you _tell me. I was once the kind of scum that would have gladly seen his sibling dead in order to secure the throne. Even knowing that, would you still place this nation in my hands?"

The woman stared up at that man for Ancestors know how long, and by the time she realized what her silence was doing, what _everyone's_ silence was doing, it was already too late.

"That's what I thought." His speech ended, Trian Aeducan turned and made for the exit. "If no new leader is chosen, this whole regime we live under could completely and utterly collapse. Maybe it _should_."

Corra didn't know _why_ she followed after him. She wasn't going to say anything. She didn't know what she could say. Looking at her other patrons made it clear they were every bit as shocked as she was.

Trian reached for the handle and pushed the door wide open before stepping out. "Come on." He spoke to the air. He didn't seem to be addressing the gawkers outside... and that brought the question of _what_ they were gawking at. "If you're going to follow me around despite my wishes, you could at least not become a nuisance to anyone else. Let's go. This place will go out of business if you scare customers off much longer."

The tavern's owner didn't understand what or who he was talking to at first, but she got the answer to her earlier confusion about no one coming in after prince Trian. The two statues flanking her door, the statues she didn't remember having there, moved, shaking the ground, and followed the man as he strode off.

Corra, and every one of her customers, crowded at the door and gaped at the odd trio until the man and his golem guards were out of sight.

"-. .-"

_Excerpt from journal of Senior Enchanter Wynne_

_ 12 Eluviesta, 9:31, Dragon: This time around, Redcliffe was only supposed to be a stop along the way. We would walk in, resupply if needed and check in at the castle to get an update on Arl Eamon's condition, assuming he was still alive. That was the plan._

_ Turns out we will most likely be staying here for one or two more days, and because of something completely unrelated to Eamon, as unlikely as it sounds. I wish it was good news, but it is not. Well, not entirely. Gwen would definitely disagree with me, at the very least, but she hasn't seen what I've seen. She hasn't and won't go through what I've been going through, what I will once again go through. This may be good, or bittersweet at least, news for her, but not for me. She is not the one who will have to look her in the eye and say "There is nothing I can do"._

_ Again._

_ I've begun to think that maybe it was a mistake to join this company. Setting aside what tensions I caused during the first few weeks, because of my stumbling and presumptuous attempts at "imparting wisdom", the magic I was so proud of has proven to be largely useless. At first, I drew solace from the fact that our leader was the only one I had trouble helping, but that argument lost its weight long ago, when he proved to be the only one ever getting injured. I gained some hope when he seemed to have managed to overcome that obstacle, even if it was with no help from me, but a different problem took its place in short order, one that rendered my mighty spells completely worthless._

_ Again._

_ I've been praying to the Maker twice as much every night, even though dwarves weren't created by him, for some help, some miracle that will break this wretched curse. I really have no better ideas at this point. And now I can only hope that the situation we walked into isn't evidence of His twisted sense of humor. Were Raonar still himself, he'd probably make a passing jab along the lines of the Maker having always been a passive-aggressive deity and this stunt being in character for him. I would honestly not mind if he __**was**__his old self right now. _

_ No, I am wrong again. He would not have said anything of the sort. Instead, he would have attributed this turn of events to something else entirely, yet again taking up more responsibility than he should. I fear he is doing that even in his current state. A thoroughly **wretched** state. Connor literally tackled him when he spotted him entering the keep doors and started babbling like children often do, so hopeful, so **certain** that his hero had come back from an epic quest with a miracle cure for his father._

_ Raonar, of course, said nothing. Just looked at him with the saddest smile I ever saw on him. Alistair was the one who actually broke in front of Connor's pleading eyes and told him that they hadn't brought any cure but were going to look for one right away. As if that wasn't bad enough, the boy came to me once the dwarf left the room and asked me if he was okay._

_ I got away before I had to explain thanks to this shocking turn of events. A bitter irony that._

_ Ah, and there are the sounds of rapid, heavy steps. I suppose that means Gwen is about to barge through the door. Yes, I've just glanced at Alim and Teagan and they seem to have drawn the same conclusion as I. Raonar probably did too, but, with the exception of the event I just described, I haven't been able to read him at all lately, and now is no different. _

_ Gwen went straight to the smithy when we arrived in the village, so she wasn't present when we learned from some knights just who had dragged himself here half-dead. Maybe coming here ahead of her wasn't such a good idea on our part after all._

"-. .-"

"Gwen!" Leliana shouted between gasps. "Gwen, hol..." gasp "Hold on!" The former spy barely kept up with the woman, much to her growing chagrin and, more importantly, stupefaction. Even though she was wearing the suit of armor she was trying on after getting repaired, the last Cousland was tearing through the castle at an absurd speed.

Then again, she supposed calling her that no longer applied. Climbing the staircase two steps at once, the former chantry sister wheezed and steadied herself against the wall as she turned the corner in her sprint. Leliana had long ago realized she was unable to stop her at this point. She kept running though, more and more amazed at being so completely outrun, even though she herself wasn't encumbered in the slightest. Gwen was at least ten feet ahead of her now.

Leliana pushed forward, trying to ignore the growing sense of dread, with little success. Gwen was going to go ballistic when she arrived there and saw that they'd deliberately left her behind. The Orlesian bard was certain Alim and the other two had good reasons, and she could make an educated guess as to what they were, quite easily too, but Gwen was rash and quick to anger at the best of times, and this was definitely not even close to being one of those times.

"Gwen!" gasp "Slow down!" To which, obviously, the woman didn't even consider agreeing. If anything, she accelerated, clearing the last four steps in a single bound. Somehow.

Dimly, Leliana wondered if the woman knew she was putting herself in danger of a heart attack and lung or muscle failure. Of _course_ she didn't. She wouldn't. Not when something like this happened. But that was the problem, Gwen didn't have the full idea of what had happened, and if she barged in there without knowing everything she was in for, things would-

The door almost flew off its hinges when the woman all but barreled through it. "Fergus!"

Yes, things had just gone to hell in a handbasket.

"Fergus!" If Alim hadn't moved away from the bed when he heard her footsteps coming closer, she'd have probably hurled him into the wall in her charge. She didn't seem to notice or care who else was there. "Fergus! By the Maker, it's really true... Fergus..." Leliana finally reached the entrance and bent forward gasping for air. Because of that, she didn't immediately see the woman fall to her knees but she didn't really need to. It was enough to hear her speak her brother's name, again and again as she finally remembered she was wearing armor and frantically started to claw at the belts holding her gauntlets in place.

They came off in short order and the woman finally reached out and touched his face, desperate to confirm she wasn't having a hallucination. "When? How is he here? He's alive, oh my god, he's alive..." Which was when she finally noticed from where she knelt, on the right side of the bed, that the left side of his face and his neck, were completely covered in bandages. "What... what happened to him?"

"I fear I cannot answer your question-" Teagan said sadly.

"Don't you _dare_ pull the tight-lipped crap on me!" Gwen snapped. "If you try the same bullshit as Greagoir, I'll-"

"Gwen." The word was spoken without emotion, not too loudly and not too quietly. Even so, the mere fact of _who_ had uttered it was like a bucket of cold water. Their former commander almost never spoke these days, which made it all the more attention worthy when he actually did. Leliana could see it in how completely it had caused Gwen to reign in her temper.

"What I meant to say is that I cannot answer your question because I do not know the answer," Teagan elaborated, now that he was allowed to. "We didn't even know _who_ he was for the first week. Whether or not he was going to survive was touch and go for a while-"

"But he _will_ live," Gwen ventured. "Tell me straight. He'll live, won't he?"

"The healers say he will survive," Teagan answered, a bit nervously if Leliana interpreted right. "At any rate, we weren't totally sure he was who we thought he was until you ran in here just now. All we had to go on was his delirium and he didn't utter anything coherent, except some names, yours among them."

"There must be _something_ your healers found out... Was he attacked or..." Gwen bit her lower lip. "Where did he come from? How did he get here... and after so long..."

"That dwarf merchant you first came here with, Bodahn and his ward carried him in their cart one day. I don't know the details."

"What?" Leliana cringed at the shout. "Is that cheating trader getting infected with Sandal's idiocy? We've been traveling with them for days! They came with us just now, and they never said a thing!"

"They did not appear to know who they had picked up," Teagan guessed awkwardly, glancing at the others for some direction. Alim just shrugged. "All the merchant said was that Sandal just wandered off suddenly, when they were on the southern road, and Bodahn found him crouched next to your brother, unconscious in the woods, not far from the path. Even we did not make the connection until a few days ago."

Gwen swore and balled her fists around the sheets. "Why is he still unconscious?"

"Because of the medicine, partially, and because he needed more rest to heal, inasmuch as there is still room for such." the Bann told her. "He awoke briefly yesterday and asked for water, but did not communicate much beyond that before drifting off again."

Leliana wasn't surprised to see the conflicted woman look up at Wynne.

Neither was the elder mage for that matter. "I've... done all I could. He should wake up soon," Gwen sagged in relief but Wynne went on "Hopefully strong enough to hold a proper conversation, but... The scars had already set in long before I got here and-"

"Scars? You think I care about a measly couple of scars?"

Wynne blinked slowly and breathed in, deep. "You will about these."

"Dammit, will everyone just speak plainly?" Gewnith growled.

"You're too loud."

Silence descended. It gave Leliana plenty of time to imprint the sound of that voice into her memory. It was a smooth, manly tone, only barely affected by whatever pain Fergus Cousland still felt. And surprisingly, his throat wasn't raw or dry. Wynne must have really given it her all if she managed to ease the aftereffects of thirst.

The bedridden human grunted as his eye fluttered open. "Then again, you've... always been loud. What... will mother say when I tell on you for... barging into my room and not... letting me get my sleep again?"

Everyone stiffened and Gwen was frozen on the spot.

Yes, Leliana thought again. Things just kept happening. Gwen was finally at her limit too. "Fergus... Oh Fergus..." The bard looked away, strangely unwilling to watch her break down in tears. She half-expected Alim to motion for them to exit, but he didn't.

So, like them, she stayed, incapable of deciding if it was a good or bad thing that Alistair wasn't there with them.

"-. .-"

Alistair Theirin couldn't get rid of the nagging feeling that he wasn't where he was supposed to be. And that couldn't be right. He'd done precisely what he'd been told: wait for the blacksmith to be finished with Gwen and then go and get his own armor fixed and adjusted. Which he'd just finished doing, only to walk out and belatedly learn, from a knight (who, by chance, had to pick up some things from the blacksmith), _THE_ news. Or a part of it anyway. He knew that man had tried to call for him, saying there was something else, but he was already off.

Unlike Gwen, he'd taken the time to remove his armor, so he wasn't encumbered as he ran up the slope and then across the bridge. Well, not after unceremoniously dumping the bag his armor was packed in... In the middle of the village.

It wasn't _quite_ a mad dash, but it was close, and he did not slow down until he was through the castle gate and at the foot of the large staircase. Even his climb wasn't much slower, but he was forced to stop and even jump back when one of the large wooden doors opened outward, too quickly for comfort.

"Eh?" Alistair recognized the kind of hurry. It was the sort that made you want to let loose a litany of swearwords. The sort that made you take off walking, or stomping, and want to punch something.

Raonar looked up and noticed him just a couple of paces before he would have collided. "Tch." The next thing the templar knew, the dwarf had grimaced and bent forward as if to take it to the hills.

Only to blast off. Literally.

Alistair almost lost his balance from how magic and air exploded. He then stared, baffled, as that white blast he'd seen only a few times before had the ex-commander crouched horizontally on the wall and then jumping from one to the other until he was up on the battlements and out of sight. Had he been any other person, the human would have been flabbergasted at just seeing something like that. As it was, the not-templar mused that the main keep, or at least that inner section, wasn't all that tall, objectively speaking, and that the feat wasn't too noteworthy compared to other mad things he'd seen. "What in Andraste's flaming sword got into him?"

Only one of the castle doors had been opened, and Alistair was right in front of the other one. Thus, he couldn't know that someone else was going to come out when he tried to go in, so, this time, he did get a facefull of human. One that was running.

The bastard prince did not gasp when his back struck the ground with a thud, but he did grunt when someone fell on top of him. They'd banged their heads against one another in the doorway. As such, the temporary daze prevented them both from realizing what kind of position they'd ended up in. And that the sweat they'd gathered from their sprints could easily be attributed to something else.

"Nnnng..." the woman, Alistair recognized, gave out.

"Oooh." Alistair pushed her up by the shoulders. "Whu...whu... Lel... Leliana?"

Groaning, she pushed herself off him and collapsed on the stone floor next to him. "My head. Damn your thick skull, I feel worse than after I drank that horrible ale and woke up with the worst hangover _ever_."

With some trouble, they managed to get on their feet. "_My_ thick skull? I'm going to bruise!" Alistair whined. "What were you charging after anyway?"

The chantry sister snapped out of her daze. "Right! Raonar, did you see him come by here."

"Oh! Him... Well..." The senior Warden stared dumbly up the wall.

"Oh bollocks!" And she was running back into the castle before Alistair could utter anything else.

"Oh for the love of God!" He would have followed with a question of whether or not everyone had gone mad without him looking, if he didn't already know the answer. As it was, he just resumed his own advance, extra careful whenever he came to doorways this time. He still ran though.

"-. .-"

At long last, Alistair reached the room he'd been directed to by a random servant. He knocked on the door, but when no one answered, he pried it open. It wasn't closed all the way anyway.

The first thing that got him were Gwen's red, puffy eyes. He almost ran to her side then and there, but restrained himself, casting a cursory glance around the rest of the room instead. Wynne, Alim and Teagan were about as somber as anyone could get, but Fergus was the one that captured his attention. His neck and half his face, the left one, were bandaged, and his only visible eye was shut tight.

Alistair couldn't think of anything that could ruin the news of this man's continued survival. Unfortunately, that didn't mean there wasn't something of the sort. The warden wasn't the most observant of people, nor did he make connections too quickly, but he'd gotten better. Fergus and his company had been lost on a scouting mission before the news of the Cousland's massacre reached Ostagar. Wherever the man crawled out from, he probably had no idea what had happened, which meant that... Gwen had just had to tell him.

Fergus Cousland pried his eyelids open and stared at the ceiling. Grimacing, he pulled his right arm from under the covers concealing the rest of his body, all the way to his neck, and passed his hand over what he could of his face. "Oh, is that all...?" If he'd been trying to make light of the situation, Alistair couldn't tell. And he wasn't surprised. People could hardly summon the mood for such a thing right after being told their mother, father, wife and young son had been brutally killed almost a year before.

"I'm sorry," Gwen whispered. "I should have..."

"Stop it," Fergus cut her off, as firmly as he could. "No... no more words. Words are nothing."

Alistair couldn't help but disagree. He'd seen what words could do. Great things. Wonderful things. Nevertheless, he held his peace, not approaching from where he'd taken position, to the left of the door.

"Not for that," Gwen pressed calmly, eliciting a surprised look from her sibling. "I got my misplaced feelings of guilt... beaten out of me quite a few months ago. I mean for not looking for you more... or for somehow bringing Howe to justice I suppose." She scoffed bitterly. "Not that Loghain's court is one we'd have any luck making our case with."

The elder Cousland frowned in puzzlement. "Who are you and what have you done with-"

"Oh, that is _such_ an overused response," Gwen cut him off. Then, she blinked, mouthed something as if she didn't understand how she could have just done that.

"Well, at least that impulsiveness is something I can recognize..." Gwen winced at how dumbfounded he sounded. "But I'd still half-expected you to swear revenge or something along those lines. Maybe graphically describe how you'd pull his intestines out through his nose."

"So you could try and talk me out of it because of how self-destructing an attitude it is, yes I know."

Fergus blinked and stayed silent for a long while. "You've become a better person than me it seems..." When there was no query, he sighed, then promptly grimaced, feeling pained for one reason or another. It went away quickly though, replaced by rage, hate. "I don't think I would have tried to talk you out of it. Right now I only feel a smoldering desire to put my hands around his throat and wring Howe's scrawny little neck." The look thawed, going tired and helpless. "Maybe it's a good thing I'll never be able to."

That led to the expected question. Alistair noticed Gwen seemed to be as concerned and alarmed as he felt. "What is that supposed to mean? Wynne said you'll be fine."

"Oh..." It was like a door slamming shut. His voice became dull. Very dull. Just like the one belonging to a certain former Warden commander. "So you actually haven't noticed yet..."

_"Noticed what?"_ was not said aloud, even though Alistair himself would have wanted to do it. The truly curious part was that Gwen seemed to be the only other person who didn't know what he was talking about.

The first hint was the difficulty Fergus had when trying to sit up. The second hint was the grim but knowing looks of the two mages in the chamber, and Teagan. The last and only necessary one was the sheets falling down to the ailing man's waist level.

Gwen was struck speechless and she could only put her hand over her mouth. Alistair didn't go quite that far in his reaction, but he did stare and bit his lower lip. The bandages, it seemed, went quite a bit lower than his neck. They went around and over his chest, and completely covered the place where his left arm used to be.

It was missing from right above the shoulder.

There was no way to measure the silence, but it eventually became too thick and heavy, so someone had to break it.

Fergus looked at Teagan for the first time since Alistair had arrived in the room. He didn't voice his question, but the man knew well enough what he was silently being asked to do. "An arrow wound and a concussion seemed to have been dealt with just fine some time before, but there was no way to save your arm. You're actually lucky, in a grim sort of way. Had we not these healers looking after Eamon they would not have been able to save you."

"What in the..." Gwen finally caught up to her mind. "This is-" She glared at Wynne. "You said he only had scars!"

"No, I did not. I was going to say more but you cut me off."

"Dammit!" The sheets crumpled in her fists. "Damn all of this. What..." Se almost couldn't bring herself to ask. "What happened? When..? How?"

Teagan went on with his explanation when Fergus stared at him again. "It was severely infected. We were surprised you were even alive. You seemed to have crawled through hell and back. We even found some... worms... parasites we only know to live in... swampland?" Fergus blinked, face blank. "But whatever it was only seemed to have set in after you suffered some severe burns..."

It was the half-dead human that was expected to clarify things, but he did not do so verbally. Instead, he reached behind his head and, after glaring at his audience to not advance on him, pulled at his bandages and started unwrapping them.

What filled Alistair was a mortified fascination unlike anything he'd ever experienced. He knew what was coming, but actually _seeing _it, the skin on his face and head, so thoroughly marred, made his stomach lurch. That the revelation was made piece by piece, as the bandages ever so slowly unfurled, was just a small consolation. The rightful but destitute Teirn of Highever was a wretched sight. His skin had been turned dark red in uneven shades, almost purple, and that only went for his scalp. His face... did not seem to have any skin left at all. The flesh beneath had melted and hardened into something completely horrible. The left side of his mouth was stuck in an eternal, hideous rictus.

But worst was the eye. Whether because of whatever fire had caught him, or because there were no eyelids or tear glands left, it had become a vacant, dead thing.

Gwen was on the opposite bedside, but she'd seen enough to sit back in shock.

"We ran afoul of darkspawn while scouting the Korcari Wilds." And there it was, that bland, slow, emotionless voice again. "We weren't precisely ambushed. We just happened to be right above the spot where the creatures decided to erupt through the ground." Much like Sten had the bad luck around Lake Calenhad, Alistair figured. "We tried to flee, some fell behind to cover our retreat, but we'd been cut off, so we could only go south in the hope we'd shake them off. We thought we would be able to try a different route."

"I got an arrow in the back, but I was near a deep... ravine of sorts, not exactly steep but close enough. I remember falling and rolling, hitting my head. Next thing I know, I'm in a hut, being tended to by a chasind woman." Alistair was surprised he'd managed to keep up with the story, mesmerized as he was by the sight before him. "I couldn't really understand their language. I didn't know if I was just a patient or a prisoner, but I got help so I didn't complain."

The story came out in the same manner one would drop the squished bug. It was as though Fergus couldn't be bothered to hold it in anymore, but didn't really much care if he did.

He'd drifted in and out of consciousness for weeks or months, Fergus wasn't quite sure. Communication was sparse, mostly because the... tribe, or whatever it was, didn't seem to know King's Tongue, or any other common language. By the time he'd learned enough to ask for directions, names and the outcome of the fight, he'd gotten his answer from the red and dark, blight storm clouds that had settled over the north.

That was another unusual thing. Fergus had ended up in uncharted lands. Apparently, there was a mountain range there, and they were south and high enough that it was already starting to snow. It was also part of the reason why that particular chasind community didn't worry overmuch about the darkspawn. There wasn't much cause for the Blight to come their way, all the way up there, not when it could spread through the Korcari wilds and the Fereldan settlements to the north, east and west.

And then, all of a sudden, when e was finally fit enough to consider leaving, the storms suddenly spiked and the darkspawn spilled into their lives. "It was a couple of months ago I think. We weren't caught off guard," Fergus said. "And the chasind are quick to pack up and leave, being nomads. We _could_ have fled somewhere, somehow but..." It was the first time in the past ten minutes that his bland tone broke with a shudder, but only one eye was able to close. "It just... swopped down on us. Its shriek sounded like it came from another world."

"The Archdemon... really went south..." Alistair murmured.

"It came down on us with howl and fire." The memory haunted him, flickered in front of him even now. "I still remember it... Dark, purple, twisted. Corrupted, more terrible than any stories ever told. I was among the lucky ones, who didn't get a _completely_ direct hit from the flames it spat. I remember screaming, huts and tents burning." His hands were trembling but he forced them to stop. "I don't know how I escaped, but at some point I took off running, then crawling, then running again when my burned skin couldn't take the pain from the effort of clawing at the dirt and marsh. I'm certain I wouldn't have taken towards North if it wasn't the same as downhill. The rest... you probably know better than me..."

Alistair wasn't the best at connecting the dots, but he'd gotten better. And the timing. The timing... made so much _sense._ "Maker's word..." It almost made him drop to his knees, but the outrage blossoming in his chest gave him the strength to stand.

That mess should have led to good news. Fooling the Archdemon into going south was supposed to be the one bit of _good_ news to emerge out of that disaster.

Alistair frustration burst from him as an invisible but strong, dense blast of null wavelength. If Alim or Wynne were perturbed at having their magic snuffed out, they didn't show it.

"-. .-"

It wasn't exactly a secret that there was always one member of their group keeping an eye on Raonar, just in case he decided to keel over and die. Leliana didn't mind when her turn came. Verily, she'd been looking forward to it, believed she might have a way to restore some of his lost cheer, or get him to talk more than one or two words a day. She hadn't succeeded in either yet.

Today was not her turn, but she found herself trying to track him down anyway. It was too troubling that he just up and walked out of that room like that, when everyone else stayed. Now, as she climbed the stairs to the top of the keep, she could not help but sigh and wonder if perhaps she got more than she bargained for. That man had turned out to be notoriously hard to keep up with. It had also left her a bit dumbfounded to see him walk out on that situation as if he were running away.

Going by previous incidents, this probably meant he was experiencing enough emotional upheaval that he did not trust himself to keep a lid on the Veil, hence the decision to make off. That didn't mean she'd let him out of her sight though. Not willingly anyhow. He'd managed to evade her this time, but she knew she was on the right track.

The door leading out to the battlement was open, so she quickly passed through. The setting sun was in front of her and blinded her for a moment, so she had to shield her face and slow down until her eyes adjusted. When they eventually did, she realized, to her chagrin, that she'd stumbled upon someone else.

And then she felt like slapping herself. Considering that song-like hum at the edge of her hearing, she should have anticipated he'd be up here. "Theron, did Raonar come by here?" Leliana didn't even bother asking herself why Theron had his composite bow next to him.

The elf straightened and craned his neck towards her, and it was then that she saw something long, thin and white floating above his right palm, growing with each new mote of light that melded with it. "No, he did not." His gaze turned to the other side, his left. "He exited through that other passage. You will find him beyond that tower, leaning over the parapet."

The bardess all but shouted. "What do you mean, leaning over the parapet?" If he planned on jumping off, she'd be having _words_.

Theron hummed. "Why is that so alarming? It is no different from what I was doing when you arrived." He turned around and resumed... whatever he was doing. "Perhaps he likes the view of the forest, especially since it will be far less peaceful soon." He moved like water and, before Leliana had time to form any more words, the elf had his bow drawn and the arrow he'd just made notched. "Such deceptive tranquility among those trees." The wind whistled between them and send their hair fluttering. "A pity that arrows will so soon fly at one another."

Leliana couldn't decide if he was making any sense. Then she realized she'd almost forgotten why she'd come up there and almost did slap herself.

"Yes, the wind is perfect. It should broadcast whatever argument Zevran and Faren will inevitably get into when they run into each other in the forest." The hunter lowered his bow but did not take the near-transparent arrow away from the string, neither did he look at her. "Since you seem to be running after people today, you might end up in the same area. Head downwind if you decide you want to find them."

"Uh, sure..." the woman could naught but blink, unsure what the elf was going on about but used to his odd manner. She did not waste more time telling him she had no intention of leaving the palace and village grounds. She did feel a bit surprised Faren had deliberately entered a _forest_ though. He was supposed to loathe them. She knew about Zevran going, even though she did not know his motives, but she did not feel concerned. Faren though...

The woman shook her head. She had enough to worry about without adding this to the list. Like where in the world Raonar had gone... ah, there he was at last, just as Theron had said. "Finally!" She heaved a sigh and rested sideways against the wall. "You do sure know how to keep a girl on her toes."

The dwarf's head dropped in what could only be dismay. Shortly after, he was staring at the sky, pointedly not reacting to her arrival otherwise. Leliana frowned. He'd essentially turned his back on her without physically turning his back on her. The feeling was the same. "Why did you leave so abruptly? You did not even stay to hear the story of how that man ended up here and... like that."

The man scoffed. "He's covered in burns. He was found to the south of the road. He'd been lost before the Ostagar mess and he obviously never made it to the north. That means he could only have ended up in the uncharted regions to the south of the Korcari Wilds, where he spent half a year before ending up like that for some reason." His fingers twitched. "And the timing is a perfect match too. No need to be a genius to figure out what that "some reason" is."

It took her one minute to put the pieces together. "You can't _possibly_-"

"Leliana, why are you here?" he still did not look at her

"You know why."

"Do I really?" he drawled. "I'm not so sure. Shouldn't you be still in the room, writing down this epic tale for future recounting, like bards supposedly love to?"

The woman crossed her arms and glared. "Is it really so hard to believe that maybe I care less about that than I do about this?" She paused, considering. Yes, it had already dragged on too long. "Or about you?"

"Ah, and here is the root of the problem." The short man finally stepped away from the parapet and met her eyes. His gaze told her nothing. "I suppose I have my own blame in this, for not using my regular bluntness from the start. Making people think I can't be subtle worked against me for once."

"Don't!" She was shocked at how aggressive her words were, but something, somehow, told her she needed to say this. "Stop thinking I'm here just because of my assumed penchant for tales and how I presumably try to project them on real life. This isn't one of our storytelling nights." And if she felt justified to emphasize "our" it wasn't just her fault. "This isn't just me trying to comfort an ailing hero because it would make an epic tale to tell later. This isn't just me being romantic for its own sake, can't you see that? Even now?"

"I can and I do." It gnawed at her how he could still seem so unaffected, or how there always seemed to be something more important, deeper, wearing him down, compared to what she had to offer him. "Leliana..." Finally, _finally_ that flat tone cracked. Even if she didn't identify what it was that did it, it was better than nothing. Maybe he would _finally_ actually say, truly say something.

And, she figured, he won't be able to just walk out of it if she gained enough leverage. It was past time she overcame her reservations and just outright said it. "I-

"Don't say it!"

Her mouth closed.

He stepped back and winced because of something or other. "Don't..." He said again, left hand twitching. "You've told me of your life, and how it fell apart. I see what you are trying to say, but there is only one thing I can do if you do." There seemed to be no difficulty in choosing the words, like he'd long ago decided what he would say when this time came. "So let me say it first: I will never return your feelings, and I apologize for not raising the issue from the start."

"..." She would have said something, but she could not think of what.

And it did not help that he bowed his head in front of her. "I cannot be the person that finally puts your demons to rest, so don't set yourself up for being rejected. I... am sorry for disappointing you as well."

This time she did not follow when he walked away.

"-. .-"

For the fourth time in the past minute, Zevran dodged a knife-hand jab and countered with a kick. It was the fourth time because the other two had nailed him square in the left side and chest, but he'd managed to keep his breathing even and recover. That didn't mean he could keep up very well though, even though there wasn't any surprise left to cloud his reflexes. Barely meeting his opponent's kick with his own, he had to choose between protecting his gut and blocking a punch at his jaw. He chose the former and rolled with the punch.

It still hurt like hell, and it was just his luck that a loose rock happened to be right where he hit the ground with his ribs. Nothing cracked, but he could feel the bruise forming and his side swelling. No time to do more than acknowledge it though. Not with that flying axe kick coming down at his face.

Oh yeah, Faren was pissed as hell.

It was easy enough to roll out of the way and kick him in the shin hard enough to send the dwarf stumbling, but it took real effort to stop his reflex to loosen the knife hidden underneath his bracer. It wouldn't do to stab the young man. Raonar would be upset with him, not to mention that Kallian would be devastated.

Zevran couldn't even begin to figure out how they'd come to blows.

He ducked out of the way of a fairly straightforward punch and kicked Faren in the side.

Correction, he knew exactly how they'd come to blows. It had all happened over the past 20 minutes, and he wasn't an amnesiac. That they met at all was a complete coincidence. He had just been gathering herbs and looking for a very specific type of earth crawler when he distinguished some footmarks in the moss that definitely should not have been there. Faren showed up while he was trying to figure out what or whose it could be.

The elf grunted as even a perfect counter didn't spare him pain. Faren hit _hard._

But so could he, as the dwarf's nose learned just a moment later.

The former Crow knew this situation was mostly his fault, but he couldn't help the barbs he sent the warden's way. Kallian hadn't been in the best of spirits lately, since Faren had been avoiding her for some obscure reason. Zevran had long ago decided not to come between them, but that didn't mean he wouldn't take him to task when he made her feel bad, especially on purpose. He was well within the bounds of "minding his own damn business" when grilling him for it.

Although, come to think of it, maybe it hadn't been the best of ideas to accuse him of only ever having considered Kallian a means for him to feel better about himself.

Zevran tried a punch, but it was caught. Faren tried something similar, but his fist was caught in turn.

Only for the smaller one to use the elf as leverage and pull himself forward, delivering the cleanest and hardest of headbutts in recent history.

Right between his precious, handsome eyes.

Zevran reeled back and his backstep met air. He lost his balance and slid off the slope they'd ended up near, but did not lose his grip, which meant that both of them were sent tumbling down, grunting and gasping whenever they hit something.

Eventually they stopped, sprawled next to each other, but that was only a brief reprieve. Soon enough they were pushing themselves back to their feet and doing their best to ignore the blood dripping from their noses or flowing from gashes on the forehead and other parts of their bodies. Talking was out of the question, since they barely had enough energy to breathe.

Arainai was thinking of maybe using one of his weaker concoctions, to daze him, perhaps put him to out of commission for a while and then toss him in the lake to cool him off.

Just when they were about to lunge at each other again, however, Zevran spotted what had made him stop in the first place. It was much more noticeable, and it wasn't alone, the boot print. he was only an amateur forest tracker, but that only meant that whoever had left a trail noticeable to even him had to be heavy. Very heavy. Heavy enough to suggest metal armor. The size of the boot fit his speculation.

"I'm over here, bird face!" Faren growled, poised to jump at him one more time.

"Shut up!" He was sincerely amazed the guy complied. Maybe it was owed to his confused and frantic twists and turns.

Good thing too, because the wind happened to carry something other than the sound of air blowing through trees.

"-. .-"

In hindsight, it hadn't been the best of ideas to go for a walk through the woods, in the late afternoon, in just her chantry robe, but Leliana wasn't exactly thinking she'd land in a dangerous situation less than a mile away from Redcliffe. Her thoughts did not really help in avoiding it either. She kept thinking about what had just happened, and feeling angry over it. Angry at him, oddly enough. She could not decide on the main reason. She just knew there was a very good one somewhere.

Half an hour into her hike, her mind took refuge from those thoughts by preoccupying itself with another. It was funny how she ended up doing precisely what Theron said she might. Funny and strange. The elf seldom misspoke himself, if ever, assuming he ever talked at all. And he'd become all the stranger since his... incident.

The warning came, as it so commonly does, in the form of a cracked twig. Leliana was deep in her thoughts, frowning, glowering at the ground and generally being in a foul mood, but that did nothing to her reaction time. She was standing ramrod straight and scouring her surroundings immediately, looking everywhere even as it seemed that her eyes were not moving.

Cautiously, she resumed her walk, and she had no trouble noticing the moving shapes among the trees to her right.

She stopped again when more sounds floated through the air. "Zevran? Is that you?" Theron did say they were in the woods. "Faren?" Alarms were chiming in her head now, due to the simple fact that, if it _had_ been any of those two sneaking up on her, they would not have had any trouble staying unseen. There was the possibility of them being deliberately sloppy in their prank, but Leliana hadn't survived so far without honing her danger senses, which meant there was someone else there. Someone unknown. "Guys, come on, this isn't funny."

If it was one of them, she had nothing to fear. Well, nothing too horrible anyway. If it wasn't, then standing around was the worst possible idea, so she plastered a look of fond annoyance on her face and started walking again, surreptitiously inching closer to an old, large beech on the opposite side of where she'd last seen whoever was trailing her. "Zev! Faren? Will you two stop playing and just come out already?" She was actually proud of how convincing her act was.

Someone finally came out of hiding, and by the time she confirmed that he had a bow trained on her, she was already half-way through her plunge. She took cover behind the trunk of the tree and heard the arrow impact the bark less than a second later. She thought she was safe for the moment, but a woman turned out to be just twenty meters in front of where she was now crouching, arrow already notched.

The bard cursed softly as she dived out of the way again, thanking the Maker for the long-dead trunk nearby. She knew she could not stay there too long though, so even as her mind tried to guess who these men could possibly be, she began to hatch a plan.

It was a small risk, but she got up and ran behind another tree, deliberately sticking closer to the edge, so that her feet were visible. Once done, she left her right boot behind (after taking the knife hidden inside), to make her attacker think she was still there. After that, she carefully snuck her way around, until she was behind the woman.

It was a silent kill. She'd covered her attacker's mouth before her stiletto found her heart.

Leliana knew she could not stay there long, but there was also the matter of having her way back to the castle potentially blocked by whoever was here. She studied her victim, looking for a crest of some sort. If these were Loghain's men, they probably weren't few and might be after Faren and Zevran as well. There was no clear indication that was the case, however.

"You bitch! You killed her!" This time it was a man in chain mail armor that went at her. He had a shield and a broadsword and was angry. Very angry really. She tried to side-step, but her robes tangled her feet and she swayed dangerously, only half avoiding the shield bash. It got her in the shoulder and she could not hold in a cry of pain, not when she lost her balance and fell.

Once she was on her back, the man tried to hit her with the bottom edge of his shield, but she swiped his legs from under him and got her knife in his throat before he could do much else.

After that, it was all like a race. She'd torn the side of her robe dress apart, for mobility, and barely looted the bow and arrow quiver from the woman, and the man's sword, when arrows started sailing after her from two sides. Her hunters had learned not to get close, so they stuck to range even more fervently than before.

Running was really the only option, and with the way back out of the question she could think of only one thing that could influence which of the other directions to take.

Downwind it was.

She was not used to this, she realized after the upteenth arrow she barely escaped. Usually, it was her who hunted people down, not the other way around. He breath was getting heavy. At some point, she would be forced to stop and catch her breath. That meant that she was an easier target, but that was okay. If she anticipated their eagerness, she could counterattack more easily.

So when her feet came to a halt near another tree, she guessed at where the bowman or woman was most likely to emerge from and aimed her arrow in the general direction in advance.

The shot caught the... man, apparently, in the hip. Not lethal, but at least it would mean one less stalker once she covered enough distance. She only hoped her lungs and legs could hold her. She could not keep this up forever.

Feeling for where the wind blew, she made off once more, wondering where Zevran and Faren were when she needed them. Calling for help, or their names, would probably help, but it would also make her an easier target, and she knew there was at least one or two more people on her tail.

Her estimate was right, but only because the other three that were there for her didn't fit the hunter criteria, armed as they were and, in the case of the big and burly one, massively armored to the teeth. They were _waiting _ for her instead.

By the time she realized she was being led into an ambush, she'd already fallen in it.

There wasn't much time to think really. She fired one arrow as fast as she could, and it hit one of them in the gut, even through the steel plating, but there was one other archer, not counting whoever was still behind her. "Sodding wench!" It was a brute of a man that sneered at her, holding an oversized greatsword in both hands. "I was only told to kill you, but now I'm thinking I'll take my time!"

Throwing your sword didn't really work. Leliana knew this. She also knew that she was out of ideas, so she reached back and pulled on the weapon

It flew towards the other archer, but his widening eyes weren't accompanied by enough fear to render him stupid. Well actually, they were, and he did go stupid, by the way he cowered and raised both hands in front of his face. The sword didn't even hit him with its edge. it just clashed with him and fell to the ground.

The distraction helped at least. Since the armored brute was too slow on his feet, Leliana only needed to concern herself with the third ambusher. With a low and fast dash, she closed in on him and tackled him straight on. The man yelped in surprise and tried to wrestle her off, but she succeeded in reaching a certain spot on his neck. In a few minutes, his blood vessels would burst. Not the easiest way to die, but the best she could manage under the circumstances.

Another looted bow and an arrowshot later, the one she'd thrown her sword at was dead as well.

Then the alarms returned in full force.

Leliana rolled out of the way of the sward chop, hitting a stump with her shoulder. That was not what made her cry out though. The real pain came from the sharp caltrops that bit into her torso and arm. The bastards weren't complete morons. They had trapped the place beforehand as well. Jumping back the way she'd come was the logical decision, but that brute brought his sword down into the ground in front of her, barring her passage. "No you don't, damn cunt! We've had to hold back so long, because of that large group you were in! I ain't letting you get away now!" Without even trying to rear back for momentum, he hurled the large blade at her, so the bard had no choice but to jump back, hoping her could avoid the worst of the metal spikes.

She landed on her feet, but one of her shoes was already gone from earlier. "Ah! Son of a..." With a last effort, she jumped far enough to clear the trap. "Nnngh!" Lying on the ground, even she had to make a strangled sound when pulling that thing out of her foot. "Damn..." The pain had already made her see spots, and her ears were bussing, her balance shot. The one spike had gone through her foot and out the top side.

"Graaah!" The relentless man barreled shoulder-first into her as soon as she was back up.

She hit the harsh, uneven forest ground hard.

The woman knew for certain that blow had broken at least two of her ribs. That alone would have been manageable, but she'd also his hear head. Again. She couldn't feel much pain, but that usually meant the hit was serious, probably bleeding over already. She thought that maybe she should just rest, sleep a bit... but that only made her alarms blare, scream in her ears louder than ever.

So instead of that, Leliana forced herself to remember that she was a bard, and that she never left anywhere unarmed, that she could never be completely caught unaware.

She remembered that Faren wasn't the only one with retractable daggers hidden on his body.

Blue eyes snapped open. The brute was standing over here, grinning lecherously, and she knew the perfect remedy for that.

Sending her left foot up was easy. Her leg didn't go all the way, blocked by the piece of armor hanging in front of the groin, but it didn't need to. If anything, the instantaneous pause in motion helped deploy the sharp blade built into the sole of her boot.

The forest would have thundered with the yell of a man if the blow had been a few inches off-target. As it was, the man-brute screeched like a woman and fell down, screaming his lungs out and failing to clutch at his manhood, hindered as he was by the metal he wore. The man-brute screamed, and screamed and screamed, sometime managing a curse, until her senses finally recovered enough that she crawled over and silence him for good.

Andraste's ass, what a horrible day.

She didn't quite remember how long she lay there, or when she crawled and propped her back against a tree. She guessed it must not have been overly long. If it had, she'd be already dead. That archer glaring at her with so much hate would have shot her, but he hadn't. It implied he'd only now caught up to the ambush site.

The fight or flight instinct tried to emerge one last time, but it failed. Leliana just stared at him impassively as he pulled on the string and released...

A white line cut through the image, and there was just a "thunk" one meter to her left.

Leliana blinked, unable to process what had just happened. She stared dumbly at the flabbergasted expression that had taken over her assailant's ugly face. Beaten-with-a-stick ugly really. Huh.

And then Zevran was behind him, and the archer was unconscious on the ground.

"Hey!" Someone tried to gain her attention. Someone nearby.

"Mmhuh?" was her intelligent reply. "Ow." Faren did not know how to be gentle at all apparently. She could have done with less shaking her shoulder and more giving her a potion or something. "Wait!" She told Zevran. She knew she was going to tell him something, something relevant... Oh, right. "Don't kill him. These aren't Loghain's men. No crests. We should try to... ow... interrogate him or something... right?"

"Leliana, what happened?" Faren asked.

"I'm not sure," she winced at her sore back. Rubbing the back of her head turned out to be a bad idea when she saw just how much blood covered her fingers.

"No," Faren said, in a weird voice. "I mean... What _happened_?"

Blearily, she eyed him and finally saw he was staring at something. Something to her right.

"Erhm..." Apparently, she had not, in fact, hallucinated. That arrow really had been snatched out of the air by... another arrow. A strange, white arrow of some sort. "Huh... You see something new every day..."

"This behavior is unsightly and worrying for you, my dear," Zevram was all business. And had a black eye and bloody nose for some reason. Just like Faren. What could that possibly mean...? "Here, drink this potion and get better, yes?"

"-. .-"

Alistair had been standing outside the corridor door for an hour, going over what he could, would and should say whenever Gwen finally dragged herself out of that room. He knew it might be a while still. He knew it as soon as he exited, along with Alim, Teagan and Wynne. Those three had each gone this way and that, but he'd stayed as close as he could while still respecting Gwen's privacy, and that of her brother.

The not-templar didn't like it one bit, how Fergus talked, so coldly. He probably shouldn't have felt this way, but it bothered him more than the sight of his mutilated face and amputated arm. It was all made worse by how there was nothing he could do, and how it wasn't really his business. But he'd make it his. Gwen's problems were his problems after all.

He was startled from his dark musings when the door opened. And there she was, Gwenith Cousland, looking tired and sad.

Alistair opened his mouth, then closed it. He gave her a long look, trying to guess how she felt at not seeing anyone other than him in that hall. If she was upset, or disheartened in any other way.

In the end, he couldn't figure it out, so he released a long breath. "Gwen-"

"Alistair."

The man stood at attention. There was no grief in her tone, no heaviness. There was just the command, even though she had given no orders. "Yes?" He blinked. She was so great just then, so unwavering.

The woman passed her fingers through her hair and stared at him for a while. When she spoke, her words broadcasted only grim determination. "We-" and she emphasized the 'we' "-are going to _fix_ that." She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. "We are going to travel to Haven, find the Sacred Ashes and bring them here whether the dead woman or the Maker himself likes it or not." With that, she stepped, strode forward so solemnly that Alistair wouldn't have batted an eyelash if the wall stepped out of the way to let her pass. "And beat the crap out of everyone who tries to stop us." She paused at the door and sent him one last look. "Coming?"

Some would have said that Alistair Theirin should follow no one. That as a prince, even a bastard prince, his word should be obeyed, not the other way around.

Needless to say, Alistair did not give a shit about that. He'd not given one before and he did not give on now. Or even two. He'd just been pleasantly surprised. _Very_ pleasantly surprised, and he was going to make sure this attitude persisted for as long as possible. "You know I'm right beside you. Stop asking."

"Try to keep up."

"Yes ma'am."

He pitied the one that would have to remind her that they would not be going anywhere before morning.


	70. Myth Chase Arc  3: Balance Discarded

**Chapter 67: Balance Discarded**

"-. .-"

The whole point of leaving the castle grounds had been to get away from anything that could make him feel more tense than he already was, which was pretty much every person and room in the building. So, naturally, the reaction to not achieving his goal of finding solace in solitude should have been annoyance.

Raonar, being Raonar, sighed instead.

Though to be fair, even that emotional response was ill-fitting, given the sight before him. Or above him. Well, both really.

It was good that the scene was easy to spot. Otherwise he might have gotten close enough for his surprise to come out too suddenly and too loudly. Not really problematic under most circumstances, but it was night time, however well lit by the half-moon, and loud noises were known to be perfect destroyers of balance.

People's balance that is.

"Ahem," he cleared his throat softly, staring up and bracing himself to lunge forward and be crushed half-way to death. "Are you supposed to be doing that?"

Sandal hummed some weird tune as he balanced, if the term even applied to his perilously shifting position, on the utmost edge of the wooden platform. The place seemed higher now that he was actually staring up at it. His neck almost didn't have the ability to bend backwards enough to behold it properly. Raonar had sat there almost a year before, teasing/consoling Alistair, and he knew what falling off was like. Unlike him, that addled dwarf boy didn't have illegal magic powers to cushion his fall.

From what he'd seen anyway.

"Hey! Are you listening to me?" Raonar was thinking of running up the path, but it went too far around and he wouldn't be here if the kid did fall off.

Sandal hobbled dangerously but reversed footing at the last moment and didn't even seem to notice. "Dum-de-dumm. Moon pretty tonight." Raonar almost had a heart attack (again) when the fool savant almost drunkenly spun in place. "Rune go wooweey-wooosh!" And the moonlight glinted off something he was holding up, as high as his tiny frame allowed, between his fingers. "Er... ooops."

And then, of course, it just had to happen.

It wasn't the most painful thing he'd experienced. It really wasn't. That didn't make being flattened against the ground by that sack of meat any more pleasant though. It didn't help that somehow, he was not quite sure how, he misjudged the distance and jumped forward too far and too fast, making sure Sandal did not, in fact, land in his arms.

There was a fleeting cloud of dust and dirt as Sandal crashed on the prince's back from above and Raonar faceplanted in the dirt. He heard and felt something crack, and he realized with aggravation that it was his nose. His perfectly-sized, unblemished, smooth-skinned nose.

Why had he tried to save that brat again?

"Oooph," Sandal huffed and was on his feet within seconds, wobbling before snapping into that eerily focused state he sometimes slipped into. Raonar, naturally, did not notice as he grabbed his nose -crunch- so at least it was back in place. There was pain, but it was nothing compared to the one in his arm and chest, so he barely noticed it.

"Are-" _you alright?_ He coughed and chocked the dirt out of his throat. He wanted that to be enough, but he just had to sneeze, so he did.

Only for blood to pour out of his nostrils, now that there was nothing clogging it. Wonderful. "Curse my chronic hero syndrome," he muttered under his breath.

"Bright mister is fast and sturdy!" Sandal gushed as he hovered around him. "But bright mister's nose blood is icky and dirty now."

Raonar only had a couple of seconds to wonder why Sandal sounded so sad and wistful about the state of his nosebleed before something pricked him in the arm painfully enough to make him hiss.

By the time he swatted whatever it was away, Sandal had danced out of his reach, grinning deviously at the vial of glass that now held some of his blood. "This better, yes. Strong letter need special ingredient!"

"Get back he-!" That was as far as he got when the effects of having been flattened against the ground belatedly caught up with him. His vision swam and he thought he wouldn't be able to stay conscious for a while. Fortunately, the vertigo went away little by little, though the throbbing in his temples lingered more than was normal for him, especially with the Lifegiver and his father's ring working overtime.

Damned and idiotic big brother, cutting out a small part of the pages in that empty tome just to sneak that signet ring along. No wonder Trian turned around and walked off immediately after handing it to him.

But he was forgetting where he was and what had just happened. Wait, what had happened?

The memory made him push away from the wooden beam he'd collapsed against. The dizzy spell returned with a vengeance, but he grit his teeth and stumbled up the path. He needed to get it back. Blood in runes was rarely a good idea, unless Alim was the one who made them. What was worse, his blood was in the possession of someone else. Who knew what would happen if it reached someone who actually knew what to do with it?

What the hell was Sandal playing at? What was he... What _was_ he really?

The warden's steps became steadier the further he walked, and he finally regained enough of his wits to run the rest of the way. Sandal was, again, precariously balancing on the edge of the farthest wooden plank, humming and hobbling. "I suggest you give that back right now." He wasn't really in the mood for games, and that was even before he got almost crushed to death.

"Bright mister shouldn't strain himself," Sandal sing-songed. "Ah no!" That stopped Raonar's irritated, imminent charge. "Mister really shouldn't it would scare Sandal because then Sandal would lose balance and fall and mister wouldn't be down to catch him and he'd be just _so sad_ when he finally learned what Sandal was doing for the bright mister but probably never will anyway and even without it the mister would just be devastated for _days_ and then he wouldn't get better but worst of all he'd never get Sandal's present!"

The dwarf noble's mind was reeling from the effort of just trying to make out what that kid had just said. It all sounded like one long word with the barest of pauses and emphasis in between.

"Blood nasty in magic letters if used bad," Sandal pondered aloud, not-quite-balancing on the edge of the platform, just like before. "But bright mister's blood is nice and clean." He was holding the vial like a pen and slowly tracing the tip across a small piece of... marble? It was hard to tell because of the pale light. Wherever and however he'd gotten it, it was smooth and oval. "And bright mister goes BOOM a lot, and that's just bad. Sandal likes boom, but not when misters and missusses go boom, then it's a bad kind of boom. Messy too."

... the hell?

Sandal stared owlishly at the rune, and whatever that symbol was, for a while. Raonar took the chance to inch closer, but didn't dare move too suddenly.

He almost jumped out of his skin when Sandal essentially hopped and twisted around in the air, holding the rune up at the sky and somehow not falling over, even though gravity should have pulled him down, over the ledge and to his death or permanent crippling long ago. The start almost made him miss how the night sky flashed bright enough for it to be mistaken for daytime before it was black and star-studded once again. Raonar wasn't sure he hadn't been imagining it.

"Moon nice to give light but light from outside better, stronger, makes Sandal tipsy because it makes the scary old lady afraid."

It was like an alarm thundered in his skull. "Scary old lady?"

Sandal didn't react to his taking a step forward. He kept holding the rune up at the sky. It was glistening, almost shining even against the shape of the moon. "Scary old lady comes and stares at Sandal sometimes when she thinks Sandal is asleep. " The boy finally regained a semblance of sanity and stepped back from the precipice. The look of childish but honest dread on his face was too honest to be just fear of the dark. "She has a scary laugh..."

"... what does she look like?" No answer. "Did she try to do anything to you?"

Sandal only then seemed to realize he was there. "Bright mister is here! Bright mister is here for gift, yes?" He bounded over to him like a small boy on a sugar rush. "Here! No boom! Present, see? Now mister can go to bed!" He basically pushed the odd rune in his face.

There was no way he could win against that sort of look, and Sandal could still pull off the child puppy eyes so well that he didn't look his real age at all... whatever it was.

"Keep present close!" And the savant enchanter dropped it in his hands before skimping away. "Keep letter close! Feel good, yes? Need go make some boom now! ENCHANTMENT boom, yes!"

Raonar would have called after him if he didn't realize that he was also holding the vial he'd been pricked with. It was transparent, and absolutely empty, not even a trace of his blood on or inside it. And the rune, that unknown symbol, shone faintly, teal on white, no red in sight. It would have taken him much longer to figure out what it was supposed to be for, if he wasn't holding it in his left hand. The same hand that had holes from one side to the other, the hand that was connected to an arm that looked like it had been skewered in the past hour, with just some bandages to hide the worst of it.

It didn't hurt at all.

He fell to his knees right that moment. The relief from the pain... It brought back to the forefront of his mind just how intense that ache had been all that time. Having it suddenly disappear... It was euphoric. Hesitantly, he stretched his muscles as much as he could, and some of the ache returned, but it was more than manageable compared to ten minutes before. Even though none of the injuries had gone away, the pain was all but gone.

It all made that rune, or whatever it was, all the more mesmerizing. It was egg-shaped, albeit perfectly symmetrical, somehow. It was stone or metal of some sort, but did not look like it had come to be that way naturally, and the material didn't bear the evidence of polishing either. Had it somehow been grown into that? And the lines. Whatever the symbol was, it completely covered that oval on all sides...

He'd asked himself what that boy was several times before, but after seeing Theron break all laws of existence, both asleep and awake, he was used to the strange. Especially since Theron had apparently shot an arrow out of the air earlier. With another arrow. From miles away. Without even seeing his target.

And there was that spirit to consider too. And himself...

He really could be forgiven for mistaking Sandal for an unimportant quirk of the land by comparison.

But then humming reached his ears, and he shuffled forward, enough to look down between the planks, at the ground below, leading to the windmill.

Sandal was with his back to him, hopping from one foot to the other, pretending he was still balancing on the thin side of a plank. "One day the magic will come back." He slowed down. "All of it." He stopped. It was like there was someone or something else speaking. "Everyone will be just like they were. The shadows will part, and the skies will open wide!" He made as if to envelop the whole world in his small arms. "When he rises, _everyone_ will see!"

If he wasn't already kneeling, the dwarven prince would have done it after hearing that. Logic said he shouldn't put much stock in it, that Sandal was just an addled, albeit brilliant, enchanter. Logic screamed louder when said savant giggled and shouted "Enchantment!" yet again before strutting off.

But he knew when to trust his feelings, and they _all_ said he'd just witnessed something he never should have.

And none of them said whether it was good or bad that he did.

"-. .-"

Gorim wasn't surprised to find Trian there. He could actually think of a number of worse things that Aeducan's scion could have chosen to do, places where he could have gone, but that didn't mean he liked it any better than everything else happening in Orzammar at the moment. The gates to the surface were still closed, the people were still melancholic, the assembly still distracting itself with whatever matters they could as they waited for Trian to move for the throne.

But they were running out of ideas. Sooner or later, the unrest was bound to return. It was a real blessing that his Lord Aeducan and his Grey Wardens had found the old House Ortan records. Reinstating Orta and her family as nobles, returning the lineage assets and putting together an expedition to scour Ortan Thaig for wealth had succeeded in keeping the Assembly occupied for the time being. Saved them from descending into the same squabbles as before.

But the real problem was different. The real problem was that people were talking, that the rumors were already out about Trian likely not meaning to run for Kingship anymore. Gorim had been flabbergasted, then shocked, then furious and eventually just resigned after hearing what Trian did, going to Tapster's Tavern and saying those things. Sometimes he was just too straightforward for his own good.

Although, much to Gorim's awe, the impression left behind by that act, in the hearts of the commoners, was mindnumbingly positive.

Trian didn't know, of course, so it really wasn't a surprise to see him frequenting the Royal Palace less and less, until he stopped showing himself in public for days on end. This was the fifth.

He'd gone back to Harrowmont's estate, of course to that half-dug chamber he'd used for sculpting. He was standing on the highest level of the scaffold, hammering, chiseling away at the dark and strong rock. The hammer rung as it hit the blunt rear end of the sharp tool, again and again and again. He was leaning a bit sideways at the middle, tracing the newest line in that rock outcropping. Apparently, he'd decided on what the face would look like.

"I see you've recovered your inspiration." Gorim's voice was flat. His disposition was not the best, and the reason for it was not directly related to the circumstances leading him there.

Trian paused for a few seconds and looked back over his shoulder. "Come to scold me for acting so rashly?"

Gorim frowned as the hammering resumed. "Oh, I know full well it was anything _but_ rash."

The ensuing silence was broken only by the repeated, rhythmic blows of the hammer.

"You can't just stay cooped up down here forever," Gorim eventually said.

Clank clank clank.

Gorim seriously contemplated the option of picking up one of the many figurines on the shelves nearby, or the table, and hurling it at Tran's head, but he concluded that he didn't want to be a contributing factor if Trian had another work-related accident like the one of the prior year.

So, grudgingly, he approached the scaffold and stared warily at the single ladder leading up to the level Trian was standing on. Climbing it was the last thing he wanted, and not because of his useless leg. Nevertheless, he needed to, so he grasped one of the bars as tight as he could and carefully made his way up, using just one leg to push himself.

When he finally reached the top, he couldn't suppress a grunt as he had to force his knee to bend. Trian still didn't turn around, but he had stopped hammering in favor of staring blankly at the rock and tracing the line he'd most recently chipped into it. "I know what you would say."

Gorim was doing his best not to let his face show any emotion. He stared pointedly ahead, knowing that holding the top-most bar of the railing in an iron grip was already suspicious enough. "I'm not so sure you do." It was true. He didn't think anyone could guess what he wanted to say. Well, except his lord Aeducan of course.

The prince didn't look at him when he spoke. He was actually more or less with his back turned. "You would say that I have to go back out there, to do something about this. That I cannot let brother's sacrifices be in vain. That because he believes I have what it takes I-..." His voice stopped. Gorim thought he heard it almost break, but a deep breath staved off the worst of it. "I cannot go back out there. I can't... There is only one thing I can think of, and it is that his date of birth is coming in just over a month and I know not whether I should prepare a celebration for him or a funeral service."

Later, Gorim would look back upon his actions with confusion. By all accounts, those words had not surprised him at all, being that they were the expression of thoughts he fully shared. There was nothing at all unexpected in learning that Trian was being tormented by such grim contemplations. Nor was Trian's openness with him out of place, given their history.

Thus, the words should not have been enough to make him completely ignore the reason he'd been so reluctant to climb that thing, but he did.

He closed the distance easily and softly laid a hand on the man's shoulder. Trian's straight posture sagged, reminding the warrior that he'd not slept well for over a week. It also made Gorim experience a clear epiphany, one that told him precisely how he could help the noble most at that moment.

And it even allowed him totally to skip over the part where Trian started wallowing in self doubt because "if HE couldn't succeed in making something of Orzammar, how can I possibly do better?"

So when Trian turned to look at him with the most open and sincere expression of anguish, the fighter punched him in the face so hard that he went spinning around, dropped the tools between the displaced planks underneath him and lost his balance in such a way that he bumped his forehead against one of the railings' bars and collapsed in a heap, on his left side, scattering rock bits and junk everywhere.

Gorim Saelac stoically surveyed the twitching, half-prone form of the heir to the throne of the last dwarven race as the cloud of dust around him settled, though not before the disturbed pile of debris and tools on the level below fell and caused a nearly deafening crash. He surveyed him for a long time.

The last main Aeducan groaned in pain, twisted and brought a hand to his cheek. He stared up at the other, baffled more than anything else.

"I'm sorry, were you expecting a hug?" Having remembered where he was, Gorim failed to rein in his annoyance. And when he was annoyed, he spoke bluntly, in a perfectly level but strong tone. "_Get_ over yourself Trian. Orzammar needs you."

Trian stared up at him. He stared for a long time, as if that was the first time Gorim had punched him. As if he'd never before been physically assaulted in his life, despite the fact that he had been punched in the face by that same man in the relatively recent past.

Repeatedly.

Some untold time later, Trian Aeducan removed his hand from his face and painstakingly picked himself up from the heap he'd been reduced to. Gorim did not move in to offer assistance. It probably looked like he was being steadfastly standing his ground after the capitally punishable offense he'd just committed. The reason was totally different, and ludicrously embarrassing, but Trian didn't ask, so he didn't volunteer an explanation either.

Either way, after all the misfortunes that filled his life, Gorim experienced a moment of absurdly good luck when his impulsive reaction had the best effect _ever._ "Thanks," Trian said stiffly. "I needed that."

"Deserved it too," Gorim muttered, once again running his mouth before his brain.

There was an awkward silence.

So, naturally, Gorim broke it with as little interplay as possible. "I actually came here for a different reason."

It was remarkable how many expressions crossed Trian's face in the span of a heartbeat. First was confusion, then came wariness and alarm, followed by momentary apprehension before settling in a defeated yet clear understanding. "You are leaving as well, aren't you."

Gorim felt his stomach knotting in on itself. Up until a year before, the thought that Trian, of all people, would need, _want_ him there had never crossed even his wildest dreams. They hated each other and they both knew it. Now, though. Now, Trian had no family and, once he, his brother's second, was gone, he would have no real friends left either. Harowmont and Baizyl came close, but it wasn't the same.

But they both knew that wasn't going to change his decision. "I'm going to visit the humans' Circle of Magi. At his point, magic is the only thing that might do something about this useless stump."

Trian could have argued that he wasn't useless, give a host of reasons why he should stay put. "I'll prepare a special dispensation to allow you gate passage-"

Gorim sighed in relief at not having to argue with him over this. "Thank you my lord-"

"-and I'll make sure none of that nonsense about losing your caste and home happens."

Gorim blinked. "Do you actually think-"

"I _will_ make sure of it." Trian cut him off with such fervor that Gorim couldn't help but believe him. "So at least _you_ damn better get back here, understood?"

"..." Gorim paused and gave a short bow. "I will... my Lord Aeducan."

Technically, Trian hadn't been his Lord Aeducan, or his anything, ever since the warrior renounced allegiance to the House, but they were both content with overlooking that fact. It was Gorim's way of saying he was there if Trian needed him, and a tacit statement on Trian's part that he expected to fully deserve it if Gorim ever turned on him again.

"Right." Gorim said after a while.

"Right." Trian repeated.

They stood awkwardly.

"Is Harrowmont-"

"-Yeah."

"And I suppose the Assembly has already-"

"-Yesterday afternoon."

"I'll need to speak to-"

"-the reports are on the desk in the palace office, with best regards-"

"-I'll have to send for the-"

"-cleaned, waxed, polished and waiting on the mannequin in the armory upstairs."

"But this isn't the-"

"_You're_ here though."

Trian stared at the dwarf. "Dammit man, so what exactly is it that I still have left to do?"

Gorim gave him a once over and snorted. "Take a long bath obviously."

Trian's mouth opened, but then shut with an audible clack. Hesitantly, he looked down at his filthy clothes and then passed his fingers through his hair. He looked in morbid fascination at the dust bunnies that came out, and the sand that stuck to his skin through the power of sweat accumulated over two days.

It was obvious to the warrior that he had to give one final nudge. "... as soon as possible perhaps my lord? You _might_ even catch enough sleep to attend the Assembly gathering tomorrow."

"... Right."

"Right..."

Both waited.

"Right," Trian finally said and walked past the other one, towards the ladder. "Will you be alright on your own?"

Gorim realized he was asking if he'd have any trouble climbing back down. At least the crippled leg was good for distracting Trian from the real reason why the answer to that question would be a vehement _"NO!"_ if it wasn't so embarrassing. "I climbed up just fine, didn't I?" There was _no way_ he'd tell him. This was the one thing he'd never told even his lord Aeducan and, if he had a say in it, it was a secret he'd take with him to his grave.

"Right."

Finally, the beleaguered prince heir of Orzammar's first house descended from his post up near the top of that cavern-room and disappeared through the doors.

"-. .-"

_Excerpt from journal of Senior Enchanter Wynne_

_ 15 Eluviesta, 9:31 Dragon: In a couple of days, we will reach the village Haven. At least, that is what Theron said. As per usual, he did not elaborate on how he knew this, even though we only have a very poorly drawn sketch on our map to point the way, one that may not be entirely accurate. Still, after learning that he apparently shot an fade substance arrow out of the air by "guessing" which wind current would steer it in the right direction from where he released his bow shot, without even seeing or expecting to see the target from where he was, I have decided to throw skepticism, and a large part of what is normally called common sense, out the window as far as he is concerned._

_ I feared I would have to keep close watch on Gwen's state of mind after what we stumbled upon in Redcliffe, but she is carrying herself admirably. It is as though she chose determination to succeed over the impulse to angst, even though the latter would have made much more sense, especially for the first day and a half. I asked her about it, in fact, and she said that, all things considered, she doesn't have a right to complain. She "only" learned that her brother is alive, if severely crippled and scarred, while Fergus just learned that **he** is severely crippled and scarred and that his parents, wife and son were murdered a year before. All this after drawing upon thoughts of them to give him strength to go on during the grueling days when he dragged himself through the Korcari Wilds._

_ The second person I thought I should supervise was Leliana. I assumed she must be in emotional turmoil after being almost killed by, as we found out from the one survivor (before we let him go, at Theron's suggestion of all people), hired blades of Marjolaine, Leliana's former bard master from Orlais. We will have to seek her out when we are next in Denerim (that is where she is supposedly hiding out), but I fear that time is a long way off. At any rate, the girl has recovered quite well from the ordeal._

_ That left Raonar, or so I'd thought. What really happened was that he actually regained the capacity to sleep without interruption for more than an hour at a time. And when he stayed awake, he never took his eyes off some sort of... runed object. I have no idea what it is, even after looking closely at it, along with Alim. Still, I am not about to complain about something that eases the pain our dwarf is in._

_ If only that was everything._

_ Sadly, we only traded one problem for another, albeit of a different kind. Faren, of all people, has been acting strangely. It was bad enough that he's been shutting himself off from everyone else ever since we left Orzammar, but now he's been getting increasingly ill-tempered. I'd say he is bitter over something, but what could it be? His fight with Zevran? I'd be tempted to think it is the growing distance between him and Kallian, but it cannot be that reason, even though Zevran has been taking the chance to play the concerned listener without exercising any sort of discretion. Simply put, Faren seems to be actively pushing her away for some reason, and we don't really know why, as he stormed off when Alistair asked about it. _

_ And there is something else. He has been getting increasingly reckless. Just a short time before we decided to stop for the night, we were ambushed by giant spiders. They would have been easy enough to dispatch, with our numbers and Shale, but Faren dove in without concern for his own safety. If not for Zevran and his miasmic flasks, he might very well have been killed. And when the fight was over, the young dwarf snapped at the elf, telling him that he didn't ask for his help and to mind his own business next time._

_ I wish I could be certain he would not have reacted the same way if it was someone else who saved his life._

"-. .-"

Faren Brosca wasn't a stranger to horrible days. They had actually been the norm for most of his life. Get up from that moldy and delapidated bed (and that was before the thing really broke down completely), avoid mam if possible (easier said than done), go and try to make a living (while trying not to think about how Rica went about it) and try not to get mugged on the way back (in the rare cases when he actually scrounged up something noticeable). In later years, the last two parts changed to "go and do your best to convince Beraht that you really are doing what he tells you to" and "try not to kill anyone by accident", respectively.

It was supposed to be over when he finally got his ticket out of the city, and for a while it seemed like it was, but then came disaster and, as if everything that happened wasn't already enough, he just had to make it worse. Even after he told Leske that he'd never turn back into that thing, he went ahead and did it anyway. Even after Raonar had been so certain he wouldn't have done the same wretched things as him, and told Jarvia as much, he did something _worse_.

Faren didn't need Oghren to tell him that he had a lot of pent-up anger just waiting to explode. It had happened before, and all he'd been doing since leaving Orzammar again was trying to keep it together. He didn't _get_ to be the angry one, after what he'd done. And he didn't get to have people so honestly concerned about him.

Seeing Kallian looking at him _that_ way was making him sick. What was worse was that, even though she didn't understand what had happened to him, she did figure out that he wished to be away from her, so she gave him the berth he wanted.

And then Zevran took him to task for "being inconsiderate, selfish and undeserving of her" in the middle of the forest, for... making her cry apparently.

Faren didn't really know, even now, why he got into a fight with the elf. He tried to think it was because the Antivan was insufferable. Or that he'd deliberately antagonized him. Or _something_.

But the real reason was that... learning that he just happened to stumble upon her crying _for_ him instead of _because_ of him... and that it was _Zevran_ of all people who found her made something _snap_, and it all had been a completely nonsensical reason.

Only to later learn that the fight almost made them miss the commotion that nearly killed Leliana.

The rogue was no stranger to horrible days, but this wasn't the norm. The norm was for most of the shit in his life to come from outside, but now he was causing it and affecting everyone else too. And that bastard of an elf _insisted_ on having him keep doing it. Why else would he so completely mess up his plan when the spiders finally attacked?

It made the following two days, uneventful as they were, nearly unbearable. He seriously considered... but no, they'd come after him and he'd only make things worse again. Even Gwen would probably put of the search for the Ashes in order to track him down. He thought of the quicker way, but he sucked at dying _that_ way even more than Leske did.

Haven was just the straw that broke the bronto's back.

Having a surly guard "greet" them by telling them that they all should just go was suspicious in its audacity. Who the hell did that to such heavily armed people, and a golem for that matter? Then they found fresh human blood on some sort of altar of sacrifice in a village home. Then there was a little kid, a creepy little guy, that "recited" something. And then showed them the "lucky" finger bone.

The villagers al glared at them suspiciously, some with outright malice. It send his blood pumping and his fists clenching. And then they had the _gall_ to act as though nothing was amiss. As if the chilly atmosphere, and he didn't mean the snow and frost, wasn't enough of a hint. As if the corpses of Eamon's missing knights, piled in a heap in the back room of their so-called village shop, wasn't enough of a giveaway.

They didn't really need Theron's wolf to "inform them" of it.

It was clear they were faced with some sort of fanatic cult when, upon exiting the now unconscious man's "shop", all the villagers, women included, made for them with weapons drawn. But that was the problem, they were random people, not darkspawn or bandits, and they usually tried not to kill even bandits if they could help it.

Faren knew there was a problem with that reasoning when he saw just how viciously they went at them. It soon became all too clear that it wasn't just luck that had enabled the "villagers" to kill so many knights without anyone learning about it. They fought as if possessed, some even had glowing red eyes, like hell's fire, and still he felt nothing, even as he punched or kicked them into unconsciousness, committing their shocked yet hateful stares into his memory.

But of course it wouldn't be that easy.

Being immune to magic, he did not feel even the slightest effects from the psychic pain and blood frenzy of those savages. But he had a front row seat when two of their attackers revealed themselves as blood mages and ruthlessly used their allies as fuel for their spells. Those villagers who'd fallen or were too weak to pose an actual threat were being drained of their lives to power a growing maelstrom of ice and fire.

But when one funnel became two and then three, a defiant scream tore through his focus, one eerily similar to the one Faren had heard while leaning with his back against the door to a certain room in the Orzammar royal palace.

The cultists got a taste of their own medicine so mighty that their wills shattered under the onslaught. Pain reflected on itself again and again and again, causing everyone to cry out or grunt under it, with him as the only _one_ exception. Eventually, he felt a ghost of it too, in his chest and arm. Or would have, if he hadn't already lost it.

There was haze, then red, then _black _and the single-minded decision to _kill __**them**__ first _before _that guy_ hurt himself again, and, suddenly his vision exploded white and _-Faren, look at me!-_ his head snapped sideways, a sharp, burning pain blossoming in his cheek.

The world slowly resolved itself into lines and color, then red-splattered snow and human bodies, with holes through their chests or abdomens, or the necks twisted at unnatural angles. His eyes blinked without him telling them to, and his ears began to make out the _-Faren, let him go!-_ gale whistling above.

The dwarf twitched, sensing that there was something struggling in his right grip. Odd that he'd not noticed it before. It must have been that his attention was preoccupied with the slender hand, half-covered by a fingerless glove, that held him by the wrist.

Looking at it, he recognized it immediately, from how clean and soft the fingers were, even then, and how stark the contrast was between that smooth skin and his blood-soaked bracer, or even -"Faren, you're killing him!"- the red-smeared face of that boy who was breathing is last in his vise grip.

He wondered if he should be feeling anything at seeing that small boy's life expiring, his eyes ever so slowly rolling to the back of his head as he useless attempted to claw at his arm. He realized he didn't need to even wait. If he put just a little more pressure, the spine would easily break and-

...

"Aaaah!" The reaction wasn't surprise or even fear. Those words didn't come even remotely close to describing the gut-wrenching, sickening terror that hurled him backwards, stumbling over the corpses of the people he'd just killed. His lungs were throwing a fit like they'd been put through the wringer but he just staggered back until he hit the wall of a house and slid down, gasping and heaving and unable to tear his sight from the writhing form of the boy, choking and coughing thickly.

Wynne and Alim joined Kallian in trying to stabilize the child, unsure if the blood on his face, neck and clothes was his own or not. And there was so much blood, all around, but Faren couldn't really see it. Not on the snow, or on the fallen villagers. All he could see now were his hands, redder than everything else. Snow had stuck to them when he scrambled backwards, and it was melting, dripping off, red and wretched, drop by drop.

So of course _he_ would appear out of nowhere and lay his cloak over them. Of _course_ he would kneel and begin to wipe the blood away with careful strokes, not saying a word because he knew none would help after something like this. He couldn't honestly say "There is no blood on your hands," not here and not again.

Faren made a strangled sound and pushed himself away. The wall behind him helped lift the part of his weight that his legs couldn't manage by themselves, and he trudged off, not looking at him, or anyone, or anything but the ground. And it wasn't because of the eerie silence, or because he didn't know what to say.

He knew what he'd see if he tried to meet their gaze, so he dared not to, because disgust, loathing or even fear, the things that would make sense after having almost murdered a child, a boy who had probably just panicked and ran crying towards his mother when he'd put her down, would not be what he'd find.

"-. .-"

It was a somber procession that climbed the sharp upward slope to the chantry building. Alistair wasn't surprised, after all that. It was bad enough that they'd had to kill a dozen people, and failed to save the rest. Those blood mages, they'd managed to cast something horrible that caused themselves and all the others to explode like bombs. In their zeal, they tried to "sacrifice" themselves to kill them.

There was no doubt in the templar's mind that the malefikars and reavers would have drained all of their fellows dry in their zeal regardless of how hard they tried to stop them. That state they entered was like flirting with the afterlife, and nothing short of death seemed to be able to stop them. No paralysis, no way for them to fall unconscious.

It made him wonder if maybe he shouldn't have nullified their magic. If they'd had enough mana to cast, maybe the mages, at least, would have been taken down before resorting to such murderous blood magic. Then Raonar wouldn't have felt compelled to release his own pain aura and interrupt them.

And Faren wouldn't have panicked after hearing him cry out.

To think that all paled in comparison to Faren going berserk like that. The human glanced in his direction and saw that he was just as silent as before, walking pointedly alone in the line, with his head bowed.

The templar looked to his left, where Theron matched his pace without a sound, and without leaving even the slightest footprint in the snow, looking none the worse for wear and just as calm as ever. The two of them had agreed to bring back the rear, just to make sure Faren didn't try to disappear somewhere down the line. "I can't believe there were so many blood mages all the way up here."

"Hmmm," was all Theron said in reply.

"And those reavers!" He made a point of talking loudly enough for Faren to hear. "_Nothing_ could stop them. It was good that we managed to take out those villagers we did, because they'd have all been 'sacrificed' for blood rituals meant to kill us otherwise." Which was to say, they would have died anyway so Faren shouldn't be so distraught over killing them, mindless rage or no.

Not that it made any difference to the fact that he'd almost strangled a child to death. An admittedly creepy child to be sure, with human finger bones as lucky charms and who'd probably assisted at the ritual sacrifice of more than one person, but a child nonetheless. They'd left him in sleeping in one of the village houses. Depending on what else happened here, Alim said he'd be able to erase his memory if push came to shove. They'd just have to find him some place to live afterwards.

The Grey Wardens and non-wardens finally reached the upper level of the village, where a smithy and the chantry stood. The latter was carved right into the mountain and had the same oversized double doors chantries were known to possess.

Alim and Gwen stepped forward first and cut through the crowd. They'd walked in on a sermon, apparently. Alistair and Therom decided to hang back, close to the door, with only Raonar (due to not feeling very well after the episode earlier) and Faren behind them (it was plain that Raonar was keeping an eye on him).

The crowd glared and jeered at Gwen and Alim, and it turned out that it wasn't a woman, as is in the Chant, but a man that led the people in the village: Revered Father Eirik.

It surprised Leliana and Wynne, but not enough to prevent them from staying on their toes. After the incident outside, they knew what was most likely going to happen, and when Eirik gave his presumptuous and patently absurd justification for murdering all those knights ("We are only keeping the secret of Andraste's rebirth. We don't owe you any explanations for our actions. We have a sacred duty; failure to protect Her would be a greater sin. All will be forgiven."), it was clear that the discussion would end with another "us or them" situation.

Alistair would really have liked to call the man crazy and stupid for worshipping a dragon as Andraste reborn, since it wasn't like there was anything a big lizard would do in return for that attention. But when the walls on the side ground open and dragonlings swarmed them, he decided to just shut up and stop tempting fate, tacitly or otherwise.

It was a brutal fight, and the only reason the three mages, including Eirik himself, didn't manage to injure any of them too severely was the speed with which Alim copied their main trick: fuel spells with the blood of the increasingly injured and/or dead dragon spawn.

Faren and Raonar didn't contribute to the fight at all, but that was okay. They'd agreed on it beforehand, and the rest were more than enough, especially with Shale occupying half a dozen dragon younglings on her own. It turned out that a large stone statue did very well in blocking the no longer secret doorway, and the blood mage dragon tamer behind the lizards stopped being a threat immediately after the wall slid aside. Theron made sure of that.

Eventually, no one besides them was standing, so they set about looking around the place, an through the cultists', especially Eirik's, belongings, for clues.

"-. .-"

_Excerpt from journal of Senior Enchanter Wynne_

_ 19 Eluviesta, 9:31 Dragon: Well, here we are... still. Even now, we are still here, in this Maker forsaken village hidden deep within the southern Frostback Mountains. Despite our plans to be as quick as possible going up and down this path, we've had to pause in our quest due to the state we found Brother Genitivi in._

_ That the man is even alive at this point is a miracle. Considering how long ago we confronted the fake "Weylon" in the scholar's home in Denerim, it is a wonder that the cultists did not get around to torturing everything out of him yet. I suppose that, in a morbid way, the torture helped put off the no-longer inevitable. Had the "villagers" of Haven been less... proactive in their ministrations, the man would probably have had more lucid moments. Moments in which he could answer all their personal questions and make him outlive his usefulness faster._

_ I suspect that all his knowledge played a part as well. The smarter and knowledgeable a man, the harder it is to impersonate him properly. In this case, there was a lot that the Cultists' plant would have had to impersonate._

_ Speaking of which, I wonder just how many "plants" this cult already has around Ferelden. I shudder at the thought of how many of these people are spread around the country. Those who attacked us at Lake Calenhad were quite quick in trying to silence our questions. They'd probably been living among the people there for quite some time._

_ It all has made me seriously consider learning to invade peoples' minds, like Alim seems to have developed the ability. I would never do such a thing of course, but it would really help divine who means us and everyone else ill._

_ Genitivi was unconscious when Leliana found him in one of the "hidden" wings of the chantry building. We were fortunate that the malefikar "tending" to him didn't think it was possible for them to lose the fight with us. If he'd been any less fanatical and more realistic, he'd probably have slain the scholar so that we would not be of use to us. The man has been drifting in and out of consciousness ever since, and his waking moments, sparse at best, have been filled with delirium._

_ It isn't anything physical that is affecting him. That would have been something of little trouble for myself. Well, there was an issue with his leg. Under normal circumstances, it would have been ruled as beyond saving, but I was able to heal it fully. I never realized just how far the control over my magic had come. Even more curious is the fact that the spirit inside me... I did not have too much time to think about it lately, and the change was subtle, but it has been actually recovering its strength ever since I left the Circle. I had "faith" that I would heal the man, and I did._

_ That makes me believe that the only reason I have been unable to heal Raonar is because his... condition... does not register as an injury in the small grain of reality that he occupies. And I have no idea why I just wrote my thoughts using such a wording, but that explanation feels right._

_ But I digress. As I said, it is nothing physical that Genitivi is suffering. The cultist mages did something to him, to his mind. Or really, the Fade. Alim had the same thoughts I did, but he projected himself there (somehow without needing lyrium as we did when we exorcized Connor) and found that the problem was different. It was more like an effect similar to the waking nightmares the Circle teaches, only much more persistent. Waiting is all we can do. Hopefully the man will finally get back to his senses today._

_ Either way, this delay has not been helping at all. Gwen is restless, Faren is constantly tense and unsociable, Kallian is withdrawn, Raonar is what he is... and the rest have been less communicative than usual due to those four. I wonder how much more of this Oghren can take before he starts regretting leaving Orzammar with us._

_ On that note, I am surprised Sten is still with us. He joined to stop the Blight, but what we are doing now is only tangentially related to it. There is also the little matter of the new Grey Warden leader being a mage, and a blood mage at that. I half-expected him to start protesting before we even left Redcliffe, but even now he acts as though there is nowhere else he would rather be. Or at least, in no way different from a couple of months ago._

_ Thank the Maker for small mercies I suppose._

"-. .-"

It was late in the afternoon and the white-haired dwarf hadn't come in for hours. So, naturally, Sten stepped out of the Chantry that they'd decided to use as a sort of base while they stayed in Haven. Shale spared him the barest of glances from where she stood near the entrance, before returning her attention to her pet rock, on the ground next to the golem. Well, half her attention at least. The other half was on the dwarf he sought, seated on the old, pretty much delapidated bench across the path, just next to where the "street" branched off downhill.

Seeing that Raonar was facing away, Sten made sure to step solidly as he made his approach. He remembered all too well the time he somehow made the drop on him and nearly tripped over his own feet when Raonar was startled and released that aura of pain on him without meaning to. Sten also studied the bench, the number of legs it had and how well the weight was distributed. He would have frowned at realizing what poor craftsmanship it was, but he was who he was. Frowning was a waste of energy, as were most facial expressions.

Walking around the bench, he was able to sit on the spot right above the thickest beam. Due to how broad he was, it meant that there was a distance of just half a foot between him and the silent Warden. Not deterred in the least by the lack of acknowledgement (which, really, was a silent way of relaying the fact that Raonar had heard him loud and clear as he drew near), Sten blandly looked in the distance and casually held out, and to the side, one of the bowls he'd brought along.

The dwarf blinked once, then twice, then he very, _very_ carefully took the bowl with both hands. Once he saw that yes, the outside was completely clean, and yes, the level of the steaming stew was well and truly the same as the edge of the container, he blurted "How on earth did you not spill anything?"

"Those of the Antaam are trained from an early age to be efficient in all they do. Spilling is a great disrespect to the cook and a sign of obvious balance and self-control shortcomings."

The noble sipped from the bowl until there was no longer a danger of the food overflowing. _Then_ he shrugged. "It's also the reason your people never invented cookies."

Sten was about to bite on a piece of bread. He reconsidered. "I do not understand."

The small man took his time digging in a few spoonfuls before answering. "Us inferior cultures invented cookies and cakes as a way to use up leftover batter and dough from other things. Since you Qunari plan too well ahead to _possibly_ have any leftovers, you never stumbled upon such cooking accidents."

Sten stared at him.

The ought-to-be-dead one shrugged again. "That's my guess anyway."

A comfortable silence fell and lingered for a time, but Sten wasn't one for dodging the issue. "It has been decided that Theron and I will take first watch tonight. You should try to rest, Kadan, perhaps for more than an hour."

The prince snorted. "Or what, you'll drug me to sleep? We both know what happened when we tried that."

Sten's eyebrow twitched. It was the closest he'd come to grimacing. He remembered all too well the event where they slipped a drug in his food. It turned out that Raonar hadn't been lying in the least about suppressing the aura being a conscious choice. The only benefit they found was that falling asleep didn't immediately release the full brunt of it. It was a gradual thing, and the runes Alim came up with (and wrote in lyrium and blood on the inside of Raonar's tent) could nullify the phenomenon up to a certain point, beyond which the pain would instantly wake the dwarf up. Usually, it took an hour, two after Raonar got landed with whatever it was that Sandal made.

But that was besides the point. "Nevertheless, you should rest, even if you do not actually drift into slumber."

"Why are you even still here, Sten?"

The large, bronze-skinned man nearly broke the no food spilling taboo. "I beg your pardon?" Even he was reeling from that sudden and unexpected question.

The dwarf put the half-finished food away. "Months ago, you told me that your people would be forced to kill you for returning to them after losing you "soul." So tell me, if it was your body that you lost, what should they do?"

The giant thought about his answer. "The issue never came up in the Qun. Usually, losing your body means you are dead."

"Hmmm..." No eye contact was made. The foggy horizon held their gazes in place. "You have Asala back. You fought and helped us enough to make up for whatever debt you felt towards us, or me. And after all this time, you can't say you don't know what the Blight is. You have your answer for the Arishok, but you're still here. And you're following a mage. A _blood_ mage."

"I am not following _him._"

The short one shook his head. "Even if you do it because it was my decision that he take the reins, you _are_ following him. To say anything else would be to lie to yourself." For the first time, he looked at him. "What does the Qun say about situations like this, hmm?"

Sten held his gaze, food forgotten. He knew his kadan was going somewhere with that, but he didn't know what it was. "I told you before. My answer to the Arishok would be much better and complete if I delivered it after the beast was killed and the darkspawn driven back underground." Answering a previous question in order t get out of having to respond to a different one was something he'd seen Raonar do often enough.

"And I'm sure the Qun spells that out precisely," was the dry response.

"It does not need to be spelled out in order for it to be in tune with its teachings."

"Wow, you really are rationalizing this, aren't you." The dwarf sighed. "Nevermind then."

The large man was getting confused, and concerned. "Would you that I departed?"

Raonar sighed again and ducked his head. "No Sten."

"Would you then explain to me where you are going with this?"

The dwarf turned his head to look at him. "No. Not really."

There was a pause.

"Thanks for the meal." Raonar stood and took along the half-unfinished stew, now cold. "I'll see if I can get some rest if it will help you relax. If I can't, I'll act like I'm managing it anyway. You probably won't tell the difference, the same way you can't see the distinction between things that make sense and things that are true. Don't feel bad though. I'm guilty of a lot of that myself." Sten noticed that the warden pointedly looked straight ahead, pretending not to see Faren slouched near the wall marking the edge of the village, far to his right.


	71. Myth CHase Arc 4: Ascent Through Snow

**Chapter 68: Ascent through Snow and Stone**

"-. .-"

It was almost time. Just ten more minutes before he'd go in and undoubtedly flummox at least half the deshyrs gathered. And strangely, he did not feel anxious at all. He had gone over what he wanted to say several times, and he honestly did not think he could word it all any better. If Gorim had been still in the city, he would have run the thing by him first. Certainly, the man would protest and try to talk him out of it for two hours, but after seeing the pointlessness of it he would _have_ to do as he asked.

Lifting himself from his chair, Trian Aeducan surveyed the preparation room. Dwarves loved their luxury, but the logistics of making private waiting quarters in the Assembly building for each and every noble house would have been a nightmare when Orzammar was designed and carved, especially since the architects would have had to account for the number possibly growing, and the place wasn't even the capital. That meant that only the steward and, of course, the King (and by extension the royal family) had private chambers like the one he was in now.

He did not know what to feel about this being the last time he would be in there. On the one hand, as he would need to continue representing Aeducan in the Assembly, he would sometimes need to come early, and there was recess to consider too. Having to share the presence of anyone else who came earlier than the appointed meeting time, in the waiting hall instead of here, would no doubt be annoying. On the other hand, a well-placed glare here and there should spare him most unneeded attention. And it was not as though he overmuch enjoyed being all alone in that lofty room. Normally, his second, a friend and maybe a family member or two who weren't directly involved with the assembly would come along with the King, if they wanted and were not busy with their own duties.

Obviously, there were none to be had for him at this point. He knew it was dangerous walking alone, but he didn't know anyone available he'd trust at his back that was still in Orzammar.

The dwarf prince glanced at the large clock across the room, and then pulled out his mechanical pocket watch to double check the time. As he expected, the large pendulum chronograph was a couple of minutes behind. While the craftsmen who built it obviously took care in their work, they paid more attention to the looks than the inner workings, hence the need for a servant to tune it periodically. The ones who designed the one in his hand, a device which had been a gift to his mother from their father, had followed a different set of rules.

_"It's so you no longer have 'losing yourself in your sculpting' as an excuse to be late to supper."_ That was what his king-father had told his mother, before launching into an explanation about how the watch, made from a bunch of different materials, was a purely mechanical masterpiece with nary an enchantment, and which didn't need to be turned, ever, due to it being able to somehow rewind its internal springs by just reacting to movement, such as being jostled around in the owner's pocket, however slightly.

Trian returned the watch to the pocket where the silver chain was sticking out of and let his wistful smile fade, only now realizing he'd gained that expression at some point. After that, he reviewed his prepared words one last time and left the room, absently rolling the parchment. He would read it one last time and burn it in the fire of one of the candles flanking the main chamber doors.

After less than a minute of walking, he nodded and smiled at the guards, amused by their bemused looks at being acknowledged, and how they hesitantly nodded back and murmured "Good day to you, your highness." He supposed it was a surprise just to see him there again, after so many days where he all but disappeared beneath the city.

Trian was just about to hold the parchment above the candle fire when a call made him stop. "Wait!" Well, _that_ was a somewhat familiar voice. Turning around, he saw Frandlin Ivo sprinting for him. And Trian would not have realized it was him if he hadn't heard him speak. Well, more like wheeze out the word.

The young Ivo scion staggered to a halt in front of him and, after failing to knit two words together, bent over with his hands on his knees and started gasping. The prince looked on in mild shock, not noticing the guards staring much the same way. Frandlin had obviously dressed in a hurry and hadn't even combed his hair properly, not to mention he wasn't clad formally in the least. But why was he there? Not to attend the meeting, surely. Some time after he took the reins, he had his House pulled out of the Assembly list until he finished "internal reorganization" which, coincidentally (or really, probably not coincidentally at all), satisfied those still in the council wary of house Ivo for its part in that huge mess.

As if to answer his question, the haggard man held out a piece of paper, still not trying to stand up straight.

Mindful of the diminishing time left, Trian skimmed through it and bit back a groan. Al of a sudden, revealing his plan to Harrowmont and, at his insistence, Dulin Forender, didn't seem like such a good idea. Pyral had sent Frandlin this message, pleading with him to "do something."

"I am not changing my mind now," Trian said more firmly that he felt, rolling the paper. Secretly, he was worried. He had a nagging fear that this one person, who'd managed to totally pull the wool over Bhelen's eyes all those months, would have what it took to talk him around. He didn't want to give him the chance, and he thanked the Stone for not having the time to listen before the meeting started. "Though I am sorry you had to sprint all this way for nothing."

"Not nothing," Frandlin finally straightened and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. "And I am not going to try to change your mind, but... can I ask a favor my lord?"

"..." The Aeducan heir _really_ did not know how to answer.

"I'll take that as a yes," Frandlin said seriously. "Can I read what you're going to say?"

Silence. How on earth did he know he would have it written down? And on his person no less.

"My lord, even if you weren't holding your prepared speech, which you were going to burn just now, in your right hand..." Trian winced at his foolishness "I'd have asked the same. Stone knows your br... Prince Bhelen complained about your habit of always writing things down often enough." There was more silence. "He said it made it impossible to actually convince you that you were supposed to or had decided to do or say certain things. I am guessing you haven't kicked the habit?"

Trian grimaced and, before dragging the talk too long, figured he probably would agree to the request eventually, so he spared himself the effort and handed it over, restraining a gape at how quickly the man read it and started shaking his head.

"I should have gotten here sooner and caught you before leaving your rooms." Fradlin clicked his tongue. A pen was in his hand as if by magic and, before anyone knew it, he'd grabbed a guard by the shoulder and spun him around to use his plate-protected back as a makeshift desk. "Contrary to what some may think, it _is_, in fact, perfectly possible to be blunt while not talking yourself into a corner. And though I admire your honesty and frankness, it needn't come at the cost of anything else, nor do they have to make you vulnerable."

Trian Aeducan just stared at Frandlin, occasionally exchanging baffled looks with the guard-turned-desk. Even as he spoke, Frandlin scribbled and scribbled.

Before Trian knew it, the parchment was being shoved in his face, and he _had _to jerk his head out of its daze. He was skeptical when he took it, but he went over it anyway. Some parts of it were crossed out, others modified to say the exact same thing but with a different wording. Absently, he realized all the changes were in bright red, but he couldn't bring himself to ask _why_ Frandlin was carrying around a red pen, or if he only brought it this once, foreseeing the situation. Or how he even got red ink fluid enough to work in those particular pens. Weren't they still just prototypes?

Though Trian didn't see it, Ivo, from his perfect view of his flabbergasted look, nodded resolutely once he saw that he realized he wasn't there to stop him, despite what Harrowmont's letter asked. "That last bit is _very_ important, alright my lord? Do _not_, in any way or for any reason, utter the words "renounce" or "give up" or anything of the sort. It _must_ be 'not actively pursue.' I'm serious." When Trian didn't react, he Frandlin grabbed him by the chain mail-covered arms, below the gold pauldrons, and shook him once. "I _mean_ it, your highness. Screw up any one of the other parts, but not _that one._"

"I'm not about to screw up anything!" Trian shot back indignantly, half-heartedly stepping out of the grip. "Not this time..." It wasn't meant to be heard, but Frandlin did. Fortunately, the two guards were too shocked at seeing the crown prince being so roughly handled that they didn't hear what Trian said.

"Right," Frandlin nodded stiffly once more. "I will be waiting just outside."

The other dwarf didn't get a chance to say anything more. Frandlin turned around and purposefully strode away, leaving him and the two dumbstruck guards behind. No "by your leave", no nothing.

There were still a few minutes left before he had to go in. Trian Aeducan looked at the doors for a moment, knowing he could either go in right now and do what he planned, or linger outside and go over his horribly defaced notes. Stone, there was so much red on there now...

Without second-guessing his choice even once, he chose the latter.

"-. .-"

_Excerpt from Journal of Senior Enchanter Wynne_

_25 Eluviesta, 9:31 Dragon:__ The Frostback Mountains are proving taller and vaster than I imagined. When we reached Haven, and then left it (a couple of days ago), I honestly did not think we would have to stop and set up camp even once. If not for scholar Genitivi, we might have even managed to make our way to the temple without stopping. As it is, we've had to camp for the night twice. The first time, we were not we able to rest very well, anxious as we were that cultists would descend from the mountain to check on the village, and why it hadn't sent anyone else up there in over a week. I suppose it is possible that there is another route to and from the village, but I doubt it._

_ Genitivi insisted on coming with us. Maybe I should not have been so quick to heal that foot of his. He might have been less nagging that way. On that note, I'm honestly surprised Alim agreed to let him tag along instead of sending him to Redcliffe, or all the way back home in Denerim for that matter, Especially since he figured out the use of that key medallion on his own, much to the scholar's chagrin._

_ I think it was because Theron didn't predict anything ominous. Though I am skeptical about him having somehow become magical all of a sudden, quite a few of the others think he's turned into some sort of prophet. When Alim glanced at him and only got an indifferent shrug concerning the Genitivi's request, he must have assumed that his presence wouldn't make much of a difference. It definitely wasn't as strange as Theron saying it was fine leaving that only child in the village behind, to "think things over."_

_ I doubt the child will spend much time away from the ashes of that mass pyre we built for the dead cultists._

_ I'm sure Alim is at least mildly annoyed now. Genitivi barely stayed silent during our trek, when the wind wasn't howling in his face at least, and yet managed to somehow tread the thin line between __almost__ too much and too much. He's kept his questions constant, but avoided dangerous topics and timed his queries and tangents in such a way that he stayed just under the annoyance level where one of the others would have snapped and done something to shut him up. And the way he gets "distracted" sometimes when tensions is high. _

_ I solemnly swear that I refuse to believe any of this is coincidence. _

_ Then again, I suppose scholars __need__ to be sly in order to wheedle answers from others and manage to not get killed for being aggravating._

_ But I digress._

_ We actually would have reached the Temple today, but Theron piped up (a rare thing nowadays) and said it would be unwise to venture inside after nightfall, or without being at full strength. So here we are, on the side of the ridge, outside the gale's path. We chose the spot with the most concealment, that we could find, but we can still see some of the structure from here. Most of the temple seems to have been carved out into the mountain itself, but some parts are visible, on the side facing the west. It is a tall thing. There cannot have been a way, other than magic, for those windows, those glass panes to have been built so large. I think they're over 70 meters tall. And the wall is all one piece, not superimposed blocks of stone._

_ Theron has been staring in its direction for over an hour. I'd have told him to get behind some cover, or in a tent, or at least smokeless pit where we placed our runed disk, since the wind and cold couldn't be good for him... But it's like none of those things are even touching him. His bearskin cloak barely flutters._

_ What does he see, I wonder..._

"-. .-"

"This... is _it_?"

Alstair didn't need to fall back on his Warden or Templar senses to know that everyone stopped climbing the stairs immediately. The perfect balance between incredulousness and outrage was barely discernible in Alim's voice, from where he led them all, right next to Genitivi. To anyone else, his remark would have sounded like any casual observation.

Which was probably why Genitivi climbed the last steps and stopped in front of the large door, not noticing the apprehension in Alim's voice or the reason behind it. "Yes, this is it! Now I just need to remember how this medallion has to be manipulated..." As the man began to slide and rotate the sections of the pendant, Alistair worriedly met Gwen's eyes from where she stood right next to him. They didn't know what had put Alim on edge, but they could guess very well.

The scholar, naturally, just babbled on. "There! A key to open the way! There are very few keys like this left in the world, but I have seen some. Once you find the right combination, it just... feels right. It's difficult to explain..." He didn't appear to notice that it wasn't awe or curiosity that kept his escorts from speaking. After a bit more fiddling, he finally seemed to decide on a shape. "There... We should be able to find a place to insert this..."

"THAT...Is **IT**?"

Genitivi finally seemed to be startled out of his trance. After almost dropping the pendant, he warily turned to look at the fuming elf mage. "Pardon...?"

"This door is made of wood! _Wood_!" The mage waved an arm somewhat sharply in its direction. "Granted, there is a metal skeleton of sorts, but still! It's _wood_! I can just blow it apart!" To prove his point, he hit the midsection with the lower end of his staff, rending it into several pieces with a loud, resounding _crack_. The explosion made the scholar cower in fright and shield his face with both arms as dust and ice dust blew out and inwards. "You're telling me that we had to put up with two delays and your annoying, _incessant_ questions because the door your special key opens is made of _wood_?"

Alistair winced in sympathy, not just for the man but for his own ears, which didn't take kindly to having to register the echoing blast that reverberated through the immense hall that was found beyond the now empty archway. His eardrums still thrummed, the whine of the air and ice-topped stone still singing in his head.

Distantly, he wondered what Alim's reaction would have been if the door was one of those magic-nullifying ones.

The scholar kept looking from the pendant in his hands to the shattered entrance with startled and at once sorrowful eyes. He was clearly trying not to cry. It would have been moving or amusing if their task wasn't so urgent. "You... How could you damage such an important piece of history..?"

Dear lord, the normally level-headed elf was _ranting._ "Oh, I'd much rather damage something els-" Alistair wouldn't have noticed it if it hadn't passed half an inch from his neck. An arrow whisked through the air, narrowly avoiding them all and disappearing beyond the door. Even before he tracked its path with his vision, he heard something shatter like glass in mid-air. When he finally saw what it was, the acid had already splattered on the ground, several yards from the door they were fighting over. The ice was steaming and the stone below was dissolving because of it.

"Perhaps we can pick this matter up later," Theron blandly suggested from the rear of the group.

Alistair moved to the front, shield already out. They'd made sure to enter the structure with their strongest equipment already on, which included the full bucket Templar helmet, whose face section he'd only just lowered. He had to turn his head more than normal to see everything, since visibility with that thing on wasn't the best. Not counting the one that had already died (Theron's arrow had somehow found his throat even though it had been mainly aimed at the airborne acid flask), there were five armored men charging them from the front.

They were surprisingly far away. It made the Templar marvel at how big that room was if they had to cover such a distance. The hall was like a cathedral, over eighty meters tall and just as wide, but longer, much longer. long enough that the far end wasn't even visible because of the fog, fog _inside_ a building, and the light that streamed through the thick but clear, pure glass covering the immense windows on the right.

Had he the time, he would have looked at his reflection in the stalagmites of frozen water as he met the sword of the big, burly man head-on. He knew better though, so he just pivoted his shield to the side, diverting the strike and shoving the man with his shoulder. The pauldron was of the larger sort and caught the man in the face, taking advantage of the fact that it was open.

Teeth broke under the hit.

He only worried about what was in front. Despite the group assault, they still had the advantage of numbers, not to mention skill. The time it took for the brutes to reach them had been more than enough for them to form up. The attackers were vicious, yes, but they did not expect such a large force, and their brutality and fiendish powers weren't enough to give them the advantage.

No magic was used, beyond the weapon sharpening spell that Alim sometimes cast. There was no need for anything drastic against that small vanguard, and though the noise made when ruining the door had been loud, it could not have carried beyond that chamber, so whoever else was in the Temple probably hadn't been alerted to their arrival, assuming the ones they'd just defeated hadn't sent anyone off to warn the others.

"No warning was dispatched," Alim confirmed his thoughts, turning his glowing eyes from the spiteful gaze of the last fighter, whose life finally expired after the elf got the information he wanted straight from his mind. "Though the images I saw did tell me there are some cultists in the adjoining tunnels. Apparently, there are some living quarters and a small library on this level. No one more dangerous than what we faced in the village though."

The sound of something shattering on the ground made them all whirl around. They got to see Genitivi hiding behind a pedestal located next to one of the tall spires that held the roof aloft. "I'm a friendly! A friendly!" He squeaked. An ancient vase lay in pieces on the ice-covered floor.

"Friendly is _such_ a relative term," Alim answered flatly. "And yet none of its meanings describe my state of mind at the moment."

"Alim..." Hearing Raonar talk was unusual these days, so they paid attention. "Calm down, will you?" The dwarf hadn't joined the battle, and neither had Faren or the mages besides Alim. Even Shale was only now making her way through the entrance. "You're broadcasting and it's giving me a migraine."

Alistair looked back at the elf and saw him grimace as if he'd just swallowed something bitter. Being reprimanded for taking his ager on someone who didn't deserve it could have done nothing less. He could understand his mood though. They'd always intended to come up here as fast as possible, because no one knew how long their former commander was going to last. Having Genitivi delay their arrival by two days, and badgering them with questions during the climb, had annoyed them all to some extent. Nevertheless, the human fighter was taken aback at just how much Alim had taken offense to that.

Then there was the dwarf not wanting to be used as an excuse for rage or whatever. Besides, Alistair thought, Alim had to know that blowing the door apart would be unwise. He could have just lifted it off its hinges, or destroyed it more silently.

Then again, that would not have changed the fact that Genitivi delayed them for nothing.

Further discussion and contemplation was interrupted when the side-doors bust open and plainly-dressed malefikarum and dragon cultists poured in and started gathering flames and screaming things.

Genitivi eeped.

Alistair sighed.

"-. .-"

_"__You asked, so I'm telling you. Don't go. The stories talk of the riches, but never the names, never where they supposedly spent their wealth. I heard the same tales as a lad in _Denerim_, felt the same pull, but it's a lie, son. They may paint a trail, but once you're on it, does it lead to the beast or back to you?"_

It was a letter from a father to his son. One that had never been heeded, though it was interesting that the lad had kept it on him. "That sounds creepy," Alistair said.

Gwen 'hmmed' as she looked from the letter to the body of the adventurer they'd been led to by Theron's wolf. The cold had preserved it remarkably well, but it was still desiccated. The armor looked decent enough though.

"Weird," Oghren said. "How come all these freaks around here never did anything about the body? They live right next door..."

_Literally, _Alistair thought.

"And how is it that they allowed him free passage up to this point?" Leliana ventured. They'd found the young man's remains in the second tunnel they'd explored, and there were two rooms on the side of the corridor, not unpopulated. Before their arrival.

"There is no sign of physical harm on the corpse," Sten droned. "We can assume the shades we just fought are the ones responsible for his death, rather than the cultists."

"We don't have time to dwell on this right now," Alim said. He stopped himself from continuing when Raonar walked up to him and handed him a pile of papers before going to the dead adventurer and beginning to basically loot him. "These are the letter and notes from that nervous man in Orzammar..." the elf realized. "Wait, you don't think..."

As if on cue, the dwarf prince pulled a larger roll of paper from under the cuirass of the dead traveler. It was surprisingly clean of dust. The dwarf spread the paper and read it for a while before going to Alim and handing it to him. Alistair felt some relief at that. If there were still happenings that could lead Raonar to take any sort of initiative, it was a good thing.

"Mentions of riders, strange apparitions, implication of strange behavior in acquaintances..." the elf trailed off. "This must be another poor soul that fell to whatever evil spooked that last one. But how could Fade shades be involved...?"

"Sounds to me like our quest of great importance just intersected with another quest of great importance," Alistair drawled. "Only this second quest of great importance has no takers at the moment."

"We cannot exactly do anything about it at this point in time," Theron ended the discussion, casually taking off on a stroll through the corridor, back to the main hall. "Our current goal has yet to be reached, and it waits for us above."

They left Genitivi with only Anor the wolf for company. If they'd brought their pack mule along, they'd have left it there as well, but they'd left it back at the village, believing the climb would be too hard for the animal, which it had, in fact, been. Alim considered leaving Shale behind, despite his misgivings with the man, but Theron said the wolf would be enough and that no harm would come to the scholar regardless. Alistair didn't question how he presumably knew that. No one except Oghren seemed to really. Faren looked like he'd sink into the ground and disappear, as always, but it was clear he'd be going along wherever they went, even if he refused to look anyone in the eye.

Worry for him took away whatever enthusiasm Alistair might have had at staring at the magnificence of the main temple hall as they directed their steps towards the large, semicircular staircase at the far end. At the upper end was a large, round receptacle filled with dead coal. It was about twice as wide as a well, and they'd already learned from some of the ritual scrolls they salvaged that they would have to light some special ashes there if they wanted the door to open.

Rather than blasting the double door open like before, Alim did the so-called ritual this time around. Against all logic, the ashes burst into brilliant flames when thrown into the large brazier. "Stay sharp, I sense something beyond. Something inhuman like I've never detected before."

"Mee too," Alistair admitted, tapping the front of his helmet closed. "I doubt it'll be as dangerous as what we battled in the Deep Roads though."

"Don't jinx us!" Kallian hissed at him.

Glad that his helmet was down and hiding his sheepishness, Alistair warily prepared to go through, right after Shale and followed by everyone else, with heavyweight fighters essentially surrounding the mages and archers on all sides. At least, that was their normal plan in such a situation. Alas, they were not given a chance to act it out.

By the time everyone had formed up and turned towards the door, Theron was already there, with his hand on the handle. "I suggest holding your breath." And he just threw the large door open and marched in like he owned the place.

"For the love of-!" the bastard prince growled, rushing after him as well as the armor let him. Annoyance almost spilled into words, but he stumbled to a halt and yelped when the lid of a ceramic urn flew up, pushed by a dark cloud. Instinctively bringing his shield up to bear, he barely took in his surroundings as he tried to keep track of what was happening. Sparse light filtered in through the ice up on the wall, giving shape to the partially caved-in room.

It became dimmer and dimmer as black ash kept pouring out of the urn on the pedestal in the middle. The rush of sound drowned out the gasps and shouts of surprise from behind. Alistair forgot to hold his breath, but he also forgot to breathe in.

Though not for long. "What are you doing! Get out of there!"

Theron just stood as the cloud of ash billowed and spun around him, making as if to swallow him whole. Templar sixth sense felt spellfire being readied, but a gesture from Theron, who still did not turn towards them, was followed by the channeling fading to a steady hum. Soon enough, two more sources joined the first, but they did not go past the stage of a warning.

The newborn cyclone completely stopped when the lid of the urn clattered to the floor, not denting in the least. When it finished rolling and came to a complete halt, the ash resumed its spin, not making Theron's cloak shift in the least this time around, and there was a shift, and a pillar formed. Cinders joined the black, twisted as ash regressed, against all logic, into sparks and kindling. Soot came together and, soon enough, there was something hideous and dangerous standing in front of the Dalish hunter. Taller than a man, even when hunched, it had two squinted , orbless eyes. Long, skeletal arms prodded the air, and its _mouth..._

It was hideous, like two long saws made of lit coal, they spiraled around a central axis. Teeth of burning embers separated the world from a living furnace.

Alistair didn't know what it was, only that it looked like a flaming mouth with arms and razor teeth that had been stretched and spun around on its axis. The ash wraith, or whatever it was that floated before them, looked like a mouth that was trying to take a bit out of everywhere and in all directions at once.

Chocked coughs snapped the templar from his daze. He did not turn around, his fighting methods were too ingrained to allow such a thing, but his ears told him some of the others forgot about the no breathing order.

"Ash wraiths," Theron intoned, locked in a staredown with the strange apparition. "Followers of Andraste that decided to partake in a ritual of cremation, in honor of the way she died, and leave the spirits behind to guard this place. This was Magorian once, one of the priests of this 'Maker' you humans keep going on about." Alistair figured that was who the statue right in the middle of the room represented.

Before anyone could ask what in the world had just happened, how he knew that and whether or not they would have to fight, the red and smoking ashes of the wraith went out, the creature burst into cloud again and cycloned off, slamming the other doorway open and disappearing down the corridor.

"We will not be disturbed by the wraiths," Theron said, bland voice perfectly in place, walking back to his place in formation as if he hadn't just done something completely bizarre and scary beyond all reason.

"No, this won't be just another of your weird stunts!" Gwen snapped in annoyance. Her voice was muffled by her own helmet, Alistair noted, but was no less pleasant. "What just happened?"

"The ash wraith recognized me and allowed us passage," Theron drawled as if it was the most regular occurrence ever.

Silence.

"Can you elaborate?" Gwen hissed through her teeth.

"I understand!" Zevran snapped his fingers, grabbing any and all attention still available. "Last night you were staring at the temple for a long time, my friend, and no blinking was involved. Might I assume you were... what do you call it anyhow? Dreamwalking?"

"No," Alim cut in. "That is an act by which a mage visits the dreams of others. What Theron has been doing lately is called remote spiritual projection." He let that sink in for a while. "So, you somehow persuaded these.. guardians to let us pass freely?"

"Or perhaps you were only out for a walk?" Zevran spoke again. "You can be invisible doing that, no? Hmm," the elf was leering. "I _knew_ you had it in you my friend!"

"Oh for Maker's mercy, Zevran, what are you saying now?" Leliana muttered.

"What? You cannot tell me it hasn't crossed your minds! Invisible, immaterial. He can go anywhere, watch _ anything_. How many of the cultists so far were women? Although I have nothing against men... And we did pass through some bedrooms-"

Leliana palmed her face.

"It's not going to work," Alim sighed, oddly calm. "No matter how much you imply Theron uses his ability to watch people undress or do... whatever else.. you will never coax a reaction out of him, so we will never know."

Zevran smirked and Alistair gaped, thankful that his helmet hid it. No one had missed the use of "we" instead of "you" in that sentence.

"At any rate," Alim cleared his throat loudly. "I sense no living beings until one two levels above, so I assume we only have to keep an eye out for traps. There is no telling where the rest of the cult is, so we should still be careful not to draw everyone and everything on our heads at once. I strongly suspect there are more dragonkin ahead as well."

The group advanced steadily, making conversation that did not have anything to do with Theron's people-watching hobby that may or may not exist. It was actually a serious enough topic, namely whether or not the presence of dragon spawn suggested a real, live dragon somewhere in the area. Soon enough, people started to speculate that they were the brood of the dragon that went on a rampage at the end of the Orlais-Ferelden war.

Alistair did his best to keep up with and participate in the muttered conversation, but the helmet didn't help his hearing. By the time, they passed several turns and walked through a bunch of rooms, he was wishing there was some way to teleport sound so he could hear things from a distance.

Finally, when the main topic of conversation became potential high dragon confrontations and how to best kill one, they had reached what was obviously the antechamber to another large hall. The statue of a beautiful woman was in the very center, nothing like dwarven sculptures. It was lifelike, and the name plate, though weathered, was well kept. Say whatever about the cultists, they channeled their fanaticism well into tasks.

"You know I always wondered if Andraste really was as beautiful as the legends say," the Templar found himself saying. "Maybe she was ugly. Maybe she had buck teeth."

"What?" Leliana was in full religious zeal. "How can you possibly imply such a thing! The Maker himself deemed her worthy of him, for her beauty, wisdom and strength!"

"Oh lighten up my dear," Zevran chimed with a leer. "Although come to think of it, I do like seeing knickers get in a twist-ow!" He rubbed his shoulder. Alistair was actually surprised he didn't dodge Kallian's jab. The elf probably didn't expect her to do that, since she was usually more lighthearted. And she used to be, before the past couple of weeks.

A side-glance netted a glimpse of Faren looking pointedly away, and Alistair knew, somehow, that it wasn't jealousy he was seeing. He would have said something else, but something at the edge of his awareness diverted his attention. "Someone is casting." A pause. "Or, more specifically, readying a spell for whoever is bound to go through the final door first."

"Hmm," Alim seemed to feel the same, and more. He turned to Morrigan. "Any ideas for scouting ahead unseen? Something small enough to slip through the cracks in the wall or beneath the door? Other than a mouse I mean."

"Perhaps," the witch considered. After a moment, she nodded to herself and yellow light enveloped her. Human form melted into something else, smaller and smaller, until the light died down. Alistair found himself staring at the strangest lizard he'd ever seen. And he kept staring as the lizard began to look at everyone at once. Its eyes didn't even need to move in concert with one another. It was bizarre.

The templar did a double take when an absurdly long tongue flicked out of the lizard's mouth and snatched a crawler out of the shadows.

Oghren stared. "The sod is _that_ supposed to be?"

The small lizard locked one eye on the dwarf, as if glaring in disgust at his lack of education and crass manner. The other eye darted around seemingly at random. Then, it went on the move, the strangest walk Alistair had ever witnessed, though the real shocker came when the thing faded from sight almost completely, even before it reached the small space beneath the door.

Yet there was one person staring even more fixedly at the spot Morrigan had just vacated. "Blasted witch." Sten, of all people, _growled_. Even before Alistair registered his own shock, Sten frowned. "Rainbow Shades. Those chameleons aren't found anywhere south of Seheron. The climate isn't mild enough..." The emotionless mask fell back into place. "It seems we have not been watchful enough of our own lands if such creatures can roam free enough to learn that form." Alistair just knew that "creatures" meant Morrigan and her kind, not the animal.

The following wait was nerve-racking.

"Why not just turn into a fly or something?" Kallian blurted at some point.

No one had an answer. Also, people were starting to get antsy. Alistair figured the enemies on the other side were just as unnerved by the wait. He really hoped the cultists would lose patience first and charge through the doorway. The hallway they were in was just broad and tall enough to move freely but narrow enough that there would be no danger of getting swarmed. Of course, this _was_ the cultists' turf, so they obviously knew this as well.

Eventually, though Alistair didn't know exactly how much time later, Morrigan returned and, upon resuming her form, began to give a surprisingly detailed report. Alistair only made sure to remember the bare facts. Lots or pressure plates apparently, fire/arrow shooting mechanisms in the walls, about a dozen cultists, some five foot-tall dragonspawn. Basically everything needed for a serious fight.

"I can set a forcefield in front of the door for whoever goes first, but I won't be able to sustain a sharpening field on the weapons at the same time," Alim's gaze swep over them. "Heavy fighters up front as usual. Leliana and Theron can do suppressing fire while Morrigan and Wynne distract them. We'll need someone to get rid of their heavy hitters though... I suppose Morrigan could sneak up there somehow and weave some spider web? Pick them off one by one?"

"The roof of the cavern is too high up," the witch shot that idea down. "Also, it isn't very dark, due to the lyrium. They would notice."

"I'll do it," Faren cut in. Alistair looked at him oddly, as did the others. "You said magic casters are gonna be there right? I'm best then. Just keep the archers off me."

Though his behavior over the past weeks made them worried, his suggestion made sense, as did Theron's decision to be part of the first to go in, since he would perform suppressing fire while the forcefield deflected enemy arrows. The move would allow the rest to move forward, set off or disarm the traps and, eventually, engage the cultists up close.

So Alim calmly blew the door in, kicking up lots of dust as he did. The noise was nerve-shattering, but they had been prepared for it. Their opposition was surprised. They couldn't _not_ be when the door hurtled through the air, covering a distance of 10 meters before smashing into the closest cultist, a heavily armored, burly man and leaving him a broken wretch on the dirty floor. His and the others' screams were all the wardens needed to capitalize on.

The seconds the enemies took to recover from their shock and loose their arrows was enough for Alim to erect a dome of force, wide enough to let them all pile into the room (half-cavern really, Alistair noted idly). As soon as he was in and got a good view of his opposition, the templar started to twitch. He wanted to charge in and bash those bastards, but he couldn't afford to. He had to follow the plan instead, so he waited, trying not to twitch too obviously when arrows struck the shimmering wall ten inches in front of his face, leaving ripples in the air, until those overgrown lizards moved close enough.

Given Alim's past feats, Alistair knew the elf would be able to keep everything out of that forcefield for a long while, but that wasn't what they were aiming for. So when the first of the dragonspawn reared on its hind legs and made as if to hurl and claw at the field, it actually met no resistance and slipped through, stumbling, right into cutting distance. First kill was his, Alistair thought grimly as a second fanged snout met his shield, but he didn't retaliate. He just wrenched his sword out of the neck of his first kill and swung wide to the right, leaving a deep gash through the chest of a third, five-foot tall beast, the followed with a bash of his shield, just a moment after a breath of ice froze it solid.

Congealed flesh and bone shattered under his hit. Damn, that bitch Morrigan at least had good timing. Looking to his left, he had to give credit to Raonar too. Even without using his shield, or anything in his left arm at all, he'd made short work of that blue-green reptile before it could try to eat him again.

"Why can't I just go there and crush them all?" Shale whined from the back. At least that's what it sounded like, but Alistair couldn't be sure as he braced himself against the bite of yet another drake. He thought he heart Sten grunt in agreement, and Alim scoff, but he didn't pay them any mind. He pushed the offending beast head aside and he creature strafed, single-minded in its bloodthirst, but Gwen decapitated it before it did anything else. Even now, she refused to wear a helm, the human prince noted, pleased by the view. And her greatsword, Yusaris was gleaming. Slaying dragons, this was what it was meant to do.

Before he could snap out of his thoughts and berate himself for not paying attention to what he should be focused on, his sword caught fire. Alistair almost screamed and dropped it before he noticed Gwen's was the same. And so was Raonar's. _Damned witch_, Alistair cursed as he less than gracefully hacked at another incoming lizard. Maker forbid that Morrigan activate that spell before the fight instead of giving him a heart attack like that.

He would have laughed at Sten's chagrined face (that man really hated magic), but he had to turn serious again as Duncan's sword met another blade at last. The templar barely suppressed a grunt. Those reavers sure packed a whallop, and man, were they ugly when they snarled like that. And their eyes burned red, like hell's fire, and were giving him a headache. He could feel something trying to tear at him from the inside the more he returned that glare.

Which was why he wasted no time before smashing the edge of his shield into the side of the bastard's head. The helmet cut the damage in half, but the ear-wing fell off it and the human staggered slightly, not much but enough to give Alistair the leeway he needed to move his sword arm again.

Too close for a proper swing, he rammed his knuckles right into the offender's windpipe, and nicked the throat with the pommel of his sword hilt for good measure, choking him. Another shield bash to the face almost made the cultist fall on his back, and Alistair was glad when it failed but sent his helmet flying. It let him make the return swing and slam into the enemy temple so hard that the skull cracked and crushed the brain beneath.

For a time it went like that. Alistair was, even now after months of travels, amazed they were pulling off a coordinated attack. He knew from his teachings and experience that battles were almost always chaotic messes where everyone lost sight of everyone else almost immediately after the fight started. And yet here they were, cutting enemies down left and right, steadily moving forward. They had to, otherwise the corpses would have piled on top of each other. They were definitely many enough, and the lizard creatures sure could bleed.

That was when the fighting broke off and the cultists pulled back. Only some straggler drakes stayed and attacked, only to meet the same fate as the others. Alistair used the respite to catalogue his injuries They weren't many, miraculously enough. His side was bruised and his left shoulder ached, but there wasn't anything besides that, other than labored breathing and the certainty that he would be sore all over after this.

Alistair also noticed, with some surprise, that the cultists dragged a couple of their wounded back with them. It was really a shock after seeing the ones back at the village sacrifice them for blood magic spells. "Oh, Andraste's flaming knickers!" He shouted when two of the ones that hung back stabbed said fallen fighters in the heart. Why did he have to tempt fate?

"Stop them from casting!" Kallian shouted.

Almost immediately Theron abandoned his current target and sent an arrow, while Morrigan sent some sort of mental wave, but a reaver jumped in front of the former and the latter failed to affect the two malefikarum, even though the half dozen remaining fighters clawed at their heads in pain or fear. And then a third mage joined their chants and raised their arms to cast together.

"Come around!" Alim shouted, reducing the range of his dome as he did. No sooner had he done it that the three enemy mages finished chanting some obscure language and sent a giant wave of fire straight at them.

It smashed into the forcefield and struggled, but when it failed to breach it exploded, poured out in all direction and then ignited the air itself, grumbling and rumbling, flushing the air inward, rushing like a cyclone eager to swallow them all. Alistair held his breath and gulped. That looked nasty.

Two mintutes in, it wasn't showing signs of stopping. "Okay, now what?"

"We wait it out...?" Zevran ventured. He'd been annoyed at first, at not being a major part of the fight, but now he looked glad to be safely inside Alim's field.

The black magician clicked his tongue in annoyance. "And you wonder why I went for blood magic," he shot at Wynne, who didn't grace that with a reply. "They're pretty good, but, fortunately, I'm-" a screech like a thousand birds chirping at once broke through his words and a bolt of thunder smashed into the field, catching them all unprepared. The dome collapsed with a gong and dozens of electrical arks flashed and streaked through the air, cracking the stone and searing their bones. Alistair heard screams and realized some were his.

He was face-down on the ground, he realized, and he only twitched when he tried to move. Then there was pain, then fire and he couldn't breathe. He pulled his eyelids open and saw smoldering embers through the eye slit of his helmet, then electricity passed through his body again, making him writhe and cry out yet again. He didn't know how he managed to stay conscious, but he did. His vision was blurred, but he still saw the red streaked with violet and white, then only white as a forcefield glided over him again, pushing the heat and storm away.

It should have taken minutes for his body to move properly again, but the familiar blue mist of healing enveloped him, and he felt better. Well enough to drag himself to his feet and manage not to stagger too obviously. Wearily he looked up. There was an ominous but entrancing spectacle of red and purple, white and blue as fire and lighting mixed right outside of the precarious force wall, and the atmosphere, such as it was, screeched at them hatefully. Only the constant hum of Wynne's healing aura made him feel well enough to go on.

"As I was saying," Alim huffed. Alistair turned to look at him, dimly realizing that was the most tired he'd ever seen or heard him during a fight, and his hair hung a bit awkwardly, filled with static like the rest of him. Energy arcs glided over him from time to time. Mercifully, his long hair wasn't standing on end. He was slouched, both hands holding onto his large staff. The bottom of it had cracked the stone floor where it had been smashed through at some point. Drake and human blood pooler around it, shimmering slightly, and Alistair realized it was the blood that powered the new dome around them. "They're pretty good, but I'm better."

The templar would have scoffed if he wasn't still trembling. Looking around, he saw the others in similar situations. Raonar was on one knee a few feet from him, Gwen was leaning on Yusaris, Zevran was unashamedly lying on his back without even bothering to try and stand. Wynne was moving from a disoriented, sitting Kallian to whoever was closest. Theron was the only one that seemed completely unbothered by what had just happened. He wasn't even singed, what the hell?

Well, the elf wasn't the _only_ one unbothered. Shale was just fine too, and she was just about to say something sarcastic. Alistair could see it on her face, even made of stone as it was, but she didn't get around to it. With rush of air, the fire outside the shield began to settle down. It allowed for some new visibility, but it only revealed more problems. "Oh oh..." He heard Alim quip, and he agreed. He didn't know what was coming, but he could feel the magic and it was bad news.

The flaming storm collapsed completely, but the lightning tempest remained, and then the malefikarum on the other side of the cavernous chamber summoned snow and ice and sent it out.

"Venhedis!" Alim snarled in Arcanum as the magic smashed into his dome again. "Vishante kaffar!" He swore again, and Alistair barely heard him over the noise. The spell was ice, it was storm, and it mixed with the lighting and went from bad to worse. "Those morons!"

Alistair privately agreed. "Marvelous!" He stepped back as the forcefield contracted again, pulling an equally stupefied Gwen with him. The spells reacted and swirled around each other, merging and ascending into a typhoon of unleashed rage.

"I thought you were the only one who could do this!" Alistair's head snapped to the left where the outraged cry came from, barely audible over the mayhem of the maelstrom. He thought it was Raonar for a second but he seemed as stoic as ever. Faren was the one that said it, but what did he mean?

"What, you think I just came up with every spell combination of mass destruction on my own?" Surana snapped back irritably. Alistair didn't get worried easily, but when he saw the sweat pouring off _Alim_ of all people, it was more than enough. "Come closer together, I can't sustain such a wide field! And if they also know how to fuel this magic after the casting, it would be a bad idea to try to outlast them."

Everyone scrambled to do as told, still unable to tear their eyes away from the maelstrom of pure, raw energy in whose maw they were located. "Maybe we should retreat to the hallway!" The human prince suggested, hoping someone heard him.

"Door caved in while you were writing on the ground," Theron calmly answered. How the Dalish elf held onto that serene exterior even in these situations, the human had no idea.

"This whole _place_ is going to cave in if this thing last much longer!" Kallian said, her voice a bit hoarse.

"Oh, it's not caving in yet!" Alim said through gritted teeth. Then he smirked maliciously. "But it will. I'm pissed off now. Shale!" The golem twitched. "You're up!" And the dark wizard produced a certain orb from his robes. Alistair had no idea where it was stored until then but recognized it. The globe Alim made back at the Circle Tower, from Raonar's wild magic and Owain's ashes. "Just like we practiced during the night watches."

Before anyone could ask what he meant, Shale took the orb, closed her left fist around it and closed her eyes. No sooner had she done that that the orange crystals in her arms and back glimmered, then flashed then burst into flames more than they ever would have on their own, until the Golem was surrounded in fire entirely. "Right side of the room then?"

"That's where Morrigan said the traps were most harmless, for you anyway," Alim answered.

It was then that the templar prince noticed something critical. "Wait... where _is_ Morrigan?"

There was a pause, though no silence.

Zevran tsked. "Damned woman went off on her own again."

"Yes, she did," Alim said tightly.

"Perfect!" Alistair seethed, drowning in his own river of sarcasm.

"Later!" The black mage shouted lifting his staff in the air with both arms a second time. "Shale, when I smash this against the ground again, go and knock some heads!

"Oh, I'll be glad to!"

The crimson orb of demon blood at the head of the staff lit up. "Everyone out of my way and try not to fall too hard!" And before Alistair could ask what he meant, everyone dropped to the ground except him, Wynne and Gwen.

And that they did it proved a very good idea a moment later.

The ground shook with the weight of the elf's magic, and it didn't stop. A tremor passed through the stone and threw the templar and Gwen off their feet. They fell down, gasping, but the earthquake only grew, rumbling even worse than the storm of fire they'd just survived. Looking wildly around, the man saw Theron and a shining Wynne the only ones still standing, other than Alim himself.

It was then that there was a change in the atmosphere. The magical storm around them thinned. The cultist mages had no way to focus on the spell with Shale closing in on them, and there was definitely a problem with all the clicks, snaps and hisses that went off at once.

Alim's earthquake set off each and every trap in that area.

"Whoa!" Alistair couldn't help it. He ducked and brought his sword and shield over his head, even though he was perfectly safe in the dome. Hundreds of arrows streaked through the air, flames poured from the walls and pillars, grease and some sort of flammable glue poured from beneath the pressure plates on the ground, only to catch fire a moment later. Flaming runes glowed on the walls, columns and floors, sending tongues of embers everywhere, and through it all the storm kept howling, despite thinning.

It was then that Alistair saw what was happening ahead, where Shale was swinging and smashing everything near her. Reavers were hacking at her, doing little damage, and a dozen of those "baby" dragons swarmed her, but it was all just a diversion, to allow the blood mages to escape. Forgetting his embarrassing posture, the man shot to his feet. "We have to take them down! Don't let them cast anything else!"

"Theron, Leliana, you two-"

"Faren!" Kallian yelled.

"What?" Alim floundered, following her gaze. "Oh for the love of!"

The dwarf took off, rippling through the forcefield as though it wasn't even there, and rolled out of the way of a volley of trap arrows. The earthquake faded, but didn't disappear. It didn't stop him though. The rogue charged right through the magical fire spouting all over the place and even the constant arcs of lightning were nothing to him. Alistair would have watched in awe if what Faren had just done wasn't the stupidest thing anyone could have possibly done in that situation. Was that guy suicidal?

It only took one rash action to completely destroy the cohesion of a group during a battle, and that was precisely what Faren accomplished. Raonar, of all people, charged after him, cutting a path through the forcefield with just a swing of his sword. Somehow. "The hell!" of all the times to succeed in using his unnatural powers, this was among the worst.

"By the stars!" Alim yelled. "Those two... That's it, everyone charge! Just stay out of that disaster area!"

The magical storm had finally passed and the field collapsed. Alistair made two steps and staggered, gasping to breathe. The air that hit him was hot and thin, and the amount of static energy still in the air made him shiver and his hair stand on end. Biting back a curse, he willed himself to focus and chose the path of least resistance. Ergo, where Shale had stomped her way through. And yet he wavered again when a familiar phantom pain flared through him. He knew what this feeling meant, like having a heart attack and an arm mangled at once.

Adrenaline flooded him, and Alistair _saw_ then that Faren had been set upon by two drakes that were lying in wait. He saw that two of the mages, having retreated under the cover of their cohort, were casting some sort of ice spell, and that Shale was the target. The templar noticed in worry that there was a whole bunch of those dragons left, and that they were behind a rock outcropping that Faren could not see beyond. Their handlers were stiff with anticipation. A classic ambush. "Oh shit!"

There was nothing outwardly visible as the cursed dwarf stuck his left arm forward, but the wave of pain that washed over him was definitely noticeable. Even when it was aimed at something else, and so far away, Alistair still winced. But he couldn't deny that it was satisfying to see those blood mages cry out and fall to their knees as the spells exploded in their faces. He almost absentmindedly drove Duncan's sword through the side of a cultist by the time the aura of pain shut down. Gwen was with him now, Sten on his other side and Oghren with Zevran just ahead, although _when_ those two had gotten there he had no idea.

As far as chaos went, this mess wasn't the worst he could imagine. "Oh bollocks!" He just _had_ to tempt fate again didn't he?

As he'd noticed before, Faren _hadn't_ seen the half dozen drakes on the other side of the rock outcropping, at the mouth of that particular tunnel. He also hadn't seen the two fighters handling them. Tamers, no doubt. Alistair thought of shouting a warning, but there was too much noise. And gods, Faren was so _fast_, he was already there, taking them all on as if he didn't care for his safety at all. One moment he was in the air, then he stomped on the head of a lizard and used it as leverage to jump high enough to slit the throat of a human. A drake bit his calf as soon as he landed in a crouch on the ground, but he slashed at is mouth and then sunk one of his chained daggers into its head, killing it too.

Which was when there was a crack in the stone above. "Maker's balls." Oh yes, Alim had actually started a cave-in. Wonderful. "Look out above!" He bellowed as loud as he could.

The noise of stone cracking and falling was so ominous that everyone stopped what they were doing and watched in horrified fascination cracks began to fill the cave roof. Several large ones congregated as the rock went taut.

A huge stalactite broke and began its lethal descent as the earth itself groaned. Everyone watched, except the remaining cultist, who turned tail and fled up the tunnel. And Faren, who jumped on the back of the dragonling nearest and stabbed deep, with both his knives, right above the shoulder blades.

It was one of those rare cases when he missed vital or incapacitating areas, and it was a very big mistake.

The drake screeched, breaking everyone out of their trances just as the stalactite met the ground and kicked up an immense cloud of filth. The animal's cry was a keening, horrid sound, worse than any of the other lizards had made that day, which was the only reason the smash of the huge piece of rock didn't completely drown it out. And then It panicked and ran up the tunnel, with Faren still stuck to it. The dwarf tried to slide off, but his grip was loose and a dagger got stuck where it had been driven through the creature's hide. The chain between it and the other knife curled around his wrist in a knot.

Faren Brosca barely had time to cry out in surprise when he hit the ground and struck a few rocks, before he hit his head on a particularly nasty stone and fell silent as the crazed creature dragged him through dirt and dust until they were both out of sight.

"Goddammit!" Raonar cursed and followed as fast as he could.

"Of all the stupid things!" Alim snapped at no one, taking his anger out on the last moving enemy. "So much for planning! Don't you all just stand there! After them!" Almost before he was finished, he became a bat and flew in pursuit.

"Just like that?" Alistair blurted. "That's suicide!"

"For once we agree," Sten grunted.

But Shale was already running up the tunnel., Oghren on her heels, holding his huge, bloodied axe like it weighed nothing. "Don't just stand there!" He yelled over his shoulder. "Cave-in, remember!?"

"..."

Suddenly, the pandemonium that Shale's stomping footsteps had drowned out was howling around them again. "OHSHI-" Suddenly he was thrown off his feet, a boulder impacting the place he'd just stood in. He hit the ground with a choked grunt, Gwen and Kallian on each side. It was a testament to the direness of the situation that Zevran didn't comment on the inappropriateness, or rather appeal, of the scene. He just pulled Kallian up and dragged her off, expecting the other two to follow.

Thirty seconds later they were stumbling after the others when something clicked in Alistair's head and he stopped in horrified realization. "Wait! Where are Theron and Wynne?"

"-. .-"

Any other person would have been cross with those two dwarves for running ahead like that, or being dragged off and following, respectively. Truly, most on his side were clearly feeling that way.

Zevran Arainai was different. He was an assassin, which meant that he was all about sneaking and taking his targets out from behind, preferably without anyone knowing he was ever there. That was why he did not exactly feel annoyed at Raonar charging ahead. The dwarf was a perfect distraction. Oh, Zevran was worried, definitely, and while Faren had pissed him off royally over the past month, he was worried about him too, and about what him dying would do to a certain blonde elf.

It was for this reason that he chose not to pick out the most appealing targets and, instead, shadow those two as soon as hell broke loose. He'd found the perfect way too.

As soon as the cave-in happened and he helped Kallian get out of the dogpile, he melted into the shadows and the cloud of dust that got kicked up by the tremors and collapsing stones. A mask kept the thinned and hot air breathable, earplugs removed the distraction of hearing. Normally he would rely heavily on his hearing, but the amount of noise was a liability here, so he settled for his eyes.

His eyesight was better than most, and his need for spatial awareness made sure he memorized where he was as soon as he entered a new area. It was for that reason that he knew of the hollowed-out sections of the cavern ahead. He'd noticed the existence of those terraces as soon as Alim blasted the door, so that's where he went. Higher ground was a great advantage in his profession.

Having memorized the layout of the floor and walls, he managed to run through the thick cloud of debris and make a running leap up the wall. He did it blindly but succeeded. By the time the second piece of cave ceiling came down and rocked the earth again, he was already there, four meters higher than everyone else. He ignored the air buffet that hit him from behind and made his cloak flap. He was more interested in the drakes hanging from the ceiling, writhing, trapped in thick spider web. Two were already wrapped in cocoons and three more were struggling, snapping and hissing at the giant spider that had spun it.

So _that_ was where Morrigan had gone. She'd eliminated a good chunk of the number of potential ambushers alone. Zevran worried he was losing his edge if that witch spotted this danger before he did, but then he remembered she'd scouted ahead as a chameleon, so she must have known of them since that time. It did raise the question of why she didn't include them in her report though.

The far end of the terrace, if it could even be called that, was still a ways of, but Zevran could guess that the fight hadn't moved that far, even without relying on his hearing. Crouching, he snuck up to the ledge and looked down. His eyebrows shot to his hairline and he was hard-pressed not to gape at what he saw.

Raonar loved Faren like a sibling. That was a given. Hell, he cared for them all. Zevran argued against believing that for a while, a _very_ lengthy period of time, but he'd been with this motley group for even longer and even _his_ ability to stay in denial wasn't immeasurable.

But this...

Faren was unconscious near the wall, chain still around his wrist, but the drake that had dragged him off was dead, lying in a growing pool of its own blood, its severed head a couple of feet away. Also dead were another three. And the two handlers. And one of the heavily-armored reinforcements that had come down, despite the dust cloud that got kicked up by the ongoing cave-in behind them all. Normally, it would make for a sorry sight, even despite all that. Backed against the wall, with just Faren's unconscious form between him and the rock, Raonar looked very much like a cornered animal. Five more dearly beloved baby dragons were closing in on him, hissing and snapping at the air.

And oh, there goes another dragon.

This was his chance, Zevran thought. Maybe he could... but why weren't those reavers approaching? No matter, the Antivan figured. Easier for him if they waited. Now if he could just get a bit closer-

The elf flinched back as soon as he moved forward. Suddenly, he knew the reason the humans weren't approaching. There were no more archers, thankfully, but the others there... Even they dared not close in, and for good reason. Raonar had _let loose_. Zevran didn't believe in the Maker, but _dear lord_, how was that dwarf still standing? Now that he looked more closely, he could _see_ the red haze leeching out of the man. He almost felt sorry for the drakes. Almost.

He blinked, and the dwarf had already cut the air. A swipe of his arm brought his sword in an arc, tip rending the ground apart and shearing through the air with a stiff, oblique cut. Metal went through nothing, then a drake foreleg, then its throat, and the movement stopped but instead of an injured dragon there were two bloody chunks of flesh and bone, halves of an overgrown lizard wrenched apart and sailing through the air because of a gust of wind, and smearing the ground with a sickening lurch.

Zevran fell on his backside, phantom pain spiking momentarily as the invisible force traveled further, to and through one of the enemy fighters and severing his left arm from below the shoulder.

It was then that Zevran understood, he couldn't interfere in that mess. Not directly. In order to properly aim his knives and flasks, he would need to get closer, but if he got closer he would succumb to that painful aura, and he would be no help.

Then, finally, the bat became elf again, and the others caught up and started to help, but even they could not get very close. Four more of those wretched beasts jumped down from the terrace opposite Zevran's position, cutting the group off. But the assassin knew even they would not get close, unless their name was Alim Surana. Leliana was good with that bow though.

No way to help there then. Zevran backed off, closer to the rear wall. It cost him the view of the fight, but removing the earplugs let him make out the noises now, and the phantom pain was duller at this distance. He could use the respite to move further, scout ahead. Morrigan was still busy securing her "meal." Zevran didn't know if the witch ever actually indulged in feeding, or any other urges, while she was a beast, and he didn't really care as long as he or the others didn't come to harm. Information was needed and useful though, so he moved.

When he finally reached the far ledge and peered down and around the proverbial corner, his mouth fell open. The area was huge, larger and brighter than the one they'd just escaped. And there was an altar there. Like a pyramid. Crow's feathers! What in the world did they stumble into? And what was that man doing? Praying? Meditating?

The build suggested an elf. The ears confirmed it beyond doubt. Male. He was sitting cross-legged in front of a crackling flame, as though he was completely deaf or oblivious to the battle happening less than a few hundred feet away. Not to mention the cave-in that had happened down the tunnel.

Zevran was too far away to attack from there, but maybe-

The helmet next to the man flew in his hand. Zevran tensed, watching him put it on. Had the arrogant twit finally realized that all that racked was, perish the thought, a cause of concern? Perhaps he should give him a prize-

Zevran Arainai barely had time to yelp and throw himself to the floor when the enemy did what he'd only ever seen one other person do. Past observations were the only reason he didn't just stand there and take the razor wind as it rent the air apart and cleanly left a cut in the rock wall he'd been leaning against. Right, definitely not competing for points that one, although he would have stood a good chance at winning. That sword looked sharp, and that attack... Only Raonar was supposed to be able to do that.

Assassin skills were drilled into you over years of practice in the form or trainers randomly attacking you, even in your sleep. Not bothering to ask himself why making a leap of faith was the right thing to do, he did it, dove over the ledge. A bolt of lightning struck the place where he'd been lying just moments before.

With the grace of a cat, he flipped through the air and landed on his feet, letting inertia take him into a roll. As soon as he stopped, he ignored the bruised shoulder and dove again, escaping another bolt of lightning and taking cover behind a stone column. What in the nine hells were stone columns doing there? They were holding nothing up. They were just four, arranged in a square around that building-sized pedestal for the worship of the damned.

Good thing they were tough. "Come now!" He called out, trying to buy enough time to think of a plan. "_Surely_ we can at least introduce ourselves before having a falling out like this!"

He must have sounded more sarcastic that he intended because the column he was leaning against started rattling. In surprise, he staggered away. Only experience made sure he didn't get distracted by it, which was the only reason he saw the elf, even with his heavy metal armor and Dar'Misaan, hovering thirty feet above him.

The next five minutes were all a blur, spend dodging, rolling out of the way of sky cutters, lighting and fire, cursing up a storm in four different languages and wondering what the hell a mage was doing in warrior armor and blasting him from the sky. Figuratively speaking.

At one point, he managed to scrape enough time to hurl an acid flask and a fire bomb at the floating bastard, but they exploded against a forcefield and did no damage.

Then, finally, he couldn't completely dodge a blast of concussive force, and he felt something hard hit him in the back and the head. Correction, he'd hit the cave wall. Again. And the floating bastard was getting ready to swing his sword and probably cut him in half. Well, many tried before. Someone was bound to succeed at some point.

Then came a red and white blur, and the floating bastard's sword was stopped by another. There was a dwarf right in front of him and punching the elf in the face so hard that his helmet flew off and sent him falling. Both crashed to the ground with a meaty thud and rattle some seconds later.

Zevran tried to stand, but his vision swam. He managed to stagger to his feet though, and he blinked the yellow spots away, little by little. By the time his eyes recovered and he wasn't hearing things funny anymore, those two had managed to stand up and start fighting again. Dimly Zevran heard the others fighting behind him, but he wasn't concerned. What did concern him was how tired Raonar looked.

The dwarf and elf fought for a minute, one's fatigue taking the edge of his fighting skill. A couple of times the elf tried to back up and cast a spell, but Raonar _flared_, red dancing over him, and the spellcasting was broken. Swords clashed once, twice, three times, but when it looked like Raonar would finally score a hit, he was just too slow to take advantage of a breach in the other's guard and he missed, leaving just a scrape on the red steel armor. Zevran wondered why he swayed, but then he noticed the blood dripping from the fighter's left gauntlet, tight as it was curled around the sword hilt.

The noble stumbled, but recovered in time to parry away a chop aimed at the top of his head. They broke off, and the elf feinted, but Raonar saw through it and blocked the sword when it was a hair's breath from his neck. He pushed, the other pushed too, and they stayed locked like that for a minute, both swords slowly getting brighter, and Zevran could feel the phantom pain slowly starting to take him over as the dwarf's field extended with each moment.

The elf's face was visible now, so his grimace was plain to see. But he was a blood mage, like the others, so pain was a familiar thing. Even then, however, there wasn't an explanation for the smirk that flickered on his face when he broke the bladelock.

Zevran watched horrified as he got the answer to the question of why he made that face.

Breaking the hold, the armored mage performed an arching move and made to slash his opponent from hip to shoulder. Raonar was surprisingly steady and blocked the blow expertly.

Or tried.

The elf's curved sword changed from bright to iridescently transparent in but a moment, and it passed through Maric's unshielded blade like it wasn't even there, and then ignored the cuirass and chain mail themselves.

Time seemed to stop as the grey warden gasped and went rigid, then staggered back two steps, clawing at his intact chest plate with his left hand, smearing it with the blood dripping from it. Whatever that strike had done wasn't visible, but that only made it more dangerous, going cleanly through his midsection and torso, just like those ghosts at the Anvil of the Void.

The enemy mage grinned maliciously through his gritted teeth. No doubt he'd have followed with a fatal strike, but he, too, had to catch his breath. By the time he'd done that, Raonar had fallen to his knees, breathing shallowly and rapidly, gaze unfocused and facing the ground.

The Antivan _moved_ then, two throwing knives and a miasmic flask in quick succession. That bastard would learn to not give enemies enough time to drink healing potions. Zevran was still dizzy and hurt, which was why the two knives missed, barely, but the third item was tossed at the ground, so it shattered easily enough. The assassin cursed his swimming head for that poor performance. The cloud of narcotic smoke barely engulfed the bastard, although it did make him back off and stumble away, covering his face with his palm. At least the fumes had affected him enough to make him forget he had the magic needed to clear the air.

He had one of two options. Try to drag Raonar away or kill that poor excuse for an elf. It was an easy choice. Raonar was a lot of things, but definitely not light enough for someone like him to just up and carry off.

Adrenaline surged at the thought, and Zevran sprinted, right through the cloud of dazing black fog. He held his breath and was satisfied to see the shock on that gaunt face when he leapt and appeared in the air right in front of him, like a wraith from hell. The Antivan was satisfied when he nailed him with a kick right in the face, and the knife he always carried in a wrist holster was in his hand immediately, going through the chain mail and the crook of that armored elbow a second later.

With a cry of pain, the enemy dropped that cursed sword and tried to pull away, but Zevran wouldn't budge. Unfortunately, the bastard remembered he was a mage, so he released a howl of distress and blasted him head over heels with an uncontrolled wave of energy. It was strong, but messy enough to let the assassin decide how and when to fall, so Zevran did a barrel roll and strafed to the left, pelting the cultist with whatever he had left as he closed the distance again.

He was almost on him, when the elf got back to his senses and kicked off the ground, taking to the air once again. Zevran Arainai cursed, and cursed again when the once again floating bastard reached out and summoned his discarded weapon.

The single-edged, curved Dar'MIsaan flew to his hand.

Only to be blasted out of his grip by a hissing, white bolt of kinetic force just as his fingers slipped around its handle. The sword then hurtled, a less than graceful arc ending with it pinned into the ground.

Alim wasn't playing games. He didn't care he still had his staff in his right hand, and his silver wand still aimed at the floating bastard. He didn't mind the power boost that came with then. No sooner had his disarming spell finished that he jabbed the staff at the other elven mage.

Lightning and thunder rent the atmosphere apart, burning the air and smashing into a hastily erected dome of force, bringing it down instantly. The floating bastard was startled, eyes wide, but then he just snarled and clawed at his own face, blood seeping, staining his cheeks and chin. It was the only exposed spot on his body he could draw blood from. An arrow hit his midsection, one of Leliana's if Zevran saw things right, and made him gasp, but the blood mage just glared harder and drew even more blood power.

It was the first time any of the Wardens and their companions had seen anyone matching Alim Surana in terms of sheer power.

But the black warden had a shield of his own, and he didn't waste time just hovering around. As soon as the electrical strike found him, he flew to the side and send a huge wave of fire forward. The flames were like the head of a roaring lion as they grew to immense size. A pair of jaws opened and made to swallow the enemy, but a startled gasp was followed by a blast of air strong enough to break the form apart and cause the flames to waver.

Twisters usually reach downward, from the sky towards the earth, but this one was unnatural, like a tunnel rending the atmosphere to pieces with a screeching wail. For a moment, it looked like Alim wasn't going to do anything, but he jabbed his staff forward again, right through the middle of the horizontal vortex and _caught it_. Zevran was no mage but even he knew it took a lot to take control of the magic of another, especially while also sustaining red hot flames through sheer force of will.

It was amazing. Even as Alim acted as though he was tossing forward a fishing rod, the spell fight as just stunning. This was the first time anyone fought with Alim on anything approaching equal terms.

Although "equal" was loosely used. Very loosely, as it turned out.

The tornado was like a cannon in Alim's hands, and the cannon was reversed, air mixing with the fire and resulting in a smoldering, angry vortex that sent the other elven mage flying backwards until he slammed into one of the four large columns with a pained yelp.

Alim didn't wait. He didn't ask for a name or give any praise, or monologuing like a fictional villain that is too stupid to live. By the time the floating bastard finally crashed to the ground (and somehow pulled himself to his feet), the black magician was already walking to him, wand tip glowing gold and red.

With a swish it became a whip, a real whip of fire. One swing severed the right forearm, another cut off his left leg from below the knee and after the wailing, battered form of the blood mage pushed itself up after falling and writing in a painful heap, the whip of flame snapped around his neck.

Zevran watched distractedly, leaning against a boulder, as the mage jerked his arm back and the head of the no longer floating bastard fell on the floor with a wet thump, rolling a few times before it stopped. There was surprisingly little blood, since the "wounds" were partly cauterized.

"Get Wynne over here!"

Zevran heard the started responses, the panicked exclamations of Leliana, Alistair and Gwen who were the only ones still standing properly. His head was pounding and he felt like his limbs weighed a ton. Then he almost slapped himself and pulled out another vial of healing potion and drunk it down.

Coming to his senses, he finally barely registered when Alistair said he didn't see Theron and Wynne following them up the tunnel.

Zevran's blood went cold and he sprinted after them, even though he wasn't in a condition to move, despite the healing poultice. He passed Sten, who was sitting and leaning against a rock, humans and dragonspawn littering the ground around him. He ran past a still unconscious dwarf warden and eventually turned the last bend. Whatever he expected, a distinct lack of pile of rocks was not it.

Oh, there were definitely more boulders and cracked spots of stone floor there, especially those two huge stalactites that he'd seen falling earlier, but that was the full extent of the damage. If anything, the cave seemed _brighter_.

That thought made him look up, and he couldn't help but gasp at the sight. Cracks littered the cave ceiling, and any sane person would say it shouldn't stay intact, but there it was. Lyrium veins covered it almost completely, and more of them had grown through the many disjoined section of the mountain, with white, teal and deep blue hues mixing like the roots of a tree. Motes of light constantly broke off from them, like snow on a particularly pleasant winter afternoon. And there was a hum. It felt good, and _safe_ somehow.

"Wynne is unconscious behind that rock."

Zevran yelped and spun around in shock, feeling as though his heart was coming out through his throat. Distantly he noticed Alistair and Gwen also snap out of awed dazes similar to his own. "I imagine she is who you came running here for?"

Zevran stared. "Well, you too..." A pause. "You did that didn't you," he said, voice totally flat, unlike his arm that wildly gestured at the scene above.

Theron shrugged, seemingly oblivious to the frantic search efforts of the two humans.

"Okay... How?" Zevran breathed.

Another shrug. "I asked nicely."

"-. .-"

_Excerpt from Journal of Senior Enchanter Wynne_

_26 Eluviesta, 9:31 Dragon:__ Well, we're all fine. Somehow. Theron wouldn't tell us exactly how he "asked nicely" of the lyrium to just grow like that, like tree roots, and reinforce the top of the cave. I am especially embarrassed because I missed the chance to see it happen by getting knocked out by a rock to the head. Of course, had I stayed lucid I would have followed the others in their mad dash, so the point is probably moot._

_ But this is becoming a drawn-out egress._

_ For such a large skirmish and a narrowly-avoided disaster, we managed to survive the battle relatively intact. Faren hit his head pretty badly, but we are more worried about his refusal to interact with us, and how he seems to glare at people when they try to engage him in conversation. I'm surprised Kallian didn't try to bring him to task and ask him if he's suicidal. Perhaps she, like the rest of us, fears the answer._

_ Raonar managed to get hurt again. The blood in his left gauntlet came from his curse wounds. His chest and left arm started bleeding profusely once he released his pent-up rage and field of pain. The hit inflicted by that arcane warrior, as Alim called him, did not help matters. It did not cut anything, but it did make his flesh and bone freeze, just like in the deep roads, and inflicted phantom pain like his own as well. Fortunately, he was able to stay conscious and I managed to heal him as well as could be expected. He's been a bit unsteady on his feet since then, but he hasn't complained. He never does._

_ Everyone else had the normal kind of injuries, which I was able to heal fully. Alim even recharged some of my energy afterwards, like Raonar did a few times in the past, before ending up like he is now. I sometimes envy the sort of connection he has to the fade, the connection he gained after harboring that crack between worlds, however briefly. I even feel the spirit inside me wistfully thinking of the Fade, and how it will never return there. Alim and Raonar told me, quite some time ago, that they, or rather Raonar, would be able to act as a conduit and allow the spirit to return home if it wished. So far, it has refused, not wanting to let my life expire, even though I technically died once already._

_ At any rate, everyone was mostly fine after the ordeal, compared to previous encounters._

_ It was part of the reason why I consented to move on as Theron suggested. The issue of camping there was brought up. I believe Alim and Morrigan were interested in using those dragon eggs for experiments, but Theron said we wouldn't be able to carry anything with us anyway, so we should move on and, once we are done with the place, send a message to Levi and the golems at Soldier's Peak to make a trip to the temple later and salvage everything they can._

_ Theron also said that we had just enough energy to climb to the top of the temple and deal with everything on the way. Gwen was the only one who tried to wheedle an answer from him on how he knew this, but the others didn't bother after the cave-in preventive measure he somehow took._

_ I almost wish I questioned him myself. The remaining part of our "exploration" was hardly straightforward._

_ We eventually reached the top "chamber" of the cavern system, where the leader of the cult and his inner circle were. Brother Kolgrim was his name. As soon as he saw us, he started raving about the sacrilege of our presence, and how we wronged Andraste reborn (which, apparently, is a high dragon) and how unworthy we were for daring to kill her children (the dragon brood). But then he got the idea that we would be interested in joining the cult for some reason. _

_ The man must have been addled. Or maybe he felt that he needed new recruits as soon as possible, seeing as how we killed most of them on our way up. He offered us "power" if we agreed to taint the Sacred Ashes of the real Andraste and "free her reborn spirit from the last shackles to her previous life" which are supposedly located in an Urn at the end of a different temple section right at the top of the mountain. All we would have had to do was take some of the high dragon's blood (which I am unsure how Kolgrim got) and empty it in the urn._

_ What happened next was shocking. Theron took over the conversation and with everyone so gobsmacked at seeing __**him**__, of all people, take such an initiative, they didn't intervene much, even when Theron demanded proof that they could really provide what they promised. Somehow, Kolgrim agreed to let one of us sample the "gifts" this reborn Andraste has to offer before asking us to decide anything._

_ I think Gwen was going to volunteer. She may not show it much, but I know for certain she feels awkward being the only Grey Warden without some kind of unusual ability. Theron, however, decided, __**decided**__ that Kallian should do it, and she agreed with a shrug._

_ A vial of wyvern blood was taken to the pyramid where we fought the arcane warrior. Kolgrim performed some kind of blood magic ritual by which he summoned the assistance of some form of demon and suffused the blood with their special knowledge. I blanched at that, and I am sure I wasn't the only uneasy person there, but we didn't interrupt. Kolgrim then said he could make more infused wyvern blood if we agreed to defile the Sacred Ashes of Andraste (wyvern is the stage between dragonling and drake apparently). _

_ Kalian eventually drank the sinister concoction after Theron said nothing bad would come of it. I have no idea why everyone seems to keen to believe him. There wasn't even an argument. The elf somehow just persuaded everyone to do what he said without much complaint._

_ And then he turned to the cultists, drew his bow faster that I thought possible and killed three before anyone had a chance to figure out what was happening. Theron then waited for Alistair to take out Kolgrim and for the others to make short work of the remaining three. It was all so anticlimactic that I didn't have to do anything. _

_**Then**__ Theron said we may as well rest, which is why I am only now making this entry in my journal. Kallian said she doesn't feel that different, although she did experience a sort of hot sensation in her stomach for a while after drinking the blood. I believe she will feel a burning sensation in her whole body before everything settles, then we can figure out what that blood did to her, and how it will react with Avernus' research. _

_ Just one more day of being a Grey Warden I suppose._

"-. .-"

It was truly surprising that he'd settled into his new role so well, Alim Surana mused. Then again, most it wasn't really his doing. It was a combination of his tenure being expected to be temporary, and, more importantly, Raonar bluntly passing his duties on. Most of the "management" he did not even have to think about. The group's routine had been well entrenched well before they even went to Orzammar, and everyone was self-sufficient so there really wasn't much he had to do to keep things moving smoothly.

Alim supposed that it helped cement everyone's acceptance of his new post when he went all supernatural and saved Raonar from the brink of death. And the previous times that happened. Still, since then, he'd been waiting for the other shoe to drop. The near cave-in almost made him think he was in the clear, but Alim now realized that _this_ latest development was going to be the turning point in his career as Grey Warden Division Commander.

"Okay..." Zevran drawled from somewhere behind and to the right. "I will just point out that the cave-in did not happen and we managed to clear up the debris downstairs easily enough. Therefore, we can still retreat and look for the elves instead." There was a pause. "Any time now."

"Oh hush you," Kallian hissed. "You'll draw its attention."

"Oh I sincerely doubt that," the assassin said airily. "After all, if our dear golem did not warrant attention with her glorious stomps, there is little chance of my whispering getting through."

"We really should do something about that by the way," Gwen agreed, shockingly enough.

Alim absently waved a hand as he stared at the dragon.

"Hey!" Shale protested, indignant. Obviously, she did not appreciate the new "boots" made of soft clay. Too bad, the mage thought. At least she'd be less noisy on her feet now.

The huge high dragon that was snoozing on top of the cliff across from the plateau. Alim had nearly started blasting it with lightning when it soared from behind the peak ahead, but the beast just landed up there on its... perch he supposed, and went to sleep. It was probably used to human presence if it actually let cultists worship it and tame her young. There was no other reason he could see for their presence to be overlooked that way.

"That is an Atashi," Sten noted, probably to himself, although Alim could detect a faint nuance of reverence in his voice. "I never thought I would see one here."

"At last, an enemy worthy of Oghren. Wait till the guys at Tapsters hear about this!"

Alim wondered if Oghren was ever going to get over his denial. It seemed to be a shifting thing, like a pendulum. Sometimes the dwarf would brood over his life, clearly realizing he was now an outcast, a surface dwarf, and that he could never go back to Orzammar. Other times, like now, he acted as though everything in his life was as he wanted it. It was the most straightforward of bravado he'd ever seen, and the most poignant too.

Alim would have pondered the issue of him actually _caring_ about the dwarf if Theron didn't distract him by suddenly starting forward in a steady trot. "Come then, before the creature awakens."

He stared.

But chose not to comment. Ducking his head briefly in fond exasperation, he followed at a steady pace. Sometimes he felt like he wasn't actually _leading_ at all. Of course, since much of the rest of the time he felt like a fraud, he didn't mind as much as he would have otherwise.

He did walk past Theron to take the leading position though. To curb Sten's snide remarks about showing weakness if nothing else.

The area was strange. If he didn't know better, he would have considered it the crater of a dormant volcano. The remnants of a temple invalidated that notion though, as did the halls and tunnels they'd ascended through.

The oddest thing was the sulfur pit. Or rather pond. There seemed to be a path leading to an ornate door in the rock. On one side was the fuming sulfur. It was probably where the dragon relieved itself, since there clearly was some sort of construction there before. Some of the foundation was still there. On the other side of the "path" was a somewhat more intact ruin, though it wasn't saying much.

The group advanced warily, but they managed to arrive on the other side without arousing the attention of the dragon. Alim really wasn't sure what to do about it. They did have Kolgrim's horn that was used to summon it. Gwen had it. Killing it would yield some valuable resources: dragon scales and blood. Theron said he would skin the drakes once they were done with their main business, but the scales of a real dragon would be an even better treat. And the _blood_. Forget blood magic (even if he could probably bring down the Circle Tower with an ounce of it alone), the potential for runecrafting was _immense_. Caridin would probably dance in joy, and Sandal would join him.

Now _that_ would be a sight.

On the other hand, it was a _bloody high dragon_. One of those things, maybe this very specimen, had decimated the entire Orlesian army during the last battle of Ferelden's rebellion. It was the main reason why Ferelden won its independence. Alim wasn't entirely sure they would be able to kill it without taking casualties, if they could at all. Engaging it would demand that they somehow make Raonar stay out of the fight at the very least. Maybe Faren too.

Faren. That boy was becoming an issue. He'd never acted as reckless as he did during the fight of the previous day. Alim knew what he was going through, though he'd said nothing. He knew the dwarf would not be receptive to any words on the matter. He himself had not been... and with the reason for his grief so close, the problem was on standby. Stuck. If Raonar had died, well, the issue would have been easy enough: survivor's guilt mixed with feelings of heavy responsibility. A horrible state of mind to be in, but one that could have been dealt with. There would have been the possibility for closure. As long as that noble was still on the edge, well, there wasn't much chance for Faren's mind to change its track.

Not for the first time, Alim hoped the Ashes were the miracle they were looking for.

They were almost at the door now. The mountaintop felt oddly welcoming and rose high on both sides. It felt like walking through a deep canyon, however short. The dragon was high up on the right, very close he knew. They would probably have to engage it if only to make sure it was safe for future expeditions in the area. Or maybe Theron would pull the ability to speak to dragons out of his backside? Ask it nicely to leave them alone and maybe not attack future pilgrims either?

Alim almost snorted at the thought, though he didn't think it was a completely impossible scenario. Best not give the Dalish hunter, or whatever he was now, any ideas.

"Well, here we are." If Andraste's Ashes were anywhere, it was somewhere beyond that door.

"Aw, come on!" Oghren whined. "You really gonna pass up on the chance to fight a freakin' dragon? We can take it! Right?" The dwarf looked at Gwen and Alistair for support. "Right? Come on, don't go all pansy on me now!"

"Much as I hate to say it, I agree with our diminutive friend in that we have a good shot," Zevran cut in, much to everyone's obvious surprise. Maybe the two were finally getting over their differences. "I strongly believe the poor thing would keel over because of Oghren's smell alone." Or not.

"Part of the Oghren experience!" He puffed his chest. "None can withstand it!"

"Later perhaps," Alim told them.

After some grumbling, they finally entered. Shale sighed in relief when the clay boots were dispelled. "Let us avoid that trick in the future, yes?"

It proved to be much like one of the corridors in the main temple complex, though a bit dingier. At least the liken was of the phosphorescent variety.

The scarce vegetation and fungi didn't hold anyone's attention for long though. They quickly became more interested in the... man... that was waiting for them in an antechamber, standing guard in front of a doorway. Alim felt energy rolling off of him, but he didn't actually feel alive. Not like everyone else did. There was something distinctly unusual about him, and the black magician got the solution to his dilemma when he saw the distinct lack of a shadow, despite the light of two torches on the wall behind him, and the light coming from the lyrium in the walls.

A spirit of some sort then. A warrior, by the looks of it. The armor he wore was well made. silverite if his eyes didn't deceive him. And that helmet, with griffon wings, looked both like and unlike the ones worn by the cultists they fought on the way up. Instead of red or brown, it was silver-white, with runes etched in gold.

He decided to speak first. "So, the reason Kolgrim and his sycophants weren't able to approach this place is a spirit guardian."

"I bid you welcome, Pilgrim." Definitely a spirit. Nothing else had a reverberating voice, unless they were Raonar in a particularly solemn mood. And he didn't count. The... man's... eyes roamed over them, and stopped when they found Theron. The guardian just stared at the elf for a time, and Theron stared right back.

"Who are you?" Gwen asked, breaking the tension.

The man spoke slowly, as if to accommodate the echo his words transmitted. "I am the Guardian of the Urn of Sacred Ashes. I have waited years for this."

"Huh?" Was Alistair's intelligent response. "What do you mean, for this?"

"You are the first to arrive in a very long time. It has been my duty, my life, to protect the Urn and prepare the way for the faithful that wish to revere Andraste," the words rolled off his tongue like waves upon a shore. "For years beyond counting have I been here, and shall I remain until my task is done, and the Imperium has crumbled beneath the sea."

"He sounds just like that petrified oracle in the Circle Tower vault," Alistair noted.

"Who are the men that have taken over the rest of the temple?" Gwen asked.

"When my brethren an I carried the Ashes from Tevinter to this sanctuary, to safeguard them, we swore a vow to forever revere Andraste and her memory... I have watched generations of my brethren take up the mantle of their fathers. For centuries they did this, unwavering, joyful in their appointed task. But now they have lost their way... They have forgotten Andraste, and their promise."

"Wonderful," Morrigan muttered, not caring if anyone heard her. "We ask a question and he gives us a history lesson."

"So," Gwen hastily cut off any retort to that before it could start. "The dragon is not Andraste reborn then."

"No. Our Andraste has gone to the Maker's side. She will not return. The dragon is a fearsome creature, an alternative to the absent Maker and her silent Andraste. A true believe would not require audacious displays of power."

_But some displays of power that are __**not**__ audacious wouldn't hurt_, Alim thought. He'd never commented on the whole Maker dogma really, much to Leliana's chagrin, but that didn't mean he didn't have an opinion. "So how did the belief spread to the rest of the followers?"

"It began with the ancestors of the one known as Kolgrim. He saw himself as a new prophet, preaching the rebirth. Some disagreed... I heard their cries of pain and loss, which were quickly silenced."

The mage was struck by how honestly grief-stricken the lonely ghost sounded. Or was he really a ghost? He seemed solid enough... "And you? Who exactly are you?"

"I am all that remains of the first disciples." Strangely, he did not sound prideful at all. There was an odd serenity in his every word. "I swore to protect the ashes for as long as I lived, and I have lived a _very_ long time."

"You knew Andraste..." Leliana breathed. "You were a first disciple... You actually lived in her time... Were in her presence!"

"Did anyone truly know her, save but the Maker? I cannot express in words my love for Andraste. You must seek her out on your own. Everyone must. Just like she sought herself and the Maker. She would often spend weeks meditating, often without food or water."

That wasn't so amazing, Alim figured. With his grasp of magic, he could easily last for as long. He had a feeling Raonar was doing it too, without realizing it, and eating just out of habit.

"I get the distinct feeling that if we asked him what he could tell us about the Urn of Sacred Ashes, he would tell us that we already know it contains the ashes of the prophet Andraste and that there isn't much else to tell..." Alistair was definitely in his element. He'd turned sounding sarcastic into an art form.

"Maybe we should not waste time then," Sten grunted.

"Right," Alim cleared his throat. "So how do we get to the Urn then? I am assuming it has something to do with that nice door behind you."

The guardian seemed to stare right into him. "You have come to honor Andraste, and you shall, if you prove yourself worthy."

Gwen groaned. "Let me guess. We have to run a gauntlet of some sort? An obstacle course? Maybe join hands and dance around a bonfire to show unity and love for all life? Even if we _don't_ want the ashes for ourselves, which we kind of do, but that's besides the point?"

"The reason does not matter. You must prove yourselves worthy, and it is not my place to decide your worthiness." Alim almost asked how much killing every cultist in the complex below them affected their "worthiness" but restrained himself. "The Gauntlet does that. If you are deemed worthy, you will see the Ashes, and be allowed to take a small pinch of the Ashes for yourself. If not..."

Very ominous. Alim debated the worth of challenging the guardian's conviction that he would be able to enact retribution if the situation called for it. "So what is the Gauntlet then?"

"The Gauntlet tells apart the true pilgrims from the false. You will undergo four tests of faith, and we shall see how your souls fare. I can see clearly that you will not choose against undergoing it, see your belief that you will be capable of just blasting through the Gauntlet if all else fails." Alarms started blaring in Alim's head and his expression quickly became guarded. "I advise against it. Also, there is something I must ask before you proceed."

Alim _knew_ this wasn't something he would like. He was already uneasy enough. If this thing could read into him, he was doing it in a completely different manner from the telepathy or blood magic he was acquainted with.

"I see that the path that brought you here was not easy... There is suffering in your past. Your suffering and the suffering of others..." The elf almost snapped at him to keep quiet. That happened so long ago, it didn't _matter_ anymore. "...And yet you are not here for yourself at all, are you?"

"We seek the ashes to heal a noble man," Gwen answered in his stead.

But the immortal would not take his eyes off him. Alim would have been unnerved, being quite a bit shorter, but he just returned his stare.

Surprisingly, the Guardian broke the staredown first, turning to Gwen who had spoken. "Some of you might be, yes, but that was never the main reason." He locked on Alim again. "And for you it was never a reason at all. You used to be guarded. You shielded yourself from the world, and the world from you. You knew this. Never one to lie to yourself. And then you met someone similar, and consciously lowered that guard, only to have everything play out again, only with different actors."

The dark wizard felt something wake up inside him, something he rarely unleashed, but he reined it in. He could feel the stares of everyone on him now.

"You do not have the excuses of before." Somehow, the dispassionate tone, not judgmental at all, made Alim even angrier. Feelings, someone's deepest secrets, their _identity_ shouldn't be bared this way. No one should be capable of dragging it out and dissecting it openly on a whim, and in front of so many people. "Not the lack of years or understanding. You cannot blame anything on innocence and lack of power or knowledge this time around."

The elf almost lashed out, but he somehow knew that it would make no difference, and he suddenly didn't care who knew this anymore.

"Despite your great might and arcane knowledge, you still were unable to save your friend. Even after tearing his soul out of him and taking his power, you did nothing but delay the outcome. It was a third party..." And here, the immortal's eyes turned to Theron for a moment "...that, in the end, accomplished what you could not."

Alim forced himself not to look at Raonar. He didn't know what he'd see.

"Do you believe you failed your friend? Just like you did Ma-?"

"Stop it right there!" Dust and cobwebs shook as magic stretched the air. "How dare you..." Alim was livid. He didn't know why he hadn't blasted that apparition yet. If his magic worked on demons and other ghosts, it should work on this thing as well.

"The Gauntlet will shape itself according to your soul," the spirit said. "You must bare it before Andraste and the Maker in order to be judged fairly."

"Well then I will answer by saying that it is none of your business!"

"Then what of the others?" Those eyes swept over the group again. Alim was struck by how... bright and white they were, with the faintest hint of cyan blue... Just like Raonar's...

... _Gods above!_

The man either did not read his inner feeling anymore or ignored them. "The elder mage," Wynne was under scrutiny now. "Ever the advisor, ready with a word of wisdom. Do you worry that you spout only platitudes? Burned into your mind in the distant past? Perhaps you are just a tool, used to spread the word of the Circle. Does doubt ever chip away at your truths?"

Wynne seemed ready for the question. "You frame the statement in the form of a question. Yet you already know our answers." The woman was incredibly calm, as if this was a truth she'd accepted, or was ready to accept. "Yes, I do doubt at times, more often that I would have a year ago. Only the fools are completely certain of themselves."

"Well, that was a surprising admission," Morrigan said.

"Ah, the witch, daughter of Flemeth." The human, or former human, regarded her as intensely as the rest. "Always repeating the-"

"Begone, spirit!" The woman snapped, crossing her arms. "Whatever message you want to impart will be of no consequence. Turn your gaze on someone else. I will not play your game."

A sigh. "As you wish," his eyes found Zevran. "The assassin. May have died at your hands, but is there one kill you regret above all others?"

"Right!" Zevran cut him off in a hurry. "How do you know about that?"

"I know much. It is given to me to know, as part of my role. The question remains, do you regret?"

"Let's do this quick, shall we? The answer is yes. Move on."

"Very well." Leliana got her turn. "The sister. Why do you claim that the Maker speaks to you, when all know that the Maker has left? He spoke only to Andraste. Do you consider yourself her equal?"

"I never said that!" Her outrage was plain to see. "I-"

"In Orlais you were someone. In Lothering, you feared you would lose yourself and become a drab sister, and disappear. When you brothers and sisters of the cloister criticized you for your beliefs, you were hurt, but you also reveled in it... It made you special. You enjoyed the attention, even if it was negative."

The bard was momentarily speechless. "You're saying I... I-I made everything up for the _attention_?" She sputtered. "I did not! I know what I believe!"

But the apparition moved to the next person. "The lady of Highever. The jewel of your family. Forced to flee and abandon your family to a horrible fate. Do you believe you should have stayed behind rather than flee? Did you fail your parents by not staying to fight with them?"

Silence.

And then a reply, in a voice so low Alim would have missed it if everyone wasn't keeping silent. "I'll pass on giving an answer." He glare could melt rock

"Thank heavens," Shale piped up. "Bad enough that the contemplation of past mistakes seems to be a constant preoccupation of the religious mind. If you all start on it we'll be here all day."

"Yes, is there any religion that does not thrive on guilt, like a glutton at his lunch? " Morrigan was being particularly scornful today. "No? I thought not."

"And now the self-flagellation?" Zevran asked. "That is what comes next in these things, no?"

"Alas, those words are truer than you realize," the man said mournfully, looking at Raonar for the first time. "The dwarf, prince, outcast, returning hero, paragon of your kind. The pilgrim on whose behalf you are all truly here." His gaze swept over them all before settling on the blank-faced dwarf noble once again. "Your curse may as well be self-inflicted punishment. You are not subjecting yourself to this constant burning pain purposefully, but neither do you feel it is undeserved."

Alim waited. Nothing. Not even the slightest hint of ghostly pain. Either Raonar was controlling himself better than ever or he wasn't being affected by the intrusiveness of that man at all.

"Your actions affect so many others than yourself. Your machinations exposed the seedy underbelly of your society, but they also led to the death of nearly your entire family. Do you believe you've failed your brother? Do you believe you've failed your father?"

Raonar snorted. "That was such a predictable thing to ask. If that's all you can think of, then I am afraid your insight could use some polishing."

"Well said," Shale chimed.

"Ah, Shale, the stone giant" the unnamed man moved to his next target like he expected Raonar to say that. He even transmitted some sort of admiration somehow. "I sense the faintest hint of a soul, dormant for so long, now awake."

"Good for you!" Shale said mock-jovially.

"That you exist and walk and _are_ is a testament of your will and courage... And with your awakening you are gaining the realization of all you have lost. You have my respect."

"Is that ghost hitting on her?"

Alim almost choked. Trust Oghren to say something like that.

"Ah the dwarf." Alim was sure Oghren was regretting speaking up. "You left your home and came to the surface, knowing that-"

"Why don't I save you some time!" The black magician couldn't help but twist and look at him in surprise. "Yes! I wish I could have saved my family from Branka. I wish I'd been a better mate. Maybe she'd have stayed home with a belly full of baby Oghren and never gone for the Anvil. Maybe _I_ failed her. And yes, I came to the surface because I'm barely a dwarf anymore. May family's dead. My honor as a warrior long gone. I've lost my caste and my house, and I've got nothing else to lose."

Alim stared in shock. If there was anyone he expected to spill their heart out like that, Oghren Kondrat wasn't it. Maybe it had to do with the fact that the fighter had run out of ale days ago and was more or less sober now, and, by extension, more annoyed and likely to lose his temper and start ranting. Somehow, though, Alim doubted it was that simple.

Seeing Oghren looking pointedly away, the mage turned to the front again, catching a glimpse of Raonar staring at the other warrior with a thoughtful frown.

"Such similar feelings you all bear." The guardian briefly examined everyone else. "Sten, the kossith commander of the Qunari legions, regretting the murder of those who nursed him back to health. Painting such a gruesome picture of the Qunari in these foreign lands. Alistair, the bastard prince that feels he should not have left the side of his mentor when the darkspawn attacked, that he should have died instead."

"Right, like we need our survivor's guilt pointed out to us," Tabris hissed.

"Indeed, the elf from Denerim. You know well what you feel, but it is not all survivor's guilt. By the time you reached Shianni she was ravaged, broken. If only you'd been faster you could have prevented her fate. Do you believe you failed her?"

"This interrogation is getting old," the blonde elf sighed. "Also, it's not exactly intrusive enough. Shouldn't you be saying something about Nelaros while you're at it? He died rescuing me you know. Soris too, why not, he ended up in prison after that whole mess."

"I will take that statement in the spirit it is given," the ghost bowed its head slightly.

"Yes, you do that. Now if you don't mind?"

"Indeed, there is just one more question that needs to be asked." Finally, the guardian moved his eyes to the right, where Faren had all but disappeared behind Sten and Shale. "The dwarf pauper." Sten and Shale obligingly moved aside. "The one whose feelings are easily the most tremulous."

"I'll skip on this, thanks." The redhead said shortly, face shrouded in the shadow of his dark hood.

But it was not to be. "Out of everyone here, you are the one that benefited the most from recruitment and suffered, outwardly, the least since then. Yet different is the cause for your feelings of guilt and self-loathing, and they are the greatest among everyone here. Sizzling, tightening like a noose around your heart. You humiliated Bhelen's lackey before leaving the dwarven city behind. You humiliated him again when you went back-"

"-Shut UP!-"

"-both times for your own satisfaction. And now you feel responsible for his actions. If only you hadn't done those things, he would not have been mad enough with grief and rage to infiltrate the gathering. If only you hadn't been so selfish and stupid, Bhelen would still be alive and your brother in all but blood would not-"

A gleaming knife cut through the air and went straight through the guardian's forehead, meeting no resistance and leaving a faint shimmer before striking the wall behind him with a dull clang.

The ensuing silence was deep and thick. No one moved. Few looked anywhere except Faren's hunched form, that seemed to shrink with every moment.

Without even looking at the weapon he'd thrown, the rogue turned on his heel and, after bumping into Gwen, marched back the way they'd come. Everyone looked at him until he was out and slammed the door shut.

"Well, that went well..." Zevran eventually ventured.

"The Gauntlet has heard your answers." The guardian's eyes locked on Raonar's for a time. Alim got a clear look at them both. The color of the iris was identical. "And so have those beyond it. Once the door is open and the path has been traveled, step through the fire and do not fight what comes."

The man turned and walked through the door which obligingly opened by itself and shut on its own after he was gone from sight.

"Right," Alim coughed. "Shale, Zevran... I'm going to ask you to say behind with Faren, and make sure he doesn't do something stupid." The other two agreed without too much fuss and left. "Kallian, you could stay too I suppose."

"No... No, I'll come to the Ashes too."

The black magician caught an unspoken conversation between Raonar and Sten, which resulted in the latter nodding his assent and staying behind as well.

"Right then. I suppose off we go."

"Wait!" Oghren was outraged and glaring at Theron Mahariel. "Why didn't he chew _you_ out?"

The Dalish hunter shrugged. "I have no issues in need of sorting." And he walked through the door like the owned the place. Again.

"-. .-"

It almost fooled him into thinking it would be a sensible test, this obstacle course. The first room was a test of wits, where they had to answer eight riddles posed by specters of people from Andraste's time. There was Andraste's mother Brona (answer: dreams), lady-in-waiting Ealisay (a tune), Thane Shartan the elf leader (home), Lady Vasilia-wife to Andraste's enemy, Archon Hessarian (vengeance), General Maferath-Andraste's mortal husdband (jealousy), Disciple Havard (the mountains), Disciple Cathaire (hunger) and even Archon Hessarian himself (mercy).

The second trial was basically an all-out brawl against spectral versions of themselves. It was more annoying than dangerous, since the room was rather cramped, but they got through easily enough. Oghren seemed to take it as a personal insult that anyone would dare copy him in any way, shape or form.

The third trial was stupid in Alim's opinion. Oh, it was brilliantly designed. The magic and enchantments involved in creating that seemingly bottomless pit were incredibly advanced. Not to mention the way the platforms above it became more and more solid based on pressure plates and their combinations. And how anyone who fell in the abyss found themselves tossed back at the entrance was pure gold.

It was the core concept that irked the magus. The whole idea was for a group of four people (no clue was given as to why that number was chosen) to step on the pressure plates around the abyss and make the bridge solid and passable one section at a time.

Needless to say, Alim just flew over the thing and set off the enchantment that made the entire bridge usable, so no brains were fried during the passing of the test.

Which led him to this situation.

Alim stared. He couldn't believe his eyes. He'd looked for him so long. He'd long ago lost count of how many hours he spent roaming the Fade, trying to find him, and now...

"You really should let it go you know."

An illusion. That was the only explanation. A phantom conjured from the shadows of his thoughts. The mountain, this whole place was messing with his head.

"I suppose that's true, in a sense," the boy said, guessing, or rather _seeing_ his mind. "There is only one true ghost waiting to show itself here, and it is not me. This is an echo. I am an echo, brought to life by this place. You should welcome it, you know? Few ever get the chance to face their so-called demons this way."

The black magician was frozen on the spot. The skinny frame, the red hair, those brown eyes, the high cheekbones. Every detail was as it was the last time he saw him. Even the smoldered clothes, and the three holes in the shirt. The tear in his right sleeve. "... Marion?"

"To an extent," the young elfling smiled. "I am the Marion you remember. The one you saw in your dreams for months, before you learned to always be in control when in the fade. The one whose death you blamed on yourself for years."

"... I knew I should have blasted that pompous know-it-all guardian ghost when I had the chance."

The boy pouted. "And here I thought you'd be glad to see me."

"Glad? Glad for to be subjected to this travesty!" The floor cracked under his anger. "I made my peace with your passing years ago! What gives this place the right to dredge up those memories again?"

"And what makes you think it doesn't have your permission?" The boy wasn't Marion. It couldn't be, no matter what it looked like. Its words were those of an ancient mind. "Look deeper. You may have dealt with the guilt, but in many ways my murder still rules your life. Everything that happens you analyze by using that horrible night as a lens. Even your friend's near death you are looking at in comparison to mine."

The words were like a bludgeon. Merciless in their determination to hammer the point across.

"You may feel vulnerable, but that's not really the problem here. What you are really doing is surrendering to self-pity. What you feel is frustration over not being powerful enough, or well enough versed in obscure lore to solve all the problems that show up! Isn't it enough that you saved his hide several times already? Did it ever occur to you that maybe, just this once, this is _not your problem_? Seriously! Get over yourself you arrogant moron!"

Alim stood there, stunned.

Then he blinked. Once. Twice.

Then he couldn't help it. He bowled over laughing until he was too tired to go on.

"There we go!" the Marion-shade grinned like a loon. "Mission accomplished!"

At last, the mage was able to straighten up and realize he was all alone with the shade, and had been for some time.

"This is a spiritual meeting. Private. The others are facing their own shortcomings and will be judged accordingly." Well, that explained things. It also made him feel a bit better knowing that he wasn't the only one being subjected to this torture. "I myself cannot stay long. I've done what I came here to do."

"Wait!" Alim didn't know why he was so desperate to know, but he felt compelled to ask. "I know this isn't really..." How could he phrase it? "Is Marion... Are you... alright where you are now?"

For a moment, the young elf looked like the young boy he was supposed to be, beaming in happiness for being asked. "Yes, the people here are really nice, but not offense, I really hope not to see you get here for a very long time."

"... No promises I suppose."

The young boy smiled sadly. "Yes. No more promises."

No promises. "He really is like you in that way, you know?"

"I know." The ghost began to fade. "You're the last of us still alive Al. Live well and long. And don't be afraid to tell your story when the time comes."

"Hopefully it never will..."

The boy smirked as he disappeared, his last words echoing in the empty room. "Oh it will. Believe me, it will."

Perfect. That, strangely enough, did not feel reassuring at all.

Alim Surana wondered if he would ever understand what had just happened. This was unlike any phenomenon he'd seen before, although he supposed there was some resemblance to the "memories" in the deep roads, and the ghost fighters at the Anvil.

Shaking himself, the mage finally walked through the final door. He found himself in a room that was larger than most of the others. Lyrium lined the walls, and there were some large roots of it sticking out from the walls and ceiling. Only Raonar and Theron were already there, but they had not advanced more than two meters. The reason being a large wall of fire that prevented anyone from approaching the urn at the base of Andraste's statue.

"What kept you in that empty room for so long?" Raonar asked.

Alim welcomed his curiosity but was also bemused by it. "What, am I the only one here that had a spiritual visitor?"

"Yes actually."

Alim stared at Theron.

"As I said, I have no issues in need of resolution. As for Raonar, this place did not conjure any sort of shade for him because it would have been of little help."

"Would someone explain what you are talking about?" The dwarf sounded annoyed. Alim thought it strange that he didn't guess what the matter was. He was probably keeping most of his mind on his cursed wounds and preventing another painful outburst.

Alim sighed. "Apparently, this place likes to torment pilgrims with visions of the past, even summoning ghosts to lecture them on proper psychological stances."

"Oh."

There was silence, if one didn't count the constant crackle of the flame wall.

"So what's with the fire wall?" Alim finally asked, though he had an idea.

"Oh, just another riddle." Theron answered idly. "Raonar should go ahead and do what it said. No need to wait for everyone to come through. They will be a while, right Guardian?"

"Indeed."

Alim almost jumped out of his skin. He didn't see or feel when the man appeared next to the entrance.

Raonar looked like he wanted to say something but shook his head and approached the altar, or whatever it was. "Cast off the trappings of worldly life and cloak yourself in the goodness of spirit. King and slave, lord and beggar, be born anew in the Maker's sight."

There was a pause.

"O, I am _so_ not going to do what this says."

Alim could feel a headache coming. "Look, if you want, we'll turn around..." But he trailed off when he saw that Raonar was already taking his equipment off. "Huh?" His sword and gauntlets were already on the floor. Alim finally saw that the dwarf's left hand was caked in dry blood, but didn't comment. He just watched as the rest of his armor joined the cuirass.

Soon enough, the noble was barefoot and had only his grey pants and shirt on. He seemed to debate for a moment, but then, carefully, started to pull his shirt off as well. The elf saw that he was being careful not to jostle his left arm or chest too much, but said nothing.

"Right, this should do it."

"Wait. Are you sure you shouldn't-"

"I am not stripping naked for this. I may as well take off all my bandages too if that's the case. Besides, this is _obviously_ a ploy to see if we know better than approaching the urn while heavily armed, like war bringers, rather than pious followers of the faith. If this Maker and human paragon are so incompetent that this spirit fire ends up mistaking a pair of pants for a set of war gear, then there's probably nothing real about the miraculous healing powers of the Ashes anyway."

Silence.

Surana sent Theron a pleading look, but the latter pretended not to see him. Bizarrely, the guardian of the Gauntlet made no sort of observation either.

"Well, here we go." Raonar murmured, stepping into the flames.

One would think that people would make a run for it, to clear the flaming wall as quickly as possible. Not Raonar though. He calmly stepped forward and waited.

He didn't start howling in agony.

Alim released a breath he didn't remember drawing in. So the spell didn't mind the clothing. Either that, or Raonar was shielding himself somehow.

The flames flared.

The wall retracted from the walls, but the flames did not go out. The fire closed in on the former white commander, encasing him in a ring of fire. Then again, that wasn't a correct assessment. There was no flame-less space at the center. It was more of a disk of flames that had enshrouded him from all sides.

The fire flared again. Then a third time. Red and orange mixed with yellow and white. The lyrium on the walls began to hum loud enough to overtake the roar of the conflagration. And then it burst.

Waves of white mist buffeted the room. The flames calmed, but did not go out, and there was something new in the chamber now. A formless mass of silver fog, floating just above the urn holding Andraste's remains.

Alim knew, then, that this was the one real ghost that this place was waiting to summon.

A pinch of ashes fell through the dispenser at the foot of the urn, but it did not meet the floor. It hovered, enveloped by the mass of white as the spirit descended.

"So this is the change..." Alim almost missed it, but the shock of _who_ expressed such surprise jarred him out of his awe.

"What do you mean? he asked the guardian. "Isn't this supposed to happen?"

"The Gauntlet itself has not changed, in essence..." The man looked as though he couldn't decide if he should be awed or outraged. "But it is malleable, to an extent. The order of the trials has shifted, and even an outside interference has been accepted."

"It is out of all our hands now," Theron said calmly from where he was leaning against the wall.

Alim turned back to the scene in time to see the white soul float straight at the white commander and stop. It grew, then, and began to take a shape, but the identity of the apparition never became known to them.

Before it solidified properly, the flames turned white and flowed as one, consolidating in a globe three meters across that hid them from sight altogether.

Then the flames went out, and left only a globe of opaque ice behind.

It was only when Gwen finally came through the door ten minutes later that the silence was broken. "Hey, what's wrong with you three?" She then saw what they were staring at. "What's that?"

"That would be our commander," Theron answered.

_Our commander_ Alim mused. Theron must be predicting something again. He hopes he was.

"Oh," was all that Gwen was willing to say on the matter. "Now what?"

"Now..." Alim struggled for an answer but eventually chose the one least likely to prompt an interrogation. "Now we wait."


End file.
